In my first year of teaching, three years ago, I jumped in with both feet into a project with my grade 6 core French students. These students had low confidence and low language skills, and I really wasn't sure what would happen. The biggest struggle as I try to marry language learning with project based learning is the very lack of language skills. In my mind, project based learning is most effective when students can grapple deeply with ideas. To me, this always involves good competence in the language of learning. (Yes, English language learners can participate effectively in PBL, but often they are relying on students around them).
Here is a brief description of the project: Driving Question: What is necessary for school? Inquiry: A look into what materials we really need to learn. FSL: A twist on the traditional "classroom" vocab unit. Final project: An elevator pitch to me and a friend, who was taking a trip to a French-speaking African country and was willing to take school supplies to the children over there. Students would be given a budget and had to pitch to me what supplies they would buy and send over. Entry Event: When students entered the classroom, I had written on the blackboard: What is necessary for school? One arrow pointed left and was labelled "NECESSARY" and one arrow pointed right labelled "NOT NECESSARY". Underneath that was written "MOVE EVERYTHING!" The students then debated about all objects in the entire classroom, and moved everything to the left or right side of the classroom depending on how necessary they felt it was. (Entry event was done in English). Digging in: Several activities helped us explore classrooms around the world, and French language around school materials. These were all done in the target language (French). 1. "What's in your backpack" - students learned how to talk about the materials they use every day. 2. "Classrooms around the world" - we looked at photographs of classrooms around the world, describing what we saw and what we didn't see. 3. "On the way to school" - we watched this French movie about how children around the world walk to school. We discussed which walk was most interesting, dangerous, tiring, hard, boring, scary. 4. Guest speaker - my friend and her son (both Francophone) came to meet with us and talk about the orphanage she would be visiting, the kinds of things they were needing, and a bit about the country itself. She returned again after the trip to share videos and photographs. Reflection: A success! It truly was. I had been told that it was too difficult to do these kinds of projects with early language learners. And while we didn't get to go deep into inquiry and expression out loud in class because of language limitations, I could see the gears in the students' heads going. I heard them talking about the project in the halls. And they really did acquire the language we were aiming at. Final thoughts: I loved this project and the students loved it too. The real life application had buy-in from them right from the start. A careful curation of activities and materials (images, movie) meant I was presenting something completely new to the students they hadn't considered before. I would rate it at 4/5 in terms of language learning, and 5/5 in terms of project success. Since this project, I did a few more with other classes that year, but my second and third year derailed this focus with strike action and a global pandemic, both which made these highly social types of projects almost impossible. While I wouldn't have the same real-world connection next time (a friend visiting an orphanage) I still think we could connect with organizations and provide donations, whether locally or internationally.
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I get super excited when I think about the education revolution that is about to take place. Admittedly, I know I may not actually be around to see it happen, but I do think we are in the early thought-process of coming to terms with the upcoming evolution. It's easy to look back on history and pinpoint the moment when humanity turned a corner - when the printing press thrust us into the age of widespread communication of ideas, or when the telephone first connected people instantly across vast distances, or when the computer made its way into home across the western world.
