'Meet Them Where They Are' or 'Crybaby, Dierks, and La La Land'

Every teacher hopes for that near-perfect lesson, the one that hits all the right buttons with the students, that weaves together vital ideas and presents them in a way that is understandable and relatable. Those lessons, those days, are the good ones.

I had one of those days last week. The kicker was this: it wasn't mine. It happened in my classroom, during one of my class periods. However, I had very little to do with it.

That day, a young lady walking into my classroom knowing that she was supposed to present to the class. She told me she was nervous, repeating what she had told me the day before, revealing that she was literally shaking. This is a talented, intelligent student who performs on stage in front of an audience, acting or singing with grace. But this is different, for her anyway. This was scary, and she smiled her nervous smile and took a deep breath.

This young lady then proceeded to spend more than 30 minutes enlightening the class of 25 teenagers on the concepts of imagery, symbolism, character development, allusion, tone, and conflict.. Students asked questions afterward and appeared to be legitimately engaged as they moved through themes of perception, body image, and loyalty. We even touched briefly on the validity of separating art from the artist. She began with a slight quiver somewhere beneath her voice and ended by answering questions with insight and confidence.  Mind you, this was on the last Friday prior to Winter Break. During 6th hour.

"What was the topic and lesson?" you might be asking. This young lady had presented a case for the literary value of music of Melanie Martinez, a singer-songwriter who rose to fame on The Voice and whose debut album Crybaby has gained widespread popularity. In doing so, the student pointed out allusions to Alice in Wonderland and drew comparison in tone to poetry by Edgar Allan Poe. She took the class on a walk through the album's structure as a "novel" of sorts, demonstrating how the protagonist changed and drawing on specific lines and images from the lyrics and videos to reveal how symbolism was used and conflicts developed.  She chose particular songs to dive deeply into, supporting her thoughts and ideas. The major themes of the work were laid out and illustrated in entertaining clarity.  She truly taught the class that day.

And she did it well. And I was across the room most of the hour, learning with the kids and jotting down questions I wanted to ask when she finished. The other students asked most of those questions before I had a chance.

The day was part of our final for our new Pop Culture Literature class. This student is one of the last ones to present. Students have enlightened us on character development and conflicts in Green Day's American Idiot and the film Homeward Bound, analyzed rhyme and metaphor in music of J. Cole, and examined plot structure through a Dierks Bentley album and La La Land. Color symbolism has taken center stage in discussions ranging from Riverdale to Wizard of Oz, from The Lion King to The Walking Dead. The role of music in setting tone and influencing character were presented through the film version of The Great Gatsby.  I could continue through the wide-reaching topics ranging from Red Dirt Country to modern musicals.

It has not all been perfect. Far from it. I may not have guided some students well enough. Some students did not stretch themselves, and they barely scratched the surface of their self-selected topics. Many glossed over comparisons to accepted literature in their arguments, a vital component of the project. Even in some of those situations, however, good things have resulted. One young man struggled greatly. He has no confidence in his ability to write, and he doubts every idea he has regarding what we read. After "failing" his case study argument, I pulled him aside. We discussed where he had fallen short of expectations and where he might have used ideas we had discussed during his project development. Then I brought up paths he could take moving forward. His first response was "If it means redoing stuff, I will just take the bad grade." Then I dropped a bomb on him. I did not get upset and say, "Fine!" That is what he wanted; that way, he was off the hook. An F was not that big of deal. He'd had them before. Instead, I told him I was not going to let him, or me, off the hook that easily. That would not be fair to him. I laid out what we needed to do, and how we would do it.  Since then, we have spent a good deal of time working one on one, talking about his lyrics, finding a poem that could be used for comparison, and finding examples of internal and end rhyme used by J. Cole. I have typed while he talked.  He asked me for a simple cheat sheet of different rhymes. This week, he neared the end of that path. I told him all he had to do was polish up what he had written, and we would be good. Then he dropped a bomb on me. He said, "Can I add another paragraph about the meaning of the songs on the album?" He wanted to do MORE. He is getting it, and as a result, he wants to do more than the minimum. He wants me to be able to see what he thinks, to show me that he has learned something. That is big. And a major contributor to that shift is what he has been learning from the other students in his class. He has learned more about rhyme and metaphor and theme from them as they argue their cases. Does he always pay attention to them? I will just say "No, he does not." He doesn't always pay attention to me either. He still gets distracted and fidgets, a lot. But he is learning, learning from our one on one discussions and definitely learning from the others in the class.

So, where am I going with this rambling walk through my class? Honestly, I don't know. I just felt that these two students' stories were important to me as a teacher. Sometimes, the best learning takes place when we give our kids some tools and materials and then step back and let them go. Sometimes, we have to meet them where they are, instead of where we wish they would be. This semester in this new course, we have dived deeply into high level concepts such as symbolism and character motivation, irony and paradox. We have examined themes that lead uncomfortable conversations about major issues in our schools and society today. All revolving around popular music, TV shows, and films. Sometimes, we need to take a step back and regroup. Refocus on what is important: is learning taking place?  Sometimes, we need to thank our lucky stars that we have supportive administration and leadership who are willing to let us run with ideas as long as we can show that it is best for our kids, even though others are raising critical eyebrows. Sometimes, I have to say "Thank you" to a team of colleagues to have had the vision, imagination, patience, and guts to be a part of this shift. And sometimes, when things are not going the way "they are supposed to go" in my classroom, I have to remember that I have amazing kids, and they can go down amazing paths.

And because of that, because they and the kids who will follow them, are my kids, I have to keep trying to get better and make what happens in my classroom more worthwhile.

After all, it's all about the learning, right? For all of us.

A Single Drop of Water...

I walked with a school family member before school recently, discussing the upcoming day and conducting some invaluable hallway collaboration. As we met students, we said, "Good morning!" to individual and groups. Most students nod or respond with a "Good morning" or "Hey, Mr. Cholz" or the like. (Yes, some of my students call me by odd reincarnations of my name, but it is done with fondness, so how can I be upset?) Anyway, as we progressed down the hall, greeting students, I noticed one student who, as I said, "Good morning," turned her eyes to the floor. For some reason, it hit me harder than it probably might have, so I turned around and caught up to her.

Long story short, she was having a bad day. In fact, she was having a bad year. We talked, she smiled, and we came to an agreement that she needed to come see me more often even though she doesn't have me for class this year and her only class in my wing is at the other end of the hall.

I guess where I am heading with this is that we just don't know. Initially, I could have taken her disregard of my morning greeting as simply rude. Dang kids anyway. That would have been easier, and I could have moved on in my conversation and gotten to the end of the building much more quickly. However, that would have been malpractice on my part. My job is to teach kids. Sometimes, that means asking someone how the day is going; it might be the first time someone has asked, and that may be what that kid needs at the time. You never know just how important a seemingly simple word or act can be at that moment.

