I was doing some research today on teaching kids questioning skills. I confess that I did not find the perfect resource, for there's quite the hodge-podge of references out there that will give an interested party a bunch of information on that topic. Also, the more I searched, the later in the day it became, and the more my thoughts got all meta-cognitive on me.
Can you really teach questioning strategies? I wondered. Don't authentic questions come from within?
Most of the websites I found were directed at teachers, but some seemed to have "business managers" as their main audience. That made me laugh a little. I free-associated to Steve Carell and The Office, and I imagined Michael using some of the "higher order questioning prompts inappropriately, as he would. For example: Synthesis-- "What would happen if you combined...?" (Regular viewers, you know you can fill in the blank.)
To be honest, that scenario wasn't much of a stretch, because I'd heard my own students asking ridiculous questions out of context last spring when the gifted contact teacher was in our room. She brought along a class set of flip-charts that had a series of question-starters based on Bloom's taxonomy. We directed the kids to use them to prepare for their weekly small-group literature discussion. How silly and stilted some of their conversations seemed, yet I kept listening for the break-through that would move the whole group to a higher intellectual order.
By June, I gave up, but I thought that if I started earlier this year, I might have more success. That was until today, when I questioned my questioning instruction, and I'm sorry to say that I haven't found any definitive answers (no worries: we all know that good questions don't have those), but I will continue this line of inquiry and report back, mostly because I really want to know.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Focus
So, the kids in my class were working on their writing sample, and a little girl raised her hand. I went over to her seat. "Yes?" I whispered.
"I'm having a lot of trouble with this writing prompt," she told me, shaking her head.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I only write animal fiction," she said with dismay.
I'm pretty sure I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow. "Animal fiction? That's a pretty narrow genre," I said. "Are you any good?"
"Oh yeah," she assured me, "I'm good."
"Well," I shrugged, "I think if you can write animal fiction, you can write anything, right?" We made eye contact, and I continued. "So, go ahead-- give this one a shot."
She sighed, but she set her pencil to the page, and soon she found her way into a response, no talking animals involved.
"I'm having a lot of trouble with this writing prompt," she told me, shaking her head.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I only write animal fiction," she said with dismay.
I'm pretty sure I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow. "Animal fiction? That's a pretty narrow genre," I said. "Are you any good?"
"Oh yeah," she assured me, "I'm good."
"Well," I shrugged, "I think if you can write animal fiction, you can write anything, right?" We made eye contact, and I continued. "So, go ahead-- give this one a shot."
She sighed, but she set her pencil to the page, and soon she found her way into a response, no talking animals involved.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Ready or Not
Yesterday we were planning to have a congratulations-you-survived-the-first-week-of-middle-school-! picnic for all the sixth graders. It was really only going to take about an hour and a half, time during which the kids could socialize with us and each other, have a hot dog and a bag of chips, and go home happy. At first we planned to have short classes in the morning to accommodate the schedule swing, but then we decided to use that time for the writing sample instead of disrupting instruction again later in the month.
Earlier in the week, the weather looked a little iffy, and our plan for rain was to postpone and reschedule, expanding the short classes to full ones. By the time we switched to the writing sample activity, the weather forecast looked good, so we didn't have a rain contingency. Sure enough, "an area of low pressure stalled just off the coast," and yesterday dawned dreary and damp. At 7:30 am, I was urgently conferring in the hallway with not just my team teachers, but the leader of the other sixth grade team, too.
The picnic was out; even if the downpour stopped, the grounds would be drenched. What to do? I was in favor of going to a regular schedule, but there were enough teachers who objected, on the grounds that they weren't prepared to teach, to make that unfeasible. In the end, we did the writing sample, and we used the block of time after lunch to do some homeroom activities, things we would have done anyway. It was fine, but not ideal.
As team leader, I should have asked everyone to be prepared to teach in the event of rain. It was my mistake not to do that. I was a little surprised, though, at the whole notion of feeling unprepared to teach. Later that afternoon, when we were planning for next week over the phone, the teacher friend with whom I collaborate expressed some skepticism, as well, until we laughingly agreed that the two of us are probably never really ready to teach. It's impossible in a student-centered, workshop-organized language arts class to know exactly what will happen; you have to think on your feet.
"Hey," I said, "if you're never ready, then you're always ready, right?"
Rrriiiiight
Earlier in the week, the weather looked a little iffy, and our plan for rain was to postpone and reschedule, expanding the short classes to full ones. By the time we switched to the writing sample activity, the weather forecast looked good, so we didn't have a rain contingency. Sure enough, "an area of low pressure stalled just off the coast," and yesterday dawned dreary and damp. At 7:30 am, I was urgently conferring in the hallway with not just my team teachers, but the leader of the other sixth grade team, too.
The picnic was out; even if the downpour stopped, the grounds would be drenched. What to do? I was in favor of going to a regular schedule, but there were enough teachers who objected, on the grounds that they weren't prepared to teach, to make that unfeasible. In the end, we did the writing sample, and we used the block of time after lunch to do some homeroom activities, things we would have done anyway. It was fine, but not ideal.