But what we see less, and what might arguably be the more interesting historical study, is the thought process that influenced our collective thought that enabled the change to take place. As I talk and share what I see as the future of education, I run into a lot of brick walls. I find I'm talking with the backs of people's heads who are staring straight into the past, holding onto an education model that brilliantly served its purpose over the last one hundred years but will be our downfall if we can't adapt to the future. It's amazing what we hold to. As part of the standardization of education and the "back to basics" notion, we are hung up on teaching things like spelling. True conversation: teachers really believe that we are doing a disservice to our children with Ontario's inspired kindergarten program. "They are coming to grade 1 and they can't even write their own name." To which I reply: the question isn't why can't they write their own name at the age of 6. The real question is is that a necessary skill for grade 1? A make or break it task? And what if they didn't learn until they were 7? 8? Cursive writing. Long division. Content-based instruction. There is so much we are holding onto. But why? True conversation: Teacher: Children need to know how to print their name. They need to know how to spell when they write. Me: Why would we continue to write by hand if instead we can develop our speech-to-text technology? Teacher: These are basic skills. Me: They were basic skills of the 20th century. So was farming. Do you grow your own food? Teacher: No. It's easier and cheaper to get it from the grocery store. Me: It was an important, necessary skill 100 years ago and it isn't any more. It's so interesting to be in the early stages of thought change. 90% of the people I interact with disagree with my ideas. But when you listen to the sound arguments of thinkers like Ken Robinson (his book "Out of our minds" is a must read) we can start to see that change is inevitable, even though every civilization throughout the history of time never thinks it will happen to them. Before anything can happen concretely, we must first be exposed to the ideas. A change of this magnitude, of the kind that will happen in education, must be considered a type of cultural or thought loss. I think it can be likened to the stages of grief: DENIAL Those around us will dig in and vehemently insist change is not necessary. The system works. Our efforts have been worth it. We have seen so much success in the past. In compared to previous models, it is excellent. ANGER Being told what you are doing needs to change can feel like an invalidation of your life's work so far. We sometimes perceive it as a personal affront, or as a failure on our part. If the new reality is so good, then what have I been doing? And any time we feel our efforts, passions or ideas (status quo) are being threatened, we usually respond in anger. BARGAINING Okay - change is necessary. But how much change? I really like this, and this, and this works really well. And how can we give up this? DEPRESSION Change is hard. I don't understand everything you are asking. You have ideas I can't grasp or see. No one has done this and I don't like flying blind. It's new and scary and messy and sometimes it seems like I or it or both are failing. ACCEPTANCE Okay. I see your point. I'm not in the past and not yet in the future, but let me walk with you and see where it goes. Right now we are deep in the denial stage. But this is what is so exciting. I see these tiny seeds of inspiration growing up around me. We are talking to each other, sharing ideas. Our passion explodes from us, even when met with hesitation, denial or argument. We are one person, usually standing fairly alone. But we share with someone. And another person. And another. And in 5 years a lot of people will have heard about these ideas even though they won't accept them yet. But in 10 years some of these ideas will seem obvious, because they have been whispered for so long. And in 15 or 20 or 30 years these thoughts will have permeated everywhere to the point that that collective shift in thought starts to happen, and people being wondering why we aren't implementing these ideas. Part of me wishes we were 30 years down the road already so I could see the fruits of these early seeds, but the thinker part of me loves that I get to wade through the muddy mess of the early stages of shifting thought. In the post-age of both the printing press and the computer, I hope we have a beautiful documentation of this part of the process, a point when future educators will be able to look back and say: There. It began there. When was the last time you learned something completely new? I am a World Language teacher (French) which means I'm introducing something to my students that is completely foreign (pun intended). When students come to me in grade 4, I'm opening a world of new vocabulary, new grammar rules, and asking them to communicate in a way that is difficult and takes a lot of brain power. So I've been asking myself: what is that really like for them? Do I remember what that learning process feels like? In order to answer this, I thought I would take some notes as I learn something new to me this summer: playing the drum kit. So here are a few reflections from the point of view of the learner, that might enrich my role as teacher. 1. Background: I am coming to the drums with a great deal of musical background. I have been playing the piano for 30 years. I also play clarinet, flute and guitar fairly proficiently. I have can play violin, saxophone and trumpet at a beginner level. I currently play percussion (timpani, xylophone) in a community band, which I have been a part of for 10 years (8 years flute, 2 years percussion). I have a love of music and a natural talent for sight reading. 2. Desire: I have wanted to play the drum kit since I was 12 and wasn't able to choose it in our school band. 3. Personal motivation: I woke up this morning wanting to learn how to play This is Me from the movie musical The Greatest Showman. While this is quite a difficult song to learn, it's what I want to play. Learning to play this song is motivating me to keep going. 4. Just do it: I sat down at my drum kit, opened up the song on my phone and started to listen. I was hoping I could hear some of the drum patterns and pick them up. I struggled along a few times through, but couldn't figure out what I was listening for. 4. Teacher: So I called down my 13 year old son. This year he taught himself to play the drums, and now he plays in a band with three school friends. I called him down to the music room and asked "How do you listen to a song and find the beat pattern?" His reply: "That's actually really hard. But if you look on YouTube there are drum tutorials for a million songs. I bet This is Me is on there." 