Cycle One: “Why do we have to learn this?”
I hate that question. I think all teachers hate that question. We poke fun at students during staff meetings by “impersonating” their whining, making it at least 50% more nasally.
So, why do we hate this question? Part of it no doubt rests in the nature of the question, in that it is almost never an actual question. It’s usually a sign of mutiny in the ranks, a permitted sign of rebellion (after all, we can’t tell them NOT to ask it). It’s almost never asked in a cheerful tone, full of exuberance at the thought of another lesson with the potential to shape their future. “Why do we have to learn this?” is pretty much the more appropriate version of, “Do I have to?” It’s a stall tactic.
Or perhaps we hate it because we don’t know how to answer it. Heck, I don’t know how to answer it most of the time. Why do you have to learn how to divide fractions? Beats me. You have to learn it because you’ll need it to do harder math, which you’ll need to prove to colleges that you’re smart enough to get in, even if you don’t want to study math. Also, a select few of you in here may decide to work in a field which requires high level math skills, like an actuary, in which case you still won’t need to divide fractions, but you’ll have to do something much harder than that.
This is generally an unacceptable answer. I usually go with something like, “It’s good for your brain.” Sometimes we’re ace fibbers, sometimes we have thought of the one real life application that we can ride out for all time (do yourself a favor and please read this delightful answer by Dr. Math), sometimes we cleverly change the subject to avoid answering. Because this is usually the cold hard truth: you have to learn it because I have to teach you.
And why, I sometimes wonder as I stare into Evan’s poor doe eyes saying, “I still don’t get this!” do I have to teach this? Why do I have to teach this to Evan? Evan, who still hasn’t figured out what fractions even mean. I have to teach this to Evan because the aforementioned future actuary is in our class and needs to be exposed to this math, and because Evan is going to take a test at the end of the unit and his scores will report on my proficiency as a teacher, and because at the end of the year Evan will take an even bigger test that will be used to report on our proficiency as a school, and because those tests will be used to make decisions about Evan’s educational future… and how can Evan even have a chance at success in any of those outcomes unless I teach him how to divide fractions?!?
But am I teaching him how to divide fractions? Or am I perhaps teaching him that he is not very good at math? Am I teaching him that sometimes even the teacher can’t help? Perhaps I am teaching him grit (love me some Angela Duckworth)! Perhaps I will use this as a lesson in Growth Mindset (this graphic breaks it down)! Alas, I’ll never know what I actually teach him. He may not know what this is teaching him. But if, at the end of the year, he still can’t do most of what’s being asked of him, I think we can gather that something or someone has failed poor Evan. Perhaps it’s the teacher, perhaps it falls on previous teachers for leaving him unprepared, perhaps it’s the school system, perhaps it’s the test-centric climate which does a great job of reminding him he can’t do it, and perhaps it’s the curriculum.
This is not intended to be a down-with-the-public-schools, testing-is-Satan’s-mistress, Math-should-be-illegal, free-the-children-from-their-school-prisons rant. Schools do good. Schools do well, at a lot of things. We have entered a marriage with testing – for better or for worse, it’s probably not going anywhere. Math is fun (for me at least)! Children’s lives are, arguably, far better for their time in school than they were before the existence of public education, and schools are doing more than ever to make school a positive place for schools to be (Quest2Learn is a prime example).
To get to the point: what is curriculum? It’s a lot of things. It’s what we teach, it’s what we learn, it’s that “stuff” which we’ve decided is worthy to make up the collective brainpower of a nation. It’s a powerful mechanism in both free thought and censorship. It’s a lot of things – it’s BIG.
So BIG, I don’t think we know what to do with it. It’s a monstrous thing – the kind that probably keeps some of those scholars up at night. Gosh, what is worthy for our most precious and powerful resource? When we cut something out, what are we doing to our kids? When we pack more in, what happens then? It’s so big, and (frankly) scary, that I think we’ve pulled away from the question. Noddings informed me that we’ve gotten out of the habit of speaking towards our aims – our goals for doing something. This seems pretty silly. But people disagree on aims. They disagree on value. And curriculum involves a whole, whole, whole lot of people who, like the curriculum theorists in Schubert, like to dig in to the disagreements – how are we different? Little differences become a big, big deal.
