What I Learned Today #5 - Tests are like fine art?

While in a workshop today, a conversation started on how reading comprehension is not just how the reader reacts to the text, but what the author's intentions are as well. As I thought over this, it occurred to me that this helps to explain why students have difficulty with testing in ELA; I realize that when a student is responding to a test, they are engaging in a discussion with not only the authors of the pieces that are used, but also the creators of the test questions.

Every test is written by someone or a group of "someones". Those people, as they create the test questions based on the authors' works, are actually initiating a conversation about these works with the test-taker. The creator of the test has (on well-made tests) brought out essential qualities and understandings inherent to the authors' words and is asking the test-taker to join in that discussion by selecting reasonable responses in multiple choice form (though I still think that written response works best - tougher to grade, I guess).

This conversation between test-taker and test-maker should not be overlooked as we work with students. Success on tests (and in class) is not found by simply having a personal reaction to a text, but it’s also not just a matter of “saying what they want you to say”. It’s somewhere in the middle, nested in that space where a teacher is looking for a student to open her or his mind to new ideas and perspectives, but to also bring an element of self to the conversation.

This draws me back to something that I've thought about quite a bit: that reading is more similar to viewing art than we acknowledge. For instance, I can debate with someone the merits of a certain painting and I can describe my feelings about that work, but I also have to take into account that there was a painter, and that painter had an intention. The painter's intention led to the creation, and that is where true understanding lies. I take my own visceral reactions to the work, then combine those feelings with a sincere attempt to understand what the artist is trying to convey.

So, how do we read this way? When I approach a text, I am bound to have a personal reaction to it in some way. However, I am also searching the author's work for clues to her or his intentions - the infamous "author's purpose" test question. Like a painting, I balance my reaction with my analysis to create understanding. If students were taught to do this with text, test-taking would become easier. When coming to a new passage, the student would read it and try to find a personal connection to it, but would then allow the test-maker to engage them in a discussion of elements that might not have been apparent on first glance.

I'm not saying that taking a standardized test is the same as viewing a Picasso, but it pays to note that in both cases there will be reaction that must be balanced against the creator's intentions. And when a student approaches a test this way, he or she is much more likely to be able to engage in the conversation that the test-maker has begun.

The Meaning of "Uniform" in School

As the first online homework assignment for my class this year, I had the students read an article about uniforms for public schools. The school uniform debate is always a good conversation starter, and the kids enjoyed responding to the pros and cons of the issue. As you might expect, there was a flurry of "personal expression" arguments. The kids were smart about how they presented their views, though. They understood why one might say that uniforms could improve self-esteem, decrease negative peer interaction, and remove gang and clique cultures from the school. They understood those arguments; they just didn't believe them. They countered (and most research shows) that those anticipated effects really don't take place, and that bullying and grouping and low self-esteem happens with or without uniforms.

And so we wrapped up the debate (leaving a few loose ends), and I moved on through the week. A few days later, though, I realized that I was participating in a different "uniform" debate, and it had nothing to do with what my students were wearing. I found myself in multiple conversations about the school's literacy program and ELA curriculum. I began to notice that the arguments being made in favor of certain methods (and the curriculum at large) were very similar to those used in the dress code debate. I found myself at odds with the notion that there is a way to teach language arts in a uniform manner, conforming to the terminology and processes of a certain method and ensuring that all students have a common experience in class.

I keep trying my best to see the need for this uniformity in curriculum. I know that no district wants to explain why certain teachers won't follow along with a given program. It looks like disrespect and dissent, and it reflects poorly on the district at large. At the same time, I continue to see language arts as an area in flux; the digital age has started a transition that is effecting what language is and how it is used. I believe that there are positive aspects to most programs and methods, but I also believe that a teacher needs to be free to find the best avenues of work with his own students and their specific needs. Beyond that, each teacher develops his or her own teaching style, and not all programs mesh perfectly with all styles.

An acting professor of mine was once discussing the art of acting and creating a character. I asked him which method was "best": the popular Method created by Stanislavsky, or the variation on that theme by Sanford Meisner, or perhaps something else entirely. And his answer still resonates: he told me to immerse myself in all of the various processes, and then to take what was best from each of them to create something personal that worked for me. I now find myself in a similar scenario with the curricula and practices being used in education. Rather than ascribing completely to one method of doing things, I prefer to learn about all the various programs and take from them what's best for me and my students. In effect, it's the "personal expression" argument from a different perspective.

My hope is that this will not look as though I refuse to "buy in" to a given system that the school is supposed to be doing; I don't intend to dismiss any educator's work as wrong or irrelevant. However, I also know that when it comes to actual teaching in the classroom, I will always choose the freedom to experiment, develop, and explore different ways of doing things that will best help my students succeed.

The End of Print Media?

A few nights ago, I was watching the Scholastic Video version of The Paperboy by Dav Pilkey with my two young children. It's a simple story about a boy who wakes up before dawn and pedals through his town delivering papers with his dog tagging along behind him. There is a throw-back sense of romanticism to this tale, and I always connect it to my own time spent as a paperboy when I was a teen (the early mornings, the smell of the papers, the newsprint on my hands). Of course, the story has started to take on a new meaning for me with the recent announcements of newspapers around the country shutting down. In turn, this has started me thinking about print media in general, and what effect the digital domain is having on them.

There are two very distinct sides to the debate. Some argue that print-based media are a necessity in any young person's life, and that moving away from traditional teaching methods is "giving in" to the digital tidal wave and leaving good pedagogy behind. Others point out that all languages have changed over time, and that these digital elements to literacy are just the next step in the evolution of our language and how we learn. It's a tricky topic, because many people are emotionally invested in it. And even though I tend to lean toward the second argument and see a shift toward newer forms of literacy not only as a given, but also a necessity, I often feel a pull toward showing kids the value of "a good book" and trying to share with them that emotional feeling that The Paperboy brings to me.

I don't think anyone believes that there will come a time when no print media of any kind exist, but the times are definitely changing, and the ways that people interact with text is in flux as well. My students are currently doing a research project, and we spoke the other day about how the research would have looked twenty years ago (using a card catalog and strenuous cross-referencing). They indicated that they prefer a world where you can have multiple sources open at once (without taking up an entire table) and can follow links to information as you read. Truth be told, I also prefer this digital world. As much as I fondly remember my experiences in print, I have accomplished so much more in so much less time since I have been able to use digital resources.

A few weeks ago, a second grade teacher in my building approached me to discuss doing a joint class newspaper project. I quickly agreed; having my fifth graders create, print out, and distribute a small class newspaper has been a yearly highlight for me, and combining our efforts with a younger grade sounded like an exciting new direction for the activity. However, the more I thought about setting this project up, the more I realized how dated it has become. I went back to my colleague and said, "What about a wiki instead of a print newspaper?" She immediately agreed, having the same sort epiphany that I had. Together we realized that having students work on a newspaper would be having them work in an increasingly out-of-date medium, and that our efforts would be more practical and helpful if we taught them how to publish their ideas digitally.

Which brings me back to The Paperboy. Yes, there is a certain beauty in the simple idea of a young boy bringing the news to his neighborhood before the first rays of the sun crack the horizon; but having that same little boy digitally publish something of his own that could be read by the world is an equally fascinating notion, and one that will ultimately prove to be a foundation for the world of his (and my children's) future.