5. Resources: Lo and behold, the tutorial was on YouTube. I flipped through a handful of options until I found the resource that was just right for me. The teacher played each pattern slowly, then more quickly. He provided beginner and advanced options. He showed the written sheet music above the video of him playing. Each of these elements combined to reach my learning styles and to meet me where I was as an eager beginner. 6. Frustration: Even with a desire, the motivation, a teacher and the right resources, I soon became frustrated with my lack of progress. The connection between my brain and my foot seems to be broken. I worked and worked and worked at it, piece by piece. A little bit came, but mostly it didn't. So when I reached the point of total frustration, I jumped off the kit. I slid behind the piano and played This is Me from my songbook, something that was easy and enjoyable and made me feel successful. 7. Schedule: And then I left off for the time being. My brain, body and should were in no position to keep going at the task, so I stepped away from it. I'll come back later today or tomorrow again, because I still have the desire to learn that song. What I realized in analyzing my experience as a learner this morning is that I have all the choice and control. I chose the subject, I chose the skill, I chose the task, I chose who to teach me, I chose what resource to use, I chose how to practice, and I chose when to quit. So the question is: How can I replicate these optimal conditions within a compulsory educational setting? I feel like I can give students a voice and choice in skill, task, teacher, resources, and schedule. But the real issue here is that the most important choice in all of these, the choice of subject, is not up to my students. Every single student must pass through my class and spend 200 minutes a week learning French, whether they want to or not. I have currently chosen to teach within the public education system, and so that is the box that I cannot change. But I always believe in innovation, and parameters just make the challenge more interesting. So, with this experience, I now have many points to ponder and questions to ask myself to see how I might change and adapt the language learning experience for my students. Questions to ponder: 1. What is the background of my students when it comes to languages? What languages do they know? How does that transfer to learning French? What skills do they have that might be doorways to learning? 2. How do I teach a student without the desire to learn French? Should students be required to learn things they are not interested in? Does undesirable "learning" have any lasting impact? If students don't want to learn, and as a result don't retain that learning, should we insist on teaching it to them? 3. Why do we differentiate between learning and doing? We start at the beginning, but we start by doing. Doing very badly, perhaps, as we get going, but doing nonetheless. What does "doing" look like in early language? 4. How might we redefine the role of teacher at school? What qualities make a good teacher/mentor? What am I bringing to my language class that makes me a good teacher for some students? What happens if I am not the right teacher for other students? Can students be forced to learn from someone who isn't the right fit? Should they be? Why is my 12 year old the right teacher for me now? 5. How can I honour the inevitable frustration that comes from doing something new and difficult? What tasks might they revert to that make them feel strong and empowered when they feel weak and beat down by something hard? How can a student know when to persist and when to walk away? 6. How can I respect the individual schedule of each learner? How might class be structured so that students can walk away when they need to without being penalized? What part does walking away play in doing something new? Play-based kindergarten is the most brilliant and misunderstood program within education. I will admit that for years I was on the side of "misunderstanding." I instinctively felt that the pedagogy behind it was sound, but could not figure out what it could look like when effectively implemented. I saw classrooms where children played with cars all day, and classrooms where children were herded through prescribed playful experiences. These classrooms seemed so far apart I couldn't figure out what was supposed to be happening. Then, my family visited the marvellous Strong Museum of Play in Rochester New York. This should mandatory training for every kindergarten teacher, in fact, for every grade school teacher. The museum is a building in the traditional sense of a museum - a massive building filled with large rooms curated around a theme. One room is literary imagination, with a life-size sailing ship, a beanstalk to climb up to a giant's castle, Cinderella's pumpkin coach. Another room is a life-size Victorian dollhouse, with a kitchen set to prepare meals, a piano on which to tinker, and a toy room with century old play things. There is a full size supermarket where little shoppers fill their carts and check them out, playing both customer and cashier. There is the world of the Bernstein Bears, where you can build furniture in Papa's workshop or sew a quilt in the tree house. There is a room for investigations into science, physics, chemistry, through large ball contraptions and optical illusions. In each room, there are activities all around, ones that encourage imaginative play, reading, writing. There are books to peruse, provocations to inspire, questions to explore. The real marvel about the Strong Museum is the scale. There is so much to do in each room that you could spend days in one room and still not exhaust your creativity and interest. In fact, the Strong Museum has its own kindergarten program. Children can actually sign up to have this wonderful milieu as their kindergarten classroom every day. So if we were to reimagine our kindergarten classes today, under the umbrella of play-based learning, what might we do? Right now, each teacher has their own, small, four-walled kingdom. There is a small table for art, a tucked away corner for imaginary play, a taped off space for scientific observation. And each teacher replicates this same, cramped environment for 30 students. The teacher is supposed to create provocations, centres and activities based on student interest, but with 30 different children it is a difficult task. Either some students must be left out, or the teacher must cram in so many options they are small, scaled-down versions of what they might be.