I remember years ago, I had a student in class who was a sensitive soul. Upon returning from lunch one day, I noticed the girl was upset, something that was reinforced when she left the room and hurried to the bathroom just as she was supposed to present an assignment to the class. I didn't know what had happened at lunch to upset her, but when she returned to the room, another student interrupted me. These two students were not especially close, but had gone to school together for years. The student interrupted me to ask if she could present her assignment in place of the other girl. "It would really help me out if I could go first, Mr. Kohls." She turned to the upset student and asked, "Do you mind if I trade you spots? Please?"

That little act of kindness completely changed that student's day, and possibly her self-perception for a long time. She had been excluded from a group in the cafeteria, and that simple request to trade presentation slots told her she had someone who noticed, and someone who would help her out.  The Good Samaritan had nothing to gain from the switch; she was just being a good person. But it had a serious impact.

My sophomores are currently studying Fahrenheit 451. In the novel, a character named Granger states that every person needs to leave an impact:
“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my father said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away.” (150-151).

As a teacher, I feel blessed to work with people. I hope to leave a positive impact of some sort on the people I meet each day. Sometimes, I get caught up in the idea that what is going to impact kids and others around me are the "big deals": the perfect lesson that leaves the class in awe, the curriculum redesign that leads to engagement and achievement, or the initiative that shifts the culture of the school. Those are all important, but in the grand scheme, in the lives of those we see in our classrooms and in our hallways each day, the impact of the little things, the daily acts, may prove more significant. A single drop of water, repeated hundreds or thousands of times, can break through stone. A positive word, a smile, or nudge of encouragement, repeated day after day or moment after moment, can have a positive effect of the same magnitude.

The Day I Crushed It in my Classroom

Sometimes, there are moments that come together to lift you, smack you down, or remind you who you are. Those days can be painful, rewarding, enlightening, or all of these at once.

Last week, I was having a conversation with a particular student who was in my class last year. She is a special talent, but I worry about her. She is one of my kids. I felt a sense of ease when she described her current teacher in this way: "He seems to be incredibly kind." I know how important this description is for so many kids. It allows them to let their true selves develop and thrive. It is vital. And it is accurate.  Later, I opened an email from a parent. I will not go into details, but the note made me swell up a little bit with pride. She told me my classroom is a safe place, a place a student can feel comfortable. I was having a very satisfying, rewarding morning.

Kids need those places. For so many students, school is a place to take a deep breath, feel the warmth of a caring adult, build themselves up, and rally the strength it takes to meet the rest of the world. To be an active part of that, to have my room serve as a sanctuary or just a place of calm means the world to me. To know that our hallway and our school is full of teachers who work each day to provide that for our kids warms my heart. I felt such pride that morning as I thought about ways we help our students grow and find their ways.  I was ready to take on the day with a bounce in my step and a confident smile on my face. I was feeling it.

Then, in short, I crushed it, and not in a good way. Not in the perfect swing, blast the ball over the centerfield fence way. Not in the take the handoff and hit the gap into the open field, striding to the endzone way. Not in the have them on the edge of their seats with excitement and engagement sort of way. No. I crushed it horribly. I placed my foot on top of a delicate blossom, pressed down with my considerable weight, and ground the petals into the gravel. Yeah. It was not a good moment.

I embarrassed a student in my room. I took a good-natured back and forth and, without noticing until it was too late, I allowed it to become something painful. I allowed laughing eyes to turn dark and tearful. We talk about the Pink Floyd line "No dark sarcasm/In the classroom". That day, I had thrown that shadow, somehow had allowed myself to become that mocking old man who ridicules a young poet for jotting down future classic rock lyrics. For that student, at that moment, my classroom was a terrible place. And it was because of me.

I did not realize it until it was too late. When I did, I apologized, profusely and sincerely. The young person said, in a whisper, "It's ok." No, it's not. I told her that. It is not ok. It is never ok for my classroom to become a place where a student does not feel safe or fears what might happen next. I am not talking about a student being uncomfortable because she has to admit she had failed to meet responsibilities. I do not mean light-hearted banter and joking that both sides enjoy. This was different. This was unnecessary.

The fact is, if a student does not feel safe in my classroom, he is not going to allow himself to be vulnerable. And if he is not somewhat vulnerable, he will not take chances, and if he does not take chances, he will not grow. In English, each time we write, we put a little bit of ourselves on the page. Each discussion can be a step out on a ledge. Those steps and that blood are necessities for students to really find who they are and to learn to express themselves, to develop the confidence needed to let themselves go. That takes a safe place.

So, now what do I do? I fix it. I admitted I was wrong, not just so she would feel better at that moment but because she needs that I understand I was wrong. She needs to know that I make mistakes, and I own up to them. She needs to know that I will do better, that each day, I will work to help create a safe place. And she needs to know that she can still take chances, and sometimes fail. She needs to know that I am not going to laugh at her, but I may chuckle along with her as I help her and brush her off. If I am lucky, she will do the same for me.

One Man's Trash...

One man's trash is another man's treasure. That cliche might not be more evident anywhere than in a an English classroom that uses flexible seating.

Last winter, we saw a post from a teacher Twitter about the idea of Blackout Poetry. In a nutshell, you take discarded pages of print, newspapers, old books, pages from a magazine, and you find words that go together. Sometimes, the words clomp up and string together easily. At other times, they skip and bounce, having to be drawn together with more creative strings. Austin Kleon has produced some impressive work using this type of approach, inking up portions of entire newspapers, and leaving behind both poetic and visual images. No longer is a page of text something to throw away; it is truly something to recycle. My students seemed to fall in love with it. My box of pages from books that were falling apart would mysteriously empty after the Hopkins sisters visited my room. Mya startled us all with some strikingly vivid imagery. Kenz made me take a deep breath, and Neil showed me that pages from old Harlequin Romance paperbacks may not be the best resource for a class with creative sophomore boys. I could go on and on about the what they kids created, and I am proud of the pages that eventually were tacked to my bulletin board. Old pages, new ideas. Old text, new excitement.

Teachers seem to be natural scroungers. Many of us see an old chair and wonder, "Would my kids use that if I put it in the corner of my classroom?" A table discarded from a science room might miraculously acquire a fresh coat of paint and show up in an English classroom at the other end of the building. Throw-away pool noodles become decorating supplies and exercise ball stands. Garage sales are an addiction, and at every turn, the potential for something that might make a classroom just a little more inviting and effective is found in the oddest of places. Or, maybe that is just me. I doubt it though, since a colleague, Sam Neill (visit her blog too) has coined our ELA classrooms at BHS the "Hallway of Misfit Furniture".

So, it should come as no surprise that a broken chair, a box of old books, and a forgotten display shelf were the inspirations this summer for the latest addition to my classroom. I will let you in on something: I really dislike the plastic student chairs in most classrooms. One goal of mine since I began using flexible seat was to acquire enough office chairs at garage sales so that no student would ever have to sit in one in my room, even if they choose to sit at a table. One of the biggest issues with those plastic chairs is that every single one develops a broken rivet and begins to wobble. I had two such broken chairs in my room that had lost all but one rivet, leaving them useless. Or so I thought. My floor sofa, a student favorite, needed additional support. A plastic chairback became a perfect solution. Because I cannot throw anything away without exploring every potential use, I held on to the base. I am glad I did. A brainstorm and a little bit of work later, I had constructed a low table, complete with student samples of blackout poetry displayed beneath plexiglass. I had one more base, which I tucked away in the garage until my next inspiration hit.