As team leader, I should have asked everyone to be prepared to teach in the event of rain. It was my mistake not to do that. I was a little surprised, though, at the whole notion of feeling unprepared to teach. Later that afternoon, when we were planning for next week over the phone, the teacher friend with whom I collaborate expressed some skepticism, as well, until we laughingly agreed that the two of us are probably never really ready to teach. It's impossible in a student-centered, workshop-organized language arts class to know exactly what will happen; you have to think on your feet.
"Hey," I said, "if you're never ready, then you're always ready, right?"
Rrriiiiight
Friday, September 11, 2009
RSVP
We gave the students a writing prompt today to get a baseline of their writing skills. Their pieces will be scored holistically by the whole staff using the state rubric. We'll give them another prompt in early June to measure their progress for the year.
The topic for today was: Your principal wants to invite a celebrity speaker to your school. Think about the celebrity you would choose to speak; then write a letter to persuade your principal to invite this person. Be sure to include convincing reasons and details to support your choice.
Here's who the kids picked:
President Obama
Michelle Obama
Selena Gomez
Raven Simone
Michael Phelps
Ryan Zimmerman
Jon Lester
Pitbull
Jack Black
Ryan Seacrest
Demi Lovato
Michael Jackson
Slash
Bono
Gerard Butler
Christopher Paolini
Stephanie Meyer
Gail Carson Levine
Rick Riordan
T.O.
T.I.
Taylor Swift
Adam Lambert
Adam Sandler
George Washington
Thomas Edison
Eleanor Roosevelt
Hillary Clinton
Jane Goodall
Gandhi
Al Gore
Alicia Keyes
Andrew Zimmern
Joe Jonas
Ashley Tisdale
Fergie
Weird Al
Kristina DeBarge
The topic for today was: Your principal wants to invite a celebrity speaker to your school. Think about the celebrity you would choose to speak; then write a letter to persuade your principal to invite this person. Be sure to include convincing reasons and details to support your choice.
Here's who the kids picked:
President Obama
Michelle Obama
Selena Gomez
Raven Simone
Michael Phelps
Ryan Zimmerman
Jon Lester
Pitbull
Jack Black
Ryan Seacrest
Demi Lovato
Michael Jackson
Slash
Bono
Gerard Butler
Christopher Paolini
Stephanie Meyer
Gail Carson Levine
Rick Riordan
T.O.
T.I.
Taylor Swift
Adam Lambert
Adam Sandler
George Washington
Thomas Edison
Eleanor Roosevelt
Hillary Clinton
Jane Goodall
Gandhi
Al Gore
Alicia Keyes
Andrew Zimmern
Joe Jonas
Ashley Tisdale
Fergie
Weird Al
Kristina DeBarge
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Leave Them Kids Alone
When you teach the same lesson five times in a row, it's bound to evolve, and there's nothing wrong with that; although sometimes I feel a little guilty that my first period class is the perennial trial run. That happened today.
We read our first common text of the year. Because my students select their reading for English themselves, we start most classes by reading a very short text together, usually a poem. I use the approach that Nancie Atwell describes in her book, Naming the World: A Year of Poems and Lessons. Like Atwell, I have found that almost any writing lesson can be illustrated with a poem.
If I err in planning and executing these bite-sized literature lessons, it is in the amount of participation I allow myself in the discussion. I am well-credentialed and opinionated when it comes to literature, and sometimes it just seems like it would be easier and faster if I tell the students what they should get out of the text, especially if they are quiet or tentative. I know that's not so, and I'm always happy when I get concrete proof, like I did today.
I asked the first group to box the verbs and highlight something they noticed about the text, and I had a question prepared to extend the conversation. The kids started slow and sleepy, understandably so-- it was early, and they've only known me and each other for two days. We had a decent discussion, though, and at the end of the lesson I asked them, as I always do, to rate the poem on a scale of 1-10 and tell us what they gave it and why. First period gave it solid sevens with a few outliers-- not such a ringing endorsement.
The verb activity wasn't going the way I wanted it to, so I dropped it for the next class, and asked them to do the highlighting and prepare their answer to my question in advance. Again, 7-8 rating for the poem. For the next class, I asked them to highlight two things and write a question for the group themselves. Big improvement, the quality of the conversation was a lot higher: I was much less involved in extending and re-directing the comments; they made great connections between the text and other texts and their own experiences; they proposed interpretations to each other and worked them through.
All of my classes are heterogeneously grouped, so it wasn't the ability of the kids. The same thing happened in the next classes. AND, all three groups rated the poem consistently higher than the first two. One student actually said, "At first I didn't think much of it, but after we figured it all out, I really liked it," and she held up the page with a big purple 10! written at the top.