But what if we modelled our classrooms after the Strong Museum of Play? What if each room was a curated collection under one topic? What if we tapped into the specific passions and interests of the teachers and allowed them to build their room into a large space that reflected that passion? What if students were not confined to one teacher and one room, but instead allowed to flow freely between the "exhibits"? Smaller schools with fewer rooms might need to change their exhibits more frequently (perhaps two or three times a year), but larger schools might be able to leave the theme in each room and simply adapt or change some elements within. One room might be scientific and mathematical experiments, another a visual arts and crafts workshop, a third a dramatic play centre. Let us not forget the outdoor classroom, a place to explore the outdoor living world. And literacy, as it always has been, is woven into everything we do. It would require a reset in "assessment" (which, in Ontario, has been revamped as "learning stories" - another brilliant but misunderstood theory that has had a hard time being implemented in practice). Teachers would have to work together to observe the growth within all kindergarten students in the school, not just the 30 assigned to their class. But I feel I can assert that when teachers are overseeing passion (their room) instead of students I think the task of supervising, observing and assessing would feel might lighter. Play-based learning asserts that children will learn, a somewhat silly thing to have to enshrine in pedagogy since every parent knows the thirst for learning a child has. But, to echo Ken Robinson's famous TED Talk, schools often kill creativity. Play-based learning has the potential to inspire creativity instead, but a reimagining of the space and roles within it are necessary to harness the power of the kindergarten program. I have lately been redefining what it means to assess learning, especially when it comes to skills. In my classroom I am under obligation to assess the language skills of students. It strikes me as a bit absurd. In our high-minded (and seriously misguided) pride, we recently relabelled the traditional letter grade system with a levelled system. It was thought to be that giving arbitrary letters to work (A, B, C, D) that students would aim for the grade rather than the learning experience (very true). So we renamed it level 1, 2, 3, and 4, with level 4 being the highest. I'm not sure who we thought we were fooling. Somewhere reluctant educators still clung to the "plus" and "minus" system, so that a level 4 could be subsequently divided into 4-, 4, and 4+. Please tell me no one still thinks that 4+ is not the equivalent of an A+. Students saw right through it.
194/365. That's 53%. A school building is in use by its teachers and students 53% of the year.