Later, I found an old shelf from a display counter in the rafters above my garage. It was left by the house's previous owners, and I, of course, had not thrown it away. The surface of the shelf was bubbled and, honestly, kind of gross. I needed to cover it with something. I started with the idea of more student blackout poetry, covered with clear contact paper. Then a thought struck me. I had a box of books that I had bought at a garage sale for 50 cents. They were falling apart and "worthless". I collected the pages of one old book of "Classic American Fiction" that had broken away from the book's spine and began gluing. They covered the top of the table, leaving a smooth and intriguing surface. (Note: when transporting a paper-covered table in the bed of a pickup, avoid doing so on a Kansas morning with 96% humidity. The pages won't be so perfect when you get to school. But hey, nobody's perfect.) In my head, it would be an organic piece of creative work for and by the students in my class. I wanted them to circle, underline, write, and scribble all over the table. On the first day of school, I explained to my classes that they were welcome to begin transforming the top of the table into their own work of art. If they liked what they created, we would snap a picture of it and probably post it on Twitter. If they hated it, we could paste a new page over the top of it, and they could go again. If we filled the tabletop with their works, we would snap an image to immortalize it, and lay down a new canvas of pages. They seemed intrigued. However, they hesitated. For so long, we have told our kids not to write on the tables, to remain seated, to keep quiet. Breaking those bindings can be somewhat difficult. Finally, one student from my creative writing class began circling words and then blacking out others. Soon, four students sat around the table, pencils and Sharpies in hand, letting the pages write the poems. One student kept coming back each day, adding a word or two. Another artfully blued out her blackout page, fading away in an artful display, mainly because the marker was drying out. Sometimes the "mistakes" and "screw ups" can lead to the most beautiful results.

The table is still not filled, and there are coffee stains on some of the pages, which I find oddly neat. I leave the markers on the tabletop, and sometimes felt tip pens show up and be added to the collection. I have noticed more students reading through the pages that are inked up. Hopefully, they will grow brave enough to start marking for themselves.

It's for them after all, and I love seeing them make it theirs.

I Control My Feed. And It Is Awesome.

I like Twitter. I check it daily, and some days, multiple times. It has helped feed a professional growth spurt that I feel I have been experiencing, and I am a better teacher because of it. I am fortunate to teach in a district that supports innovation and being a connected educator. While this has been a truly positive aspect of my teaching world, it has also raised some issues.

I was presented with a comment from a colleague that has chewed at the back of my mind for some time. "I do not agree with the idea behind Twitter." At first, it struck me as odd, and, to be honest, I was defensive. I use Twitter for a number of reasons, and I did not see how the idea behind using it in any of those ways was "wrong' or "bad". What was there to not agree with? The comment took up residence in my mind, and I revisited it at times, wishing I knew what had produced it.

Before continuing, I should say that this discussion is not really about Twitter. It is about being connected as an educator and learner, about improving my opportunities to grow, about opening up the world for my students beyond the walls of my classroom, about connecting with those kids, and about celebrating the successes they work for. There are a number of ways each and all of those points can be achieved. Twitter is simply a tool, a resource. A valuable, effective, and accessible one. So, when someone told me, "I don't agree with the idea behind Twitter", I initially heard, "I don't agree with expanding my students' world, with growing as a teacher, with celebrating student success, or with being part of improving our profession." Such an attitude would be, to be blunt, educational malpractice. I had to be missing something.

As the comment continued to fester, I came to a conclusion: this person's "idea behind Twitter" is completely different from my "idea behind Twitter." At least, I think, and hope, it is. We are not looking at the same image, and that is where the problem exists. I need to try and discover what this individual's idea of Twitter is, and try to shed some light on my idea of the resource. At least then we will be on the same page.

I will concede that Twitter can be a deplorable, vile place. It can be a time suck that might offer little in return. Twitter can be a garbage dump filled with the lowest and most crude examples of what our culture and society has or could become.

Twitter can also be an nearly infinite resource for learning, support, and exploration. It can fill minutes or hours will new ideas, build connections, challenge your thinking, and induce professional growth. It can be a treasure trove of best practices and the most inspiring examples of what our profession and world has to offer.

The amazing thing about this is that I control what my Twitter feed becomes. And you control yours.

Earlier this year, I wanted to share a incredible spoken word poetry video that a pair of students had created. Of course, I wanted to give them a @ on Twitter. One of the girls told me she had deleted her Twitter because the political and celebrity Tweets were so negative, and she didn't like reading them. "You control your feed," I told her. It has occurred to me that this may be where the discrepancy in what the "idea behind Twitter" might begin. Name-calling, attacks, hatred, fluff, and negativity are on Twitter. But I do not think of Twitter that way: I do not have to see it. If I want my feed, my virtual world, to be positive, it is up to me to populate it with positive voices. My feed is filled with awesome educators, poets, authors, athletes, coaches, and students. It is a positive, productive arena of ideas and connections; I decided it would take that form. I have that power, and it is up to me to use it. If my feed is negative, I can fix that.

So, why do I use Twitter as an educator? At its core, my Twitter usage usually falls into four categories:

1. Professional Learning Tool. Twitter is, quite possibly, the most accessible and powerful professional learning tool that exists today. Yes, it is that powerful. I do not need to wait for a conference to explore the latest innovations in the classroom, ask questions about new technology, or have a discussion about best practices with the greatest teachers across the country. Twitterchats can be found for every content area, from #aplitchat to #TxHSFBchat (HS football), from #4thchat (4th grade teachers) to #musedchat (music ed). I think you can get the picture. (Here is a link to a list of available edchats.)  Teachers from across Kansas gather at #ksedchat Monday evenings to discuss topics in education, such as how poverty and trauma affect student learning to how we can help new teachers develop and succeed. Most states have their own edchats, and believe it or not, they often welcome teachers from other states to peek in and learn with them. Each Saturday morning, #leadupchat challenges thinking and feeds the growth mindset of educational leaders from across the country, while #ecet2 celebrates and encourages great teaching every Sunday evening. Through these chats, I have made connections with individuals who have shared lesson ideas, helped flesh out course ideas, and provided fresh insights that might otherwise not have been available. In addition to chats, the people on my feed share research and articles, discuss book studies and academic reading, and provide numerous other links to more learning that I take advantage of on a daily basis. From moment to moment, I can learn from an AP Lit teacher in Boston, a History teacher in Philadelphia, a principal in Little Rock, a college student in Manhattan, and a kindergarten teacher in California. My PLN is amazing, and it encourages me to interact even more with my teammates I see each day, driving even more productive hallway collaboration.
2. Classroom Learning Tool. Our students live in a world that is global. They are not restricted in their opportunities to interact and connect by where they live; we should not expect their educational opportunities to be restricted by our classroom walls. Students can connect with authors, research centers, NASA, national parks, art museums, musicians, or just about any other group or organization one can think of. That spoken word video? It received a reply from an internationally known spoken word poet, and he offered both constructive criticism and encouragement. My neighbor teacher (literally named Mrs. Neighbor @AmberNeighbor), had her students give shoutouts to their favorite authors. Authors responded. They are no longer far-away, abstract figures; they are living, breathing people, just like her students, and those responses motivated conversation and reading. My students have used Twitter to share research driven by Ray Bradbury's "The Veldt", which led to more reading and discussion in class. Students have shared their favorite lines from their reading and have written "Twitter Poems" about themselves. They comment on classroom learning and activities when they apply them or see their relevance in 'real life'.  Along the way, they are building positive online presences, and that is important. One article on Bloomberg  BNA reported that many employers consider little or no online presence by an prospective employee as a negative presence and around 35% said that chances for an interview dropped significantly if no online presence could be found. We must teach our students to create an online world that serves them in a positive way. They will learn more, and it will benefit them later in life.
3. Narrative Tool. We, as teachers, must control the narrative of our profession and our places in it. There is enough negative chatter floating around media and public perception; we know better in our classrooms and schools, and it is our responsibility to open our doors and let the world know what is truly happening. This means sharing what is happening in our classrooms, so other teachers, parents, townspeople, and others can see it. We are part of one of the most rewarding and impactful professions on this planet; we have a vehicle to share what happens here. Use it. That might mean celebrating students when they create something amazing or go above and beyond the norm. It might mean simply sharing information through a medium that functions as quickly as the real world does. It might mean being a positive model not just in the traditional classroom but in the virtual one as well. Every minute is a learning and teaching opportunity.
4. Finally, a Connection Tool. I could not really think of a better way to phrase that. Many teachers will tell you that student success begins with relationships, and often, so does student failure. Today, many relationships are developed virtually. While that is scary for some people, and understandably so, it is also what our students know. A former student and I were discussing Twitter, among other things, last spring. She told me, "It is important that you connect with kids that way. It is another chance for them to see who you are and for you to see who they are, and in a different way. It matters." She is a pretty bright young lady, and I trust her. And she was a student of mine, so I think she knows what she is talking about. If I can encourage students with @s, connect with them, or understand them a little better, all in a mere 140 keystrokes, why wouldn’t I? As my student said, “It matters.” It matters to them; therefore, it matters to me.  

So, there it is: my idea of what Twitter, or being connected as an educator, is. Hopefully, it makes sense. Does every teacher have to use Twitter to be effective? No. However, every teach does need to find a way to learn, grow, and improve in order to best serve our kids. Twitter can help us do just that. I am not going to stop using it, nor will I stop pushing it as a learning tool and resource. And I will continue to fill my feed with those voices who challenge, drive, and inspire me. I can do that.

@JasonKohls

PS. Have you taken the Non-Negotiables Blog Challenge? It was great reflection activity. Here is the challenge issued by @SJNeill13  "My Non-Negotiables", as well as my response, "Answering the Challenge". 

Answering a Challenge: My Non-Negotiables

I am a blessed educator. I honestly mean that. Some of those blessings are the simple, "that's nice" blessings that, on some days, make all the difference. Other blessings are of the "wow, I could never do enough good to deserve this" blessings. Every once in a while, I am shocked by a blessing that I did not realize was a blessing until much later down the road. Regardless of the type or timing, I am without a doubt blessed.

I am blessed to work in a room with windows. It has not always been that way. For several years after I arrived at BHS, I taught in an interior room whose cinder block walls are uninterrupted by any aperture that might allow a glimpse of natural light to cast a glow on the faces of my students. Prior to that, during my final two years at LHS, I had a room with a window, a window without a view. It had once looked out on the courtyard, but after bond construction added another wing of classrooms where that open, outdoor space had once been, I had a window that did not open and looked upon darkness. So, the fact that I can look out the south windows at the skyline of Buhler, and open those windows if I so choose, so we can all smell the rain during a springtime Kansas shower, is truly a blessing.

I am blessed to work with administration that not only supports me as a teacher, but has been known to walk in during class, sit down next to my students, and ask what we are doing in class. And the kids are not shocked by it. They know Mr. Ellegood and Mr. Abbott because they are present in our building, our hallways, and our rooms. Sometimes they are a bit harder to find than would be expected because they are not in their offices, or perhaps have left the building to go pick up a senior who is in danger of not graduating if she does not come to school but has says she does not have a ride. Beyond the walls of BHS, administrators push one another and us as teachers to grow, to be the leaders we are meant to be, and to push ourselves to truly provide every one of our kids with an exceptional educational experience. I meet and talk with district level administrators more often than I ever dreamed I would, and I keep finding myself trying to keep up with those leaders who challenge me to think more and differently about how much better we can be.

I am blessed to be surrounded by amazing colleagues who push me, laugh with me, teach me, challenge me, and lift me. Whether I am collaborating with kindred spirits, learning from grade school teachers who astonish me, or scheming and team-teaching with the greatest coaches in Kansas, I am surrounded by incredible people. Not to get too cheesy, but they are my best friends and some help form a weird, tangled branch of my transplanted family tree.

(Speaking of family, I try to keep this space relatively professional, and as a teacher that line between personal and professional is so often kind of squiggly and rather blurred. But I am also blessed with family, from my parents who still come to 'my games' and who, despite not being 'in education', taught me how to be a teacher, to my brother and sister, to my extended family, those still here in flesh and those who watch and guide me through memories and lessons engrained in my DNA. From my wife who is my opposite and my yang, who somehow is still putting up with who I am, to my two children, Emily and Dylan, who are just who they are and are meant to be, and who continually stoke new flames of pride within my heart, mind, and soul. So yes, I am blessed by my family.)

And, most importantly, I am blessed with my kids, my students. I have had incredible young men and women walk through my doors, sit in my rooms, sweat and bleed on the track and field. I work with creative souls who shock me with their maturity and vision. They keep me on my toes, they keep me sharp, and they keep me young. They make me laugh, they bring me to tears, they make me grind my teeth at night, and they make me want to be better each day. As one young lady this year told me, after I said she was one of the reasons I teach: "Of course I am one reason you teach. Without us, you would have no job." No Natalie, without you, and each of the blessings like you, I would have no calling. That is what teaching truly is: a blessing and a calling.

And because of those blessings, I have certain Non-negotiables. This post began in my mind with that idea. One of those kindred souls, Samantha Neill, challenged us in her blog to declare our five non-negotiables. That is where I was headed, but sometimes I ramble. Sorry. By the way, you should check out her blog.

So, in response to her challenge, here are my non-negotiables. They are somewhat intertwined, and may even sound somewhat similar at times to Sam's list. We work together a lot. Sometimes we rub off on each other. These were not always what guided my teaching. I have changed over the years, hopefully for the better. And it what i have learned that has shaped me into the teacher I am today.