I know of a school district whom embarked on a venture to be one of the foremost districts in Michigan for implementation of the Common Core. They brought in a national expert and committed significant funds to involving their teachers, at all levels, in “unpacking” the standards. There was a week-long professional development each summer and monthly meetings for each sub-committee (i.e., middle school Math).
It was “a red hot mess” as my aunt would say. They didn’t even live it to fruition. Committees couldn’t agree on language, departments couldn’t agree on much of anything. Everybody dug in their heels. I heard one story of a committee who spent all day on ONE standard. They couldn’t get past it because there were two warring definitions of the verb in the standard. The whole project just died.
When this happens, nobody benefits (except maybe the natural debaters). Nobody really enjoys it (save those drama fanatics). It’s stressful, and tiring, and it feels like a big old waste of time, because it (usually) is. So we stop talking about it. Teachers get manuals handed to them by their district, districts are given directives from the state. We complain, but we don’t do much to buck the system because it’s SO BIG. We find fault, but we carry on, because what can one person really do? Ah! Teachers are in the habit of defying the laws of what one person can conceivably do! We are, indeed, the gatekeepers (fabulous post on the topic).
My school district can’t agree on a spelling curriculum, so we more or less have nothing (this is a point of disagreement – technically we have a list of words, which is “something”). But it only took one year of watching terrible spellers remain terrible for me to realize I was uncomfortable with the status quo. I expanded upon what existed, just as I do for dear Evan who can’t divide fractions.
It’s like wearing a tight pair of jeans: with every wiggle, there’s an initial pinch, but then they stretch out a bit. Even in today’s skinny-jean world and skinny-jean climate of educational reform, we always have a little wiggle room. The best teachers rock it.
Although they also know not to rock skinny jeans at work.
Cycle Two: Grooming the Horse
This is my fifth attempt at this blog post. I have so many ideas and trains of thought going on the subject, I can’t seem to decide the avenue I want to go. I’ve been starting with a consideration of the intended curriculum as it stands in the United States, and that doesn’t seem to be fruitful (read: I keep getting mad), so I’m going to try examining what I think it should be and how it should be created.
I think the intended curriculum in our schools ought to be based around a certain collection of skills and understandings (I liked the structure seen in the social studies curriculum referenced by Tyler). I think the Common Core is on the right track, though not the Holy Grail. There ought to be skills and understandings identified within the major bodies of work that happen within a school: certainly math, science, reading, and writing, but also technology, health, critical thinking… I think there’s a number of things we could add to this list, but I’m trying to stay on topic, so I’ll stop there.
I think these skills and understandings ought to develop out of a consideration of what it means to be a “literate” adult in that particular content area. For example, let’s consider what scientific knowledge or competencies could generally prove useful to an intelligent community member. Right off the bat, I think of an understanding of how the human body works (reproduction, health, disease, immunizations, food choice), some level of knowledge around genetics (GMOs, fertility, heritable diseases), general information about the interconnectedness of the planet and how humans impact their environment (climate change, energy resources, world hunger). There are definitely more, but this is a brief list from a non-expert in the field considering what scientific knowledge has been useful to me in leading a non-science-driven life. Thinking of scientific skills, I can think of being able to weigh evidence and consider the facts, to read like a scientist and spot limitations of work, and applying the scientific method to daily queries. I also think every kid should leave with the understanding that they can’t pour bleach and Windex down the drain at the same time. Again, I’m considering what skills I learned in science classes that have proved beneficial for me as a human who didn’t go in to chemical engineering or human medicine.
That’s not to say I want kids to even have the option to receive such a poor science education that they give up their chance to go into science fields. But I think when we send kids through years and years of science classes where it’s about memorizing the Kreb’s cycle (admit it – you learned it and you have NO IDEA what it is now, science teachers excluded) and mastering stoichiometry, we produce kids with the educational background but no desire to study science for the rest of their lives. I liked science for most of my life until they sucked all the fun out of it; I’ve recently rediscovered my interest. If we need scientists (or mathematicians, or analysts, etc.) we have to groom them, and that means caring for them for the long haul.
