Reflections from a Rodent

On a warm, sunny spring afternoon, I gazed out the window, taking a break from my work on the screen before me. The bird feeders hanging in the Lilac tree were unusually quiet. Upon further examination, I saw a rather large chipmunk sitting in one of the feeders. The longer I watched him, the more I started to see how we can gain perspective on professional learning from this guy.


1. Be hungry. This chubby-cheeked little creature reminded me of our teachers who are hungry to learn. He was given a fantastic spread of food, which was available to anyone. Although the seed was intended for my feathered friends, he had chosen to take advantage of my generosity. Similarly, our best teachers are always on the lookout for new learning opportunities so that they can continually grow as professionals. We all need to be professionally "fed," and we all need to use the vast amount of resources available to us.

2.  Know when you're full. I was amazed by how much food the chipmunk had crammed into his mouth. His cheeks looked like they could explode at any moment! Would he really use everything he took with him? There were a variety of seeds in the feeder in addition to some cracked corn. Did each type of food serve a purpose, or was he just taking whatever he could get? As teachers, sometimes we visit workshops or conferences and gain exposure to a variety of strategies and tools; however, how often do we actually use the resources we take away? A concrete plan for implementing these things may make success more likely. If we overeat, that sickly feeling of having too much to do is magnified and complicated by a desire to try new things. The quality of our work tends to suffer when we have too much on our plate. By focusing on one "takeaway" at a time, we can implement our new ideas more effectively.

3. Don't be afraid to stand alone. Not many of the birds were around while the chipmunk sat and stuffed his face. Where were they? The chipmunk didn't appear to be aggressive; I think he probably would have shared his space. Sometimes I think we limit ourselves  due to fear of failure or even disdain from our peers. I have seen innovative teachers feel as if they are alone in their work. Too often they are labeled "Principal's Pet" for maintaining a positive attitude or choosing to be at the forefront of the latest initiative. Student learning should be at the front of our minds when we make any instructional decision, but especially when we are considering ways to improve their educational experience. If you are putting your professional learning to practice in the classroom, you are doing what's best for your kids, regardless of what your peers choose to think or do. It's pointless to starve yourself just because others choose not to eat.

There were a few birds sitting under the chipmunk's feeder, catching anything he happened to drop. This is not unlike the relationship between some teachers; occasionally a few colleagues will observe what the brave are doing and implement some of the ideas. If the leaders aren't paying attention to those around them, this approach may not be beneficial (although it does open the door for other staff members to see that there is no harm in trying out the strategies and tools being offered). With the right implementation, this can evolve into a great collaborative relationship where the leader is able to reflect with peers who are interested in trying new things but don't want to be the pioneers.

The chipmunk soon scurried off, cheeks ballooning with food. I smiled to myself, grateful for this unlikely teacher's lessons: although the quality of our diet is important, we also must consider how we will store and use this nutrition in order to maximize our growth.

Pedaling: My Philosophy

Individuals who have gone through a teacher-prep program probably remember writing a philosophy of education in one of our undergrad courses. I remember polishing mine and putting it in my portfolio, which I distributed to school corporations when I applied for teaching positions. I came across my portfolio when I was cleaning not long ago and decided to take a trip down memory lane, revisiting my student teaching experience and job search.

My portfolio contains a general philosophy of education as well as a philosophy of education as a teacher of English, both of which were written in an educational theory course in my undergrad program. Reading through these, I find that my basic beliefs about the purpose of schooling are mostly intact over a decade later, despite the implementation of myriad policies and practices aimed to "improve" our educational system during that time. One thing that particularly struck me, though, was a section of my English education philosophy that addresses technology growth. The statement reads, "Even in an age of technology where we progress in leaps and bounds, there is not a spelling and grammar check on most job applications or pre-employment tests; everyone must use at least basic English skills at some time in his or her life."

I clearly do not have psychic powers and had no way of knowing just how much technology would change society. Many job applications and pre-employment tests are online now. Although they don't always have spell check, a resourceful person could certainly use Google or a smart phone to look up the correct spelling, if needed. Now I am faced with questions educators everywhere need to consider: Are all of the skills and content knowledge I once considered vital still applicable? Has technology altered my perspective of the fundamental aspects of education?

Forgive me for the following cheesy metaphor, but it defines my philosophy well. In my opinion, education serves as the “training wheels” for the bike ride of life. Students must be the ones “sitting in the seat” in order for the education to be effective. If we, as teachers, are always holding the handle bars, students will become dependent on us; when the training wheels come off, and our pupils are in the real world, they will fail if someone is not there to hold their hand. Instead, teachers should guide students as they develop the skills and confidence they need to be successful when independent. As we raise the training wheels and work toward independence, we must provide strategies and encourage students to problem solve ways they can overcome obstacles that prevent them from reaching their goals. BALANCE

Technology makes the learning process more powerful; instead of having one “coach,” students have access to a huge number of resources. Through the power of technology, students can find help that is suited to their individual interests, learning style, and ability level. In the traditional, teacher-centered classroom, learners are limited to whatever their instructor knows or is willing to share. With technology, students can hear about bike riding first-hand from Lance Armstrong. They can watch the process of riding in slow motion or hear it explained in many ways by many people. They can learn about bikes in different cultures around the world and even talk to people in other countries, perhaps to get pointers about how kids learn to ride there. Students can learn the mechanics of how the bike works and even watch someone dismantle, repair, or rebuild a variety of models, maybe even their own.