1.  "Is this what is best for my kids?" must be my driving question each and every day.  
My kids must be the guide to what happens in my classroom, no matter where that classroom may be. During a Twitter chat this morning, Brian Knight posted "Never forget the faces that are impacted by decisions." Close your eyes and picture those students with whom you have connected over the years. Look at their faces, into their eyes. When I make decisions, I have to remember those faces. I cannot do what i do because "it has always been done this way" or because it is what is most efficient, or because it will make my grading a little easier. Those faces are what must guide my path.

2.  My "room" will remain open. 
I will admit, embarrassingly, that there were times in my career when I just wanted to shut my door. In fact, I actually said the words "Just let me close my door and teach." To my students and colleagues during those times, I apologize. As a disclaimer, I will admit that I do sometimes close the wooden slab that fills the casing of the entryway of my room. We get a little loud sometimes, but I also want people to open that entryway and look in or step through. "Leaving my door open" is more of a philosophical thing, although literally leaving it open is also preferred when possible. Metaphorically leaving my door open means several things. It means my room is welcoming. It is a place where students want to come because it is NOT MY ROOM, but theirs. I want my room to be open, and for kids to feel they can come there when they need to. This room may be literally my classroom, it it may be virtual. I love when students share with me on social media or email me writing in the summertime. It means they feel they can. I also want my room to be open for other teachers. This is not because they can learn so much from observing me. Quite the opposite. Nearly every day the last few years, I have walked into Greg Froese's room or he has walked into mine. Collaboration is not something we do because it is on the schedule. In fact, it is not on our schedule, no matter how much we wish it was. We do it because we are better teachers when we do. I mentioned virtually opening my classroom earlier. Collaboration with teachers and other professionals not just in my hall or in my district but from across the country and around the globe has become a daily occurrence since I have opened my door in that way. Twitter sometimes gets a back rap, and that is not entirely unearned. But I control my feed, its tone, and its content. My feed is a positive place of learning, celebration, and sharing. It allows my kids to interact with me in a different way, in a way they are comfortable. It also allows parents to poke their heads in the door, to take a peek at what we are doing each day. And it allows me and my students a way to open even more doors.

3.  Like my students, I need to keep learning.  
Ok, this one goes back to #1 and #2 in a way, but that is fine. It is really important. A few years ago, I began what I can only describe as a professional growth spurt. Until then, I did not realize how stagnant I had become. I think I was still a pretty decent teacher, but I was not getting better. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to take part in the Kansas Teacher of the Year program. I was forced to reflect on who I was and what I did as a teacher. Really, truly, deeply reflect. That is a learning experience in itself. I also had the chance to begin meeting and interacting with great teachers from across Kansas. (The odd thing is, as  coaches, we try to do this all of the time, and always have, because it allows us to grow and improve as coaches and teachers. But more on that later.) At the same time, and probably because of that experience, a world opened up to me that has kick started my growth as a teacher.  I visited schools around the state, and I saw what truly great teachers do. I was introduced by Paul Erickson to Twitter as a learning tool. Game-Changer would be an understatement. I began truly seeking out people to learn from, not at conferences or workshops, but on a daily basis.  I came to realize that elementary level teachers are an invaluable resource that I had never tapped into as a high school teacher. Just listen to a kindergarten or fourth grade teacher, a truly great one, talk about teaching sometime. These are amazing people. Anyway, as I said, I entered a professional growth spurt. There have been growing pains. I find myself in spots I had not really expected to find myself. I am trying new things much more often. I read even more than I used to. I also listen more than I used to. And I steal so much great stuff!

4. I will never be "just a coach."
Please, do not take that sentence in the wrong way. I have coached football since before I entered the teaching profession. I have had the pleasure of coaching track, and even a little basketball. Some of my most rewarding experiences as a teacher have been through coaching. Yes, as a teacher. The greatest coaches I have been fortunate to work with shared the same qualities as the greatest teachers. No, let me rephrase that: some of the greatest teachers I have known happen to teach outside of the classroom and answer to "Coach". So, why would I say "I will never be just a coach"? During one of my early years at Buhler, a young lady in my junior English class asked to speak to me after class just before Christmas break. She was a dedicated, talented student, and after a rough start during which she seemed a little bit defiant, we had had a pretty good semester together, or at least I thought we had. So, this student told me she wanted to apologize. I was confused. She went on to explain herself. "When I saw that I had Kohls for English, I cried," she said. I was even more confused, and even a little hurt. She cried at the very thought of being in my class. Merry Christmas. She continued. "Mr. Kohls," she said. "All I knew about you was that you coached football. The first thing in my mind was Coaches don't teach." She went on to tell me that she took her education very seriously (something that I already knew), and she had to be ready to do well on the ACT, go to college, and perform well there. She was not pleased to think she was going to waste her junior year of English. "Mr. Kohls, I found out pretty quickly that you teach. You take this really seriously. You are not just a coach. You are really a teacher."  A student, the kind of student who wanted to learn and be challenged on a daily basis, who had aspirations and goals and a plan to work hard to get them, cried when she thought she would 'waste' a year' because her teacher was just a coach. That was so wrong. I could not be upset with her in any way. But I had to be upset. I never had thought of myself in that light, and thankfully, she did not after we started working together. That phrase, just a coach, sickens me. It is not about being a coach. It is about being a teacher, and a passionate professional, or failing to do so. A true coach, in the truest sense, is a teacher who impacts the lives of hundreds of young people. Are there individuals who help perpetuate the image of 'just a coach"? Unfortunately, yes there are. And to be honest, they make things harder for the good coaches, the ones who are teachers inside and outside of the classroom.

5. I will never apologize for nor regret what I am. 
I am a teacher. I am truly fortunate to have my classroom stretch from the traditional four walls of a classroom, to the racks and bars of the weightroom, from the athletic field to the virtual arena a Twitter. I get to wake up each morning and interact with young people who can change the world. I want to share that with the world. My kids deserve it, and I need to tell our story. Could I have chosen a different career path? Absolutely. That would have been a mistake. My Dad reminded me recently that no matter what the political atmosphere or the public sentiment. one truth remains: I am doing exactly what I am meant to do. I am who I am, and I am fortunate to have discovered that. Some people go through their entire lives working jobs, maybe even building a career without actually finding out who they are meant to be. And in my classroom each year is some young man or women who will answer the same calling. I will never discourage a bright young person from pursuing a career in teaching. It frustrates me when a person who works in our profession says, somehow almost proudly, that he or she has told brilliant, creative students that they should never consider teaching. Science, music, athletics, math, English, FACS, social studies, administration, PE; name an area and reasons abound for why we need the passion and energy of talented and intelligent people in that area. Why would I attempt to sabotage my own profession, my calling, by steering someone away from it? Why would I steal from a young man or woman the rewards that come from answering such a calling? I am proud of who I am and what I do. I want new blood to feel that passion and pride and to enter the profession, to push us to a new level. We need them.

So, there you have them, my non-negotiables. What are yours?

Argument versus Discussion.

It is weird how things sometimes come together. I have been frustrated with myself because I have not blogged lately, and while I have had numerous ideas and begun several posts, none of them seemed particularly interesting, engaging, or enlightening. Then, two events took place that truly made me think.