I think the development of curriculum should be around learning experiences that will encourage the development of the decided upon skills and understandings. Here, I feel like I’m almost copying Ralph Tyler, because this is basically what he said, but I guess I’m asserting that I agree with him, and also explaining it in about 1/20 the space. Since we are talking about skills and understandings, it makes sense that we can convey the understandings while giving students opportunities to learn and practice the necessary skills. There is a certain amount of back-planning. There is very little scientific knowledge that is absolutely necessary for a third-grader to have in order to function in society. I would argue there is a considerable amount of scientific knowledge that informed citizens need to have intelligent and big-picture perspectives on real-life issues. So, we have to look at what adults need and scale back, thinking: if this is what we need kids to leave with, what do we need to set the stage with before they get to my classroom?
I now think I can rationally address the current state of affairs without having a temper tantrum. I think we’ve put the cart before the horse – in wanting to assess the effectiveness of our schools and curricula, we’ve developed assessments. In needing assessments that test the rigor of our programming, we’ve interpreted rigor as greater amounts of specialized knowledge. What separates the “wheat from the chaff” in our schools is the post-secondary extent to which our young scientists are able to grasp. Thus, when we back-plan our curriculum, instead of thinking about what habits of thought and concepts they need exposure to, we have to think instead about how MUCH they can learn earlier than they used to. It becomes a squishing game. We have to pack in more knowledge earlier so our scientists can learn more extraordinary things that place them even farther out from “real-life” science. I suppose you could argue that this is a good thing, but besides my argument that we’ve sucked the fun out of science, here’s another issue – what happens to all those kids that can’t pass high school chemistry? They write off science: this has nothing to do with real life anyway! They may leave our system without a diploma and be reconciled to a life of jobs that don’t utilize their knowledge and skills and pay them a sub-living wage. Because they couldn’t master stoichiometry?!? That’s nonsense! It’s the same nonsense whether they get hung up on solving systems of equations in Algebra II, or reading Shakespeare in World Literature. “The function of school is not to help students do better in school. The function of school is to help students do better in life,” says Eisner. We have kids “cutting off their nose to spite their face” and resigning themselves to limited possibilities because they can’t grasp specialized information that will, admittedly, play a minimal role in their adult lives.
I have a whole lot more to say, but I feel my blood pressure rising again, so I should wrap up. An ending thought: the questions, “How should a curriculum be created? How should its success be evaluated?” are worthy questions. Worthy of thought and discussion. I think we’ve essentially switched the order though. We’re preoccupied with how success should be evaluated – success of teachers, success of students, success of schools, and yes, success of intended curricula. In doing that, we’ve all been twisted into the position that our “curriculum bus” has assessment in the driver’s seat – the cart before the horse. Instead of developing worthwhile curriculum and then seeing if it works, we develop assessments and prepare kids to take them. It would be a hard paradigm to change – I don’t have all the answers on how we might assess differently – but the way we’re doing things now is, in my opinion, a bit asinine. We’ve stuffed our cart for success full, but we need to go back and take care of the horse.
Cycle Three: Strength in Numbers
Two years ago, about this time of the year, I was attending a week-long training for the Lucy Calkins Units of Writing. Our trainer, Trent, told a story during the first half of the first day about his ailing grandmother. It was on the topic of personal narratives, which are usually written about first times, last times, and/or times a lesson is learned. This was the story of the “last time” he had spoken to his grandmother. He revealed that no one had ever told his grandma that he was gay; they weren’t sure how she’d react (being very old school), and so his partner was always described as a good friend at family events. One day, Trent’s mom called and told him he should call his grandmother, as time was running short. In this last phone call, his grandma said, “I know about you, Trent. I’ve known for a long time. You are loving, and kind, and smart, and don’t let anybody ever tell you otherwise because of who they think you are. I’m proud of you.” I’m certainly not remembering this verbatim, but that was the essence.
It was a moving story, and I remember the room being captured by the tale. He went on to explain that we all have memories that are particularly strong and emotional, and we have to make personal decisions on whether or not we share those, and how much we share. But his point was that these can “sneak up on us,” and sometimes surprise us in our emotional reactions as we recall them for the class.
This is what one of my colleagues took away: “That was a nice story, but I certainly hope he wouldn’t tell it for his class.”