Perhaps the most important part of the whole thing is that the skills become ingrained. Just as people say that once you learn to ride a bike, you never forget, once students learn the skills necessary to be independent learners, they will use them for life. If they take risks, they will inevitably fall off at some point, but those failures are an unparalleled opportunity for growth.

Effective education means an engaging environment where adults and children interchangeably play the roles of students and teachers. There is a focus on learning how to learn and developing critical thinking and problem solving skills. Students ask questions and use technology to access resources from around the world in pursuit of their answers. Choice is abundant in the student learning process, and there is an atmosphere of risk-taking and growth present in the classroom. The climate emphasizes encountering new material and learning, not earning a certain grade. Student time is valued by using pre-assessments to gauge previous knowledge and honoring the mastery of those skills so that there is no need to spend time “practicing” skills for which they already have demonstrated proficiency. Technology must serve as a natural, fluid part of the educational process. Collaboration occurs, both within the school walls and within the local and global communities. These are things I think I have always believed, but it took me about eight years to embrace and employ this philosophy. Like many, I was afraid of losing control, looking incompetent, or having a wild and chaos-filled classroom. Once I was willing to give up my role as the knowledge keeper and became comfortable saying, “I don’t know,” teaching was even more fulfilling. The students owned their education, which made the learning victories so rewarding for them.

In short, I think my philosophy regarding the role of a classroom teacher has changed, and my belief in the need for differentiation and technology has become a more important part of my vision for a 21st century classroom. When we move out of the captain’s seat on our tandem bicycle of education, we give students the power to steer instead of having them sit and pedal blindly. Standing beside the bike, we can see how the journey makes students stronger and allows them to take directions that will lead them to a life without training wheels.

It was like "Ba-Bomb"!

I am an introvert by nature; when given the option, I prefer to be by myself and mind my own business. For this reason, I am always surprised when kids and babies choose me as the source of their entertainment.

I was sitting in the allergist’s waiting room this afternoon, adhering to the obligatory twenty minutes of idling, waiting for signs of an adverse reaction that never come. Settled in the farthest, most isolated corner of the room, I opened my laptop and started responding to my collection of emails. Suddenly, a small plastic bomb invaded the space between me and my screen. This was immediately followed by a rather loud, small voice launching a barrage of questions about Super Mario Brothers. I looked up to see a pre-school-aged boy with short, dirty-blonde hair who happened to be clad in red sweatpants, a red Spider-Man T-shirt, and some rockin’ galoshes. His brown eyes sparkled as he began to describe a version of the game that involves Mario, Luigi, Toad, and the Princess. His side of our entire conversation was at an extremely loud volume level (much to the entertainment or annoyance of the rest of the waiting room) and at an extremely fast pace; I wasn’t able to answer many of his questions, and I'm not sure he breathed much. 

The conversation moved to an explanation of why I couldn’t choose the princess as a character when playing (because she had been kidnapped by bad guys in a cake, of course). He briefly switched to the topics of Mario Kart and Mario Dance Party before returning to Super Mario. Next, he described some of the “bad guys,” then suddenly cut to world 7 and the perils that can be found there. 

I am amazed by the amount of detail and description this four-year-old could relay in each of the levels within each world. Granted, there were some sound effects and arm motions that went along with his communication, but I was able to recognize and subsequently visualize each of the scenes to which he referred. As a disclaimer, I have played the game before, so that played a role in my understanding of his descriptions. After my "eighty" minutes were up (that's how long he told me I had to wait) and I walked to the car, I really started processing what had just happened between us.

Here was a little guy who had an obvious passion that he wanted to share with a strange woman in a waiting room. The excitement was clear based on his facial expressions, body language, rapid speech, and dynamic sound effects. He stood, paced, swayed, and spun in circles as he talked; at the most, he sat down for ten seconds at a time. I got the impression that this is not a boy who will do well sitting at a desk completing worksheets once he starts school.  My English-teacher wheels started turning, and I thought, "How is this kid going to make it in a classroom? How will he stay engaged?"  

Since technology in education and student engagement are frequently somewhere in my brain, that's where my thoughts turned. Video games are technology, right?  The kid was actually pretty descriptive for a four-year-old. Since my teaching background is at the secondary level, my brainstorms frequently produce ideas for older kids; this pre-K kiddo made it click. I used to have students write "snapshots," which are extremely detailed narratives of a very short moment in time. I know of some students who spend a great deal of free time playing video games. Why not let them practice using imagery and writing narratives using experiences from their virtual worlds? It would also be a great way to practice getting thoughts from their heads into written language. Could one activity be for the kids to write their own snippet of an original video game design that they could give to software developers? Assessment could be based on whether the software developers could visualize what the students "want" based on the written description! Could this be adapted for students in the primary grades? This little fellow could definitely articulate what he was seeing in his mind.

I'm certain I'm not the first person to have the idea of using video games as a topic for writing; however, that doesn't make it any less exciting for me. I just keep seeing this little guy's facial expressions and hand gestures as he shows me his little plastic toy and tells me about how the "Ba-Bomb" has invisible smoke that goes "this far" after an explosion in the game.  

Today I was honored to be "interrupted" by a boy who unintentionally blew my mind.