The first was a during a workout. An athlete made a poor read on an option. It happens. Before I could even point it out, a voice behind me beat me to it. "That should be a keep if the DE closes." Kids coaching each other, getting better. I like it. Then the stumbling block sprung up. The athlete felt the need to argue the truth. It happens. A lot, unfortunately. Not with this kid, but with kids, and people, in general. Sometimes, the first reaction is not to examine what happened, accept an "error' has occurred, and learn from it, but instead to argue that "NO! I am right!" It becomes more important to give the perception of being right than to learn and improve. More on that later.

I reacted to the response in an incredibly poor way. I did what I just complained about. I was right, darn it, and was not going to be questioned. I snapped at him, and I wasted a moment to really coach. I hate it. Luckily, the kid did not walk away, and then I actually said something intelligent, instead of making things worse. "It is better sometimes, to just admit you are wrong, and learn from it, than to argue just so you can feel like you are right." He said, "I know. I'm having a bad day. My bad."

I got lucky on that one. I'm not saying that in coaching there are not times when intensity and immediate, forceful correction is the best approach. More often than not, however, coaching is about developing people in a positive direction, just as in any type of teaching. Possibly the most disappointing thing for me is that I caught myself basically taking the same approach later, during an evening session of camp, with another particular player. I recognized it, and I think I did a better job coaching him at that point. I hope I did. He deserves for me to do better. And guess what? He got better. He improved. He listened and asked good questions, and he learned. Imagine that.

The second event, a throw-away moment really, took place on the way home from our last session of camp today. Something the radio DJ said stuck in my mind and demanded some thought. I cannot even tell you what station it was or what DJ said it, but here is a close paraphrase of his statement: The point of an argument is to try to prove YOU are right; the point of a discussion is to try and discover WHAT is right.

It got me thinking, and it reminded me of those moments with our athletes. I could be frustrated with the kids, but I control whether it becomes a meaningful discussion or an argument. When we ARGUE, we do so because we want to prove we are RIGHT. It does not matter if we are actually right, or if admitting we are wrong would eventually lead to something better; we just have to show we were right. I know I fall into that trap more often than I want to admit. And if I want to become a better teacher, a better husband, and better dad, and a better friend, I have to get past that. I have to focus on discovering WHAT is right, regardless of who is.

Here is the amazing thing: if one person refuses to take the "argue who is right" path, and turns the interaction toward discussing what is right, the other person usually follows suit. The challenge, the accusation of being "wrong" is gone. Instead, both sides are focused on the same goal, and both gain from the transaction.

I know I am rambling on this point, but I have one more thought. Sometimes, that obsession with who is right takes on another form. At times, kids just fear being the one who is wrong. Instead of arguing they are right, they allow themselves to settle back, to withdraw. Nothing ventured, nothing lost is how they seem to see many situations. They may come off as obstinate, standoffish, or disengaged, but maybe it is less about being any of those things and more about just not being wrong. I have seen it in athletes, and breaking through that barrier is often the most important gain they can make. There is an old saying that a defensive back has to have a short memory because every single one of them is going to get burned at some point. The great ones know how to learn from the experience, file away what will help them next time, and then forget about the fact that they were burned. In other words, fail, learn from it, and improve.

The way I see it, our goal as teachers should be to make every kid we work with a great defensive back in whatever arena they perform. We want each one to risk failure and go for the big play, intellectually, athletically, academically, or creatively. Making the wrong read is not the issue, especially in practice. Getting "burned" and bouncing back to make big plays is so much better than having a kid remain on the bench simply to avoid the possibility of giving up a first down.

And being wrong does not mean I am a failure. Failing to grow from it just because I have to be seen as right? That would be true failure.

And the kids, all of them, deserve better.

These Damaged Petals

Over the last week, we have been diving into poetry in my Honors Sophomore English classes. Not so much the technical aspects such as rhyme and meter, but the imagery, the emotion, the ideas that poetry can and should convey. It is one of my favorite units, and each year, some of the kids amaze me. This year is not disappointing me.

We recently took a look at the imagery of Shane Koyczan's "To This Day". I asked my students to identify some of the images that they found particularly powerful or which might connect to them personally. They then wrote reactions to those images. The reactions could be academic or they could be purely visceral. After all, poetry can create those varied responses, and they are all legitimate. Some of my kids responses, in all honesty, floored me. They were personal, they were open, and some of them were raw. Many of them added to the view I already hold of some of these young people: they are strong and amazing, and they do and will make this world a better place.

Another activity in our class is writing a response poem. The students locate a "classic" poem that they connect with, something that speaks to them. They then take the imagery, symbolism, or theme of that poem and write a response, an original piece that presents their voice or view on the idea. We look at pieces presented as part of the "Get Lit Classic Slam", partly because there are some incredible pieces created by high school students as part of that program. The poets are not dusty and dead; they are living and breathing and often look just like my kids.

As part of the process, I try to write with my kids. If I am going to ask them to bleed on the page, it is only right that I do the same. Sometimes, I fail miserably. Sometimes, I do ok. So, yesterday, I was scrolling through our poetry booklet online, looking for a poem to use as my classic poem. I love Frost, and thought I might use "Out, out..." or "Nothing Gold Can Stay."  Then I hit a title that, at the time, screamed at me. "The Rose That Grew from Concrete". The piece is actually part of an interview with Tupac Shakur. Tupac is more famous as a rapper, but he was a poet in his own right. His words were later used in a voiceover of a Powerade commercial. Poetry is everywhere.

I listened to the words of Shakur, and as I heard and read them, the responses I had read from my students came to mind. Our kids are just that: kids. They are YOUNG people. Yes, they are growing up, and yes, we must help prepare them for the future. But part of preparing them is remembering that they are learning as they go. And they stumble, and they fall. Sometimes, they fall hard, and it is sometimes not of their doing. And even if it is of their doing, isn't part of our role to help them grow past that fall? For some of our kids, school is the safest place in their world. Perhaps, the only safe place. We cannot steal that from them; we have to capitalize on it and help them grow beyond whatever it is that is dragging them down. And the scary part about that is that we never know exactly who needs a ray of hope that day, or for what reason.  That nod in the hallway, the softly asked question, the @ on Twitter, or the pat on the back might be so much more than just that little gesture. It may be the glimpse of sunshine that helps turn around a day. Every one of our kids deserves a chance to grow, and so many of them do. They take what tries to knock them down, they stomp it into submission, and then they use it as a stepping stone to something better. Sometimes, they just need a little boost to help them get up.

So, as the year moves toward a close and we zero in our focus on graduation, grading, and finals, we need to remind ourselves of why we are there in the first place. We are there for the kids.  We should celebrate them as they grow.

Classic/Inspiration

From “The Rose That Grew from Concrete”

By Tupac Shakur

You see,

You wouldn’t ask why the rose that grew from concrete had damaged petals.

On the contrary,

We would all celebrate its tenacity,

We would all love its will to reach the sun.

Well,

We are the roses.

This the concrete.

These are my damaged petals.

Don’t ask me “why?”

Ask me “how?”

