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.