7/16. If we allow 16 hours a day of wake time, a school building is in use by its teachers and students for 43% of the day. Now, I will allow for some schools that open their doors for evening programs like Scouts or soccer, and there are occasional school functions that spill over the end of the school day. But many buildings lock their doors (but leave their lights on) more than they are open. What might happen if we view the education of our children as a community responsibility rather than a time to ship our kids off to learn under the direction of a single adult? I envision a building that isn't a school, but a community gathering place. Our children might learn just as much from their teacher as from a senior citizen with a story to share, or a young mother and her baby needing connection. I see an rich tapestry created by local artists inspiring the next generation of artists. I see a schools with stages shared with professional theatre companies, and footsteps fall on the apron under the lights day and night. I see the community band sitting among young musicians giving encouragement through the scratchy beginnings of "Cannon in D" or "Ode to Joy." What if the gym was open for pickup basketball, and the art studio for exploration? What if the small plastic chairs held young blossoming minds during the day and wise senior minds at night? What if the sign on the child and youth worker office switched to a counselling sign at night? What if we didn't build a separate building for every use, but allowed the ebb and flow of our communities to stream through the doors of our educational places? What positive effects might it have on our students, to see the realities and possibilities around them, to see the community of which they are a part and to which they have great things to contribute? What positive effects might it have on our bedroom communities where few people know their neighbours, let alone have meaningful conversation with them? How might we ease the pain of loneliness for adults and provide much needed support to children? Our global community is not defined by the moving of masses from one room to the next, one task to the next, at the sound of a bell. We are not a society that needs knowledge, but one that needs connection. Technology has given us the gift of knowledge, but the curse of isolation. Our school buildings need to be a place that gives communities that which they are lacking, not that which we have in abundance. Beyond the Building, a series of blog posts that take a daring leap into educational reform and imagine what radical changes might take place as we move away from the industrial model of education and into the next major shift.
My very least favourite thing to hear as an educator is a colleague saying "just wait...it will all swing back to what it was before eventually." In this they are referring to one of two things. Number one: don't worry about new educational models or teaching methods. In 20 years it will revert to the opposite again anyway. Number two: Hold on to all your materials and worksheets. In 20 years they will be back in mode again. These statements stand boldly in opposition to everything we have built as a human society. It defies that constant research is revealing wonderful new notions about how the brain works, how we learn, and how we can reach people. It defies that the landscape of our workforce changes with the invention of new technology. It defies that human knowledge is increasing exponentially every single day. Knowledge, research, understanding, society, jobs, roles, cultures, landscapes, and technology are always evolving. How can we possibly ask education to stay the same, let alone revert to what it looked like 20 years ago? I truly believe we are on the cusp of the next education evolutionary step. It fills me with great excitement and anticipation to be a part of such a societal movement. I feel like Tony from West Side Story, when he sings at the beginning of the movie: Could be, who knows There's something due any day I'll know right away, soon as it shows Something's coming I don't know what it is But it is gonna be great Don't know when but it's soon Catch the moon One-handed catch The air is humming And something great is coming Who knows, it's only just out of reach Down the block, on the beach Maybe tonight I desperately hope that in 20 years our education model is unrecognizable to the students within its walls today. But dreamers need to dream if we are going to move this massive, slow-moving machine that is school. As I blew through the school doors at the end of the school day, I could feel my frustration building. My head was bursting with ideas and my heart was yearning for a place to give them voice. I wanted to struggle with ideas about education, learning, classroom environments. I wanted to challenge the purpose of why we do what we do. I wanted to dig deep into the history of education models and philosophize about future models. I wanted to compare economic engines with education trends. But where could I find a place to fall down such rabbit holes? At school, I often found my colleagues looking for a break from education speak in the staff room. Broaching the topic with non-educators resulted in glazed eyes and confusion.