We read our first common text of the year. Because my students select their reading for English themselves, we start most classes by reading a very short text together, usually a poem. I use the approach that Nancie Atwell describes in her book, Naming the World: A Year of Poems and Lessons. Like Atwell, I have found that almost any writing lesson can be illustrated with a poem.
If I err in planning and executing these bite-sized literature lessons, it is in the amount of participation I allow myself in the discussion. I am well-credentialed and opinionated when it comes to literature, and sometimes it just seems like it would be easier and faster if I tell the students what they should get out of the text, especially if they are quiet or tentative. I know that's not so, and I'm always happy when I get concrete proof, like I did today.
I asked the first group to box the verbs and highlight something they noticed about the text, and I had a question prepared to extend the conversation. The kids started slow and sleepy, understandably so-- it was early, and they've only known me and each other for two days. We had a decent discussion, though, and at the end of the lesson I asked them, as I always do, to rate the poem on a scale of 1-10 and tell us what they gave it and why. First period gave it solid sevens with a few outliers-- not such a ringing endorsement.
The verb activity wasn't going the way I wanted it to, so I dropped it for the next class, and asked them to do the highlighting and prepare their answer to my question in advance. Again, 7-8 rating for the poem. For the next class, I asked them to highlight two things and write a question for the group themselves. Big improvement, the quality of the conversation was a lot higher: I was much less involved in extending and re-directing the comments; they made great connections between the text and other texts and their own experiences; they proposed interpretations to each other and worked them through.
All of my classes are heterogeneously grouped, so it wasn't the ability of the kids. The same thing happened in the next classes. AND, all three groups rated the poem consistently higher than the first two. One student actually said, "At first I didn't think much of it, but after we figured it all out, I really liked it," and she held up the page with a big purple 10! written at the top.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Reading Requirements
Today I introduced the weekly reading log to my students. This document has been a staple of my English class since day one, September 7, 1993. I have required my students to read at least one hundred pages from a book (or books) of their choice 5 out of 7 nights a week from September until June for the last sixteen years. (Wow-- you know that's got to be way over a million pages.)
Back when I started, I knew I wanted them to read because reading is a skill that improves with practice, but if I thought of myself as a coach, I was definitely in the drill-Sargent-inspired, you-WILL-read category, and woe to those students who crossed me, mm mm mm. And woe to me, too, as it turned out, because some of those kids gave me a run for the money. Imagine not appreciating being forced to read.
These days, I'm a kinder, gentler literacy coach, and honest conversation is my motivator of choice. I told one class today that if they weren't reading, I wouldn't yell at them, but we would definitely have to have a conversation about it. "I'm going to ask you some questions, figure out what's going on, recommend some books, help get you back on track," I said.
"Yeah," I heard one boy whisper to another. "I think I'll just go ahead and read."
Back when I started, I knew I wanted them to read because reading is a skill that improves with practice, but if I thought of myself as a coach, I was definitely in the drill-Sargent-inspired, you-WILL-read category, and woe to those students who crossed me, mm mm mm. And woe to me, too, as it turned out, because some of those kids gave me a run for the money. Imagine not appreciating being forced to read.
These days, I'm a kinder, gentler literacy coach, and honest conversation is my motivator of choice. I told one class today that if they weren't reading, I wouldn't yell at them, but we would definitely have to have a conversation about it. "I'm going to ask you some questions, figure out what's going on, recommend some books, help get you back on track," I said.
"Yeah," I heard one boy whisper to another. "I think I'll just go ahead and read."
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Telling Tales Out of School
My first day of school went pretty well; we have some nice sixth graders, and I don't have any complaints. Teachers do talk though, and I submit the following for your consideration:
The teacher who spent the whole first day telling the students about himself, complete with family photos and a quiz at the end.
The teacher who showed every class the wrong way to enter his room, slamming his door at least ten times.
The teacher who asked students to share an anecdote from their summer, and when they finished, called on the kids who didn't raise their hands and made them contribute, but, unbeknown to the students, only gave participation points to the ones who volunteered.
The teacher who felt her intensified class is over-crowded and so intends to lay on the work load to see who "should" be there.
The teacher who lectured on rules and procedures the whole first day, promising at the end of each class that it wasn't going to be like that every day.
The two teachers, one a specialist and the other a special ed teacher, who kicked two special education students and a general ed kid out of a class of 15 the first period of the day.
Oh my.
The teacher who spent the whole first day telling the students about himself, complete with family photos and a quiz at the end.
The teacher who showed every class the wrong way to enter his room, slamming his door at least ten times.
The teacher who asked students to share an anecdote from their summer, and when they finished, called on the kids who didn't raise their hands and made them contribute, but, unbeknown to the students, only gave participation points to the ones who volunteered.
The teacher who felt her intensified class is over-crowded and so intends to lay on the work load to see who "should" be there.
The teacher who lectured on rules and procedures the whole first day, promising at the end of each class that it wasn't going to be like that every day.
The two teachers, one a specialist and the other a special ed teacher, who kicked two special education students and a general ed kid out of a class of 15 the first period of the day.
Oh my.
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