Response

“These Damaged Petals”

By Jason Kohls (2017)

Petals that cling desperately,

As if fluttering to earth was a spiralling into hell,

Turn brown around the edges,

Lose their crimson hue,

And their delicate grasp,

Making that descent to the dirt that lay beneath.

But it is not into the flames of torment that the petals

Fall.

Not toward the searing pain of death,

But, in reality,

Quite the opposite.

As the drying petal falls,

It leaves behind a scarlet blossom,

Beautiful and delicate,

One whose fragrance still dances on the night breeze,

For it is only as the rose sheds it damaged petals,

Letting them flutter to the earth from which it grows,

Can the flower’s beauty

Turn itself to the sun,

As the petals, preserved in their dried state,

Remain about the rosebush,

Blanketing the dust in elegance,

A part of the past,

That leads to continual future.

In a Little Different Direction.

On different days over the last week or so, I was blessed by one of the most valued experiences a teacher has. Well,  one that is incredibly rewarding for me anyway. That experience is simple and "everyday", and yet, so cool. It is when a former student sticks his or her head in the door and smiles or strides across the gym toward you just to say, "Hello!" With college spring break last week and BHS still in session, I was blessed to experience just that.

That is not really what this post is about, however. Instead, it is about blogging, and to a lesser degree, Twitter. Last Friday, Lacy Pitts, yes, the one and only Lacy Pitts, stuck her head into my room and smiled, then laughed, because that is what Lacy Pitts does. I was talking about The Great Gatsby with another student at the time, and Lacy snagged a seat and jumped right in. Lacy could always talk about literature and writing. The fact that she is now at KSU and beginning her journey toward becoming a mover and shaker in Ag policy has not changed that. Over the next hour or so, we just talked. I gave her a hard time for being a sorority girl. She criticized me and the rest of the ELA department for not implementing flexible seating and our new ELA Jr/Sr curriculum while she was at BHS. She recommended Lincoln and the Bardo and Quiet: The Power of Being an Introvert and she talked about what makes each one worth reading. Lacy raved about specific singer-songwriters that I need to add to my ITunes playlist and include in our literary discussions in class. We talked about other BHS students who have made the trek to Manhattan and the frustration of GTAs instructing classes, as well as her job and studies, which take her to Topeka once a week. It was a great time, for me anyway.

Then Lacy called me out.

When Lacy was in high school, she had started blogging, and that was the trigger I needed to get myself into the practice. I had thought about it for some time at that point, but I had not actually jumped in. With this HS junior turning out thoughtful posts on a regular basis, I had no excuse not to start writing. If Lacy blogged and I had not done so for a period of time, I felt obligated to focus and put digital pen to electronic paper. I returned the favor and called her out from time to time. And maybe that is why Lacy felt she could confidently call me out last Friday.

It started with Lacy admitting that she need to blog. I told her I aimed for once a month, sometimes more. Then she hit with this:

"Coach Kohls, you need to blog more for your kids. Remember why you started blogging and who was your audience. They need to see you as that creative person, who does the things you are asking them to do."

Lacy went on to remind me that she had called me out for the same thing on Twitter a while back. "It's a way for kids to see you on a different level. It's important."

Over the last three years or so, I have shifted what I write on my blog and what I post on Twitter. Previously my blogging was pretty much all over the place, and it included creative writing, personal posts, musings about my son and daughter, and ramblings about what was happening in my classroom. I have since moved into writing nearly exclusively about education, fellow teachers, my classroom, and my students. I follow a lot more educators and learn from them through Twitter on a daily basis. I still Tweet primarily about my school kids and celebrate their awesomeness. My feed is also loaded with responses to Twitterchat questions that focus on education and conversations with fellow teachers about classroom ideas.

Both platforms have become incredibly important for me as a teacher and allow me to grow each and every day. Sometimes I blog to share what we are doing in our classroom, and sometimes I write to think through thoughts that I am struggling to wrap my head around. My Twitter life has connected me with teachers not just from #313teach and across Kansas, but also from Philadelphia, Boston, Little Rock, and Minneapolis. We have been able to connect with poets and writers from across the country and around the world. Twitter has changed how I learn and how I share the stories from within our halls and classrooms.

However, Lacy made me think. Was I missing an opportunity to connect with my kids at that level that Lacy was talking about, a connection I was making in the past and now need to establish again? I still connect with kid sn Twitter and "Are you going to Tweet that?" and "Hey, Mr. Kohls, you better like my Tweet" are common refrains in Room 202. However,  I haven't written posted anything creative on my blog in a while. How can I push my kids to post on Crusader Chronicles, the BHS creative blog, if I am not putting creative work out there?  I told Lacy that maybe I needed to start another blog that was focused just on my creative writing and less "teachery" ideas. That way I would not lose what I have with my more professional blog while putting out there what I once put into Ramblings.

So, I am going to do just that. Leave it to Lacy Pitts to make me add one more thing to my plate. Lacy reminded me that when she was at BHS, I had been working on a serial novel that I used to post on my blog, but I had not put out anything new on that in a long time. She was right. So, I am kicking off Rambling in a Little Different Direction. with an unfinished piece of goofy little fiction that is just meant to be fun. I doubt very many people will read it, which is fine, but I better get at least one hit on that page.

I'm calling you out Lacy.

Battling 'Just Tell Me What to Do'.

I was caught completely off guard this week during pre-enrollment by a student comment: "Why can't we just have Junior English? Just tell me what to take. I'm not going to like it anyway." 

The student hit me, hard. At first, I didn't understand how he could say such a thing, and my initial reaction was frustration. We had made a fairly major shift within the ELA department, eliminating on-level Junior and Senior English from the curriculum and replacing them with high interest and high relevance semester class offerings.  We had spent a great deal of time crafting the change, drawing on ideas from the past and dreaming big for the future, focusing and refocusing our purpose, and drawing on student input to help develop the curriculum. It wa a team effort, and the administration and BOE had been extremely supportive, asking the important questions and expressive the appropriate concerns which revolved around one principle: What is best for our kids? We had polled students about what courses they felt they would gain the most from, and we had drawn from research students had done regarding what should be done to improve education. Our semester courses now include Passion Pursuits, a research and writing class that allows students to research a passion they hold and then use that research to do something bigger. That had been a part of our Senior English curriculum for some time, and we did not want to lose it; in fact we want to expand it. That semester is required during the junior or senior year. We now offer War Literature, Pop Culture Literature, Media Criticism and Review, Gothic Lit and Fantasy Fiction, Creative Writing, Heroes and Mythology, and Technical Writing and Lifelong Reading. Dual credit classes are now a part of the course offerings. Our seniors are a little upset with us because they wish we had made the change earlier. Graduates have emailed or tweeted us about how much they wish they could have been a part of this change. 

And here is a student complaining that he wishes he didn't have to choose what was interesting to him and could just be told what to do. 

I lamented the comment and my frustration in the hallway. Hallway collaboration is a key part of my personal development as a teacher. Our hallway is populated with amazing people with incredible minds, and I try to tap into that wealth as much as possible. Later, one of those teachers Voxed me about the conversation we had. We do that a lot, and our collective minds usually lead to something positive.