As luck would have it (and I do not believe in luck), a good friend called to chat that evening. Our conversation turned to the gifted program, as I had attended as a child, we both have children identified as gifted, and at one point she taught a gifted middle school class. "I told my daughter the other day," my friend began, "that she has to remember she is not typical in how she chooses to spend her time. Her brain is wired differently, and she will struggle to find people who understand what her brain is craving." I think I actually saw a light bulb come on over my head. I only recently came to the realization that being gifted is a special education designation. Too often, and for too many people, spec ed is only about those at the low end of the intellectual spectrum, those who struggle to attain typical academic performance. But it was this same friend who retaught me the principle that gifted students also have special education needs, and also struggle to attain typical performances and behaviours. If a parent comes to me now about their gifted child, I will often relay this point of view: special education programs are about more than academics - they are about understanding the atypical brain of a child and how to help them truly reach their full potential. I have long advocated for my gifted students, and my own gifted child. But what I failed to see is that as I grew into an adult, my atypical brain did not suddenly become typical. It is still wired in a way that is different from most other adults. My friend's advice to her daughter suddenly became very personal: "Your brain is wired differently, and you will struggle to find people who understand what your brain is craving." This realization was both a blessing and a curse: a blessing that eased the frustration of why no one else seemed to have the urgency within them to grapple with the difficult philosophical aspects of our work. A curse in that my yearning for a "tribe" might go unmet. In the age of the internet I am able to connect online, but the stilted, time- and space- constrained online environment never fully appeases my longing to metaphorically sit around the fire and work out challenging ideas. Recently a few adult friends of mine have learned they struggle with dyslexia or attention deficit disorder (ADD). Going back to university as adults allowed them the chance to finally found out why public school was such a struggle for them. Understanding their diagnosis helps them to function better as adults in all sorts of situations. I'm not sure why I never put two and two together a gifted diagnosis would follow me into adulthood the same way dyslexia or ADD would. I'm energized now to uncover more about an adult understanding of my brain, and encouraged that I can find strategies and understandings that will help me in life. Grade/Subject: Grade 4/5 World Language The Project: "This Is How We Do It" by Matt Lamothe - students read this book about how students around the world live. We discuss similarities and differences. Then, each student writes their own version of this book in the new target language (for us, French). Public Product: Between the two classes, we will publish a book to be added to our school library collection. Following the style of Matt Lamothe's book, each page includes text and artwork from 7 different students about a specific topic in every day life. Every student will produce 8-12 pages for their own book. Then, for each page, students in the school will help choose 7 to be included in our published book. Finally, we will have a book launch to celebrate adding this book to our library collection, which will include parents, other classes and teachers, as students get to read their work in a celebration similar to professional authors. Why it works: We are shifting our language from "handing in a final copy" to "being ready for publishing." If the end result of a project is something that is seen by my eyes only, then there isn't much drive to have a polished final product. As we co-construct "success criteria", I ask "What would make your pages ready to be published in a book for our library?" As we participate in feedback sessions, we consider "is this ready for publishing?" And as students engage in self-reflection on their project, they ask themselves "have I put in the effort for something my peers, friends, and parents will read?" In my mind, PBL is this beautiful creation that has been digging deep roots and blooming upward in me for 30 years. It is such a integral part of who I am as a learner and as a person, I often struggle to explain it in a way for someone completely new to grasp what it looks like. In my excitement to share, ideas burst from my mind and are often greeted by a "deer in the headlights" sort of response.
So this week I reflected on what a very first, baby step might be for someone looking to make a small change. This brought me all the way back to my own schooling and what projected me on this pathway: teachers who said "yes." In a high school English class I had this idea that we could mount a play instead of writing an essay. And the teacher said "yes". After a drama unit I wanted to learn more about video editing, so I proposed an independent course. And the teacher said "yes." In teacher's college I wanted to study project-based learning more in depth, so I wrote a course syllabus, and the dean said "yes." This week in my grade 7 French class, I outlined our next project. Two students then raised their hand and said "but at the end, can we do this?" And I said "yes". Yes it is scary. I had outlined how I thought this project should unfold. I bet my English teacher had planned on reading 30 essays about "A Man for All Seasons". I wonder if my university dean and high school guidance counselor were treading new ground with independent learning. But each time they said "yes" I gained immeasurable confidence as a learner, someone who could drive my own education. High quality PBL design is a rigorous and time-consuming process. As a first year teacher with 4 different world language grades to teach, it's hard to have that many good projects on-going at the same time. It's hard to have enough great ideas. Take the pressure off yourself with two simple actions: 1. Listen. Give your students a chance to express ideas about what they are studying. Build a classroom culture that welcomes questioning and challenging so students feel like they can propose something different instead of just towing the line. 2. Say yes. If they ask to take things sideways, go with it. Show students you respect their ideas and initiative. It might mean a little after school scramble on your part as you google ideas and blast out to the Twitter-verse for a little PBL advice and help, but have confidence. So this week listen to your students and encourage a sharing of ideas, and if you can, say yes! |
Terri-AnnPersonal reflections on project-based learning. Archives
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