I was immediately annoyed and a touch angry. He had just shared a beautiful story, and he shouldn’t tell it because it involved him being gay? Straight teachers are allowed to talk about their spouses and children and their lives, but gay people have to remain silent on the subject? That story was much more about acceptance, love, and being true to yourself than it was about being gay. I felt and thought all this, but this was my response: “I wouldn’t think he would.”
My sentiment behind that statement was that in the culture we live in, he probably can’t risk sharing the information. That was mostly my sentiment, but if I’m being honest, part of it was not wanting to call this (older and more experienced) colleague on her prejudice. In all of this, I think I’m the problem.
To the question, “Should controversial issues be addressed by the curriculum?” I answer, “There’s no way for them not to be.” The issue is either addressed in the explicit curriculum, in the hidden curriculum, or in the null curriculum. We either talk about, or the absence of our talk about it sends its own message. Should first graders study the transmission of AIDS? No. They shouldn’t study long division either. With all things, there is a consideration of age-appropriateness.
In many ways, we’ve discussed in this class the disconnect between the curriculum and children’s lives outside of school. “Controversial Issues” are another example. Not too long ago, reading children a book about divorce probably would have been considered taboo. Nay-sayers would have asserted that the book could make divorce seem more acceptable to children, potentially leading them to experience it first-hand later in life. The wonderful Flora & Ulysses may have been shut down because of the secondary story line involving the parents’ divorce. Most logical adults today would see these claims as ridiculous. The primary effect of reading young children a book about, for example, a child with divorced parents, would be to assure any children living in similar circumstances that they are not weird or out of the norm. It would be “strength in numbers” for these kids. I’m part of a larger group; it’s not just me. Divorce is part of our norm in society, and I would argue we’ve come to terms with that.
In discussing Trent’s story, or Heather Has Two Mommies, or any tale involving a same-sex couple, the end result would be the same. No child will “turn gay” because of the story line, but those who have a same-sex relationship in their family or circle of friends would come to see that they, too, are part of the norm. Children starting to develop the sense that they’re not quite like their peers would get the message they’re okay, too. Here, again: strength in numbers. According to this article, 87% of Americans know someone who is gay. That means the majority of children today know of a gay neighbor, cousin, sister, uncle, family friend, parent, etc. The curriculum should mirror their everyday life. We read them books with married parents, divorced parents, biracial parents, grandparents-as-parents, and single parents without issue; why should it be revolutionary to read a book involving, or include for study a significant individual that is anything besides heterosexual?
Earlier, I said that “I’m the problem.” I say this because there are some people who believe that talking about things they find undesirable will somehow call them into being as if they don’t already exist. There will always be “some” people like that, but silence is assent (side note: please watch that 4-minute TED talk). When I didn’t say anything back, I implied that I agreed with that colleague. In not addressing issues like this in my classroom, I imply that I agree with those who seek to delegitimize individuals living a non-heterosexual lifestyle (or any other difference). I believe there are more people who think like me, but because we don’t say anything, we don’t force change. We could tip the scales, but we don’t. I know I’m guilty of this, not just in that moment, but because I know I’ve never included a book for read aloud that involved a non-heterosexual character. I’ve never made any point to introduce anything that would question the reign of heteronormativity in my room.
This is an odd note to end on, but a true one, in need of examination: even seeing the importance of at (the very) least, including passing references to issues considered by some to be controversial, I’m afraid I’ll have difficulty acting on that impulse. Often the people at the head of the “other side” (homophobic individuals, for example) are not reasonable people, and they don’t fight reasonably. These are usually the people you hear of in news stories that storm the Superintendent’s office wanting their child’s teacher fired for posting a Facebook photo with a beer in it. They’re the people who run for the state school board in Texas. They’re the people who made like a bunch of feral cats and clawed Heather off a list of RECOMMENDED texts. Parents with that level of ignorance mixed with high emotional reactivity plain scare me. There were 800+ people who applied for the position I got three years ago. I don’t want to lose my job!
But here’s what’s even scarier: if we don’t start encouraging our students to be more open-minded, the next generation is going to parent – and think – just like this one. We have to have strength in numbers. Those who believe in the importance of preparing students to interact with individuals from all walks of life have to band together, because I truly believe they can’t “take out” all of us.
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