Many of our kids, much like many of our teachers, have been trained to do what they are told. Student voice and student choice require them to take ownership of their learning. It is not that they do not care or do not want to be active in their learning; some of them just do not know how to do that because they have never been given that power.  We encourage our gifted students to "enrich their learning", but the majority of our students have been driven to, basically, just get as many answers right as possible. Pass the test and do what will earn the points to get a passing grade. That is what they have learned to do. And the truly bothers me. Here is an opportunity for  each student to decide how he or she wants to improve as a writer, a reader as a learner, to select what is most interesting and relevant to him. And he was complaining. 

After thinking about it and discussing it, I came to realize that he was not really complaining about the choices and options: he was complaining about how he had been taught to approach his education for 11 years. School was something that had been done to him.  Now the rules were changing, and it was making him uncomfortable. As we have tried more and more to involve our students in owning their learning in our individual classrooms through PBL, inquiry, and more, we have seen it before. When we have tried to guide students to initiate, extend, enrich, and demonstrate their learning, some students immediately want to be told what to do. The freedom and uncertainty can be scary. "How much do I have to do to pass/get an A?" is a common query, especially from honors students. The grade has always been the goal, the prize, and we have ingrained that into their thinking. It has been our fault, and it is our responsibility to shift the thinking back to learning, back to thinking. We need to recapture the excitement we see in our elementary kids. Some students are hungry for that, and they are feasting in our classrooms and in our building. As they do, they ask less and less often about grades, and they take more and more risks in their learning. Others are less comfortable, not because they are being obstinate or do not want to learn, but because they honestly understand their learning, their education, in such a way that makes owning their learning somehow wrong, or at least unexpected. As with every lesson, we have to demonstrate how this is relevant, how it will benefit not just all of our students, but each student as an individual. 

In other words, I need to be a teacher. I need to facilitate each kids' learning, even if it is learning about owning his own learning. If I can do that, then we all learn more. And we all win.

I Have a Right to Be Frustrated.

I have a fairly strong memory, especially for conversation and events. Sometimes, that is a true blessing. Sometimes, it can drive me nuts. Sometimes, it can do both.

One Sunday afternoon during football coaches' meetings one recent fall, we discussed how poorly a group was playing. It may have been offensive linemen taking the wrong steps, defensive backs not making reads, or linebackers continually going under blocks. That does not really matter. What matters is that they just kept doing "it" wrong. They did not seem to get it. Darn kids!

I remember what Coach Warner said as we broke up the meeting to prepare as offensive and defensive staffs for the next week. "If they are not doing it right, then that is our fault. They're kids. We're coaches. It's our job to coach them up."

Today, I was incredibly frustrated with one of my classes. They just are not getting it. They are not responding to what we are doing in class the way I want them to react. Don't get me wrong: some of them are rocking it. They are rolling with what we are doing, they are learning the process, and they are learn from the process. But the others? They are not. They will not write for this project. When they do, they are not taking what we have learned and applying it. They keep asking the same questions, and they keep making the same mistakes. And I am getting frustrated!

And I deserve to feel frustrated. I truly do. I have that right. I should be frustrated. WITH MYSELF.

All I wanted to do was grind my teeth and wallow in self-pity. But no. For whatever reason, our coaches' meeting discussion popped into my mind tonight. "It's our job to coach them up." Well, shoot. If they are not getting it, that is my fault.

Here is the amazing thing. As soon as I thought about it, ideas started to turn over in my mind. Within five minutes, instead of a clinched jaw and simmering frustration, I had ideas of what I can do as we move forward. Some are ideas I have been holding on to, some are great ones that I have stolen, and one might actually be new, or new to me anyway. All of them are positive and can move us in the right direction. They can help us all learn.

And that, my friends, is win.

Hey, Coach! Let's go to EdCamp!

Monday, USD 313 Buhler will host EdCamp313. I was fortunate to be a part of the planning for the event, and I am truly excited for what is to come. I attended my first EdCamps last summer. I was a part of nEdCamp, in Hesston, Kansas which takes the EdCamp idea and focuses it on literacy and reading, and enjoyed EdCampICT in Andover, Kansas. (By the way, nErdCamp just opened registration for June 2017. If you live in Kansas or will be in the Midwest, you really need to check it out. It has had a massive effect on my classroom and mindset).

EdCamp is a national program that tabs itself as an "unconference". In essence, instead of teachers sitting in a room listening to a presenter speak for 45 minutes to an hour and then, maybe, taking questions for a few minutes, educators identify topics that they want to learn more about or collaborate on, and then do just that. The educators lead the discussion, and teachers share their expertise or questions. It is organic, it is collaborative, and it is rewarding.

We had a great group of educators who helped plan for the event. The response from the district and the area has been amazing. Despite this, as we near EdCamp313, many teachers are anxious. The concept is a little different from traditional Professional Development, so that is understandable. However, as the concept becomes clearer, the ideas are beginning to flow. Some are ideas that relate to some of those "forgotten groups" on PD days. In the traditional model, those ideas that popped to mind on Saturday before the Monday PD might have been met with the following response:  "That is a great idea. I wish we had thought of that before we set the schedule. We will make a note of it for next time." Yesterday, as those new ideas started to flow, the response was "Sweet! I can see that being a great session!" Put yourself in your students' shoes. If a student came up in class and said he had a unique view on Poe's use of color in "The Masque of Red Death", and I replied, "Hold on to that thought. I will talk about it with my classes next year. I already have my plans written for this unit," I would lose that student for the day, and probably for the year.

I consider myself a blessed teacher, for many reasons. One blessing I have is that I not only work with students in the upstairs south hallway at BHS, but also in the weightroom, on the track, and on the football field. I have amazing colleagues in every one of my classrooms. Coaches, honestly, have been doing EdCamps for a long time. When coaches go to coaching clinics, they will listen to terrific speakers, and usually take notes and ask questions. However, the real growth occurs in the hotel lobbies, at the restaurant, and in the rooms after the sessions officially end. Napkins, table clothes, and mirrors become learning tools and dry erase markers scribble secrets and innovations that change the outcomes of games the next season or drive workout in the off-season. Coaches will listen to a "big-timer" speak, and two hours later, that same coach is sitting in a hotel room listening to his audience members point out flaws or tweak his ideas to be even better. A group of six or seven coaches will meet up by accident in the lobby and "skip the next session" because they are hashing out how to adjust to no-back set motion because one of them beat a common opponent the year before.

EdCamp basically says, quit feeling as if you are "skipping a session"; those meaningful discussions actually should be the sessions themselves. Don't feel bad about it. Do it more often. Think of it as hallway collaboration with your most talented colleagues, but the hallway is much, much larger. Oh, and by the way, while you are at it, get the emails or cell numbers for those guys you sat around the table with, and check out how their teams do next season.  Call them, tweet tweet @ them, or email them with congratulations and questions. Keep picking their brains.

Keep growing.

That is what EdCamp313 will be about tomorrow. Growing, building connections, collaborating, and improving.

And that is exciting.