I just finished up two end-of-year curriculum assignments (yeah, I know, I am cutting it pretty close to the end of semester deadline -- sorry Val) and have spent the spring semester working on a new model of GED class from the brand new GED material. So, it seems like I have been writing curriculum nonstop since January because, well, I have.
Writing a curriculum is like very much like writing creative non-fiction. There are certain rules you must abide by (assigned competencies, criteria and objectives deposited in a state online vault called WIDS), but there is also a certain freedom and creativity as you write individual lesson plans. A good lesson, like a good story, requires plot elements familiar to any high school student (exposition, pace, dramatic tension and such). The lesson should have a recognized pattern throughout the semester so students know what to expect from class to class, but the course should also take occasional unexpected turns just to keep things interesting.
And, unlike straight-up writing, curriculum writers have to factor in how the course will be delivered: face-to-face, online or blended (a little more than both), or video-conference (a little less than both). But like any good story, a good lesson needs to have a defined beginning, middle and end that blends into the 15-week term that has its own beginning, middle and end.
Good curriculum, like a good story, has movement, information, flow, humor, improvisation, and expression within the strategic rules of the WIDS outline. It is a narrative, but much much more. A good curriculum builds an academically-tested scaffolding that holds up resources within the classroom, explores resources outside of it, and is willing to roll to the side to showcase the abilities and talent of the students. As a curriculum writer, your goal is to create a consistent, yet evolving collaborative story through which learning emerges.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Handle with Care: A Student's Gift of Trust
"Do you have some time?"
The GED student is half-in and half outside the doorway to my office. Her book bag rests on the floor. Its shoulder strap hanging loosely from one hand. Her other hand clenches her unzipped coat as if she were standing exposed in a cold February farm field rather than an interior school hallway. Instinct and experience tells me the problem she has today is not about a reading assignment.
Of course I have time. I always have time for students, that's my calling: so I invite her to sit in one of the chairs of the office with a buffer zone of a desk between us. The door is open, but my voice is low and won't carry into the hallway. The student will be talking with her back to the door, so her voice won't carry at all and she won't be distracted by the casual glances from other students walking by. We can talk in confidence.
"What can I do for you?"
Even though meetings like this only happen a few times every semester, I am still uncomfortable in the non-academic academic role. During these meetings I feel like there should be someone sitting in my chair with more wisdom and experience than I and at least three Ph.D.s in counseling. The student deserves better. As she speaks, my mind scrambles to recall active listening techniques that I taught last semester. And then, when the student pauses in her narrative, looking for a response, my mind scrambles to figure out the correct thing to say. I want to be helpful, honest, supportive, understanding but not glib, never glib -- I don't want to demean her problem by being snarky.
On the other hand, I also know my respected position as a faculty member is why the student is sitting here to begin with. I have some authority in her eyes, but also some distance. I am safe. For many of my students, this gift of trust is not easily given out since the trust has too often been mishandled by unworthy partners. She is talking to me because she thinks she has no one else to talk to. A student with a strong network of friends and family does not confide in a GED instructor on a spring day.
For good or ill, I'm the someone she's chosen. I listen, help her explore her problem and her options, and, perhaps, guide her toward suitable resources in the school or out in the community. The meeting might be one-off or might have longer-term consequences. That is yet to be decided and future steps are not very important right now. What's important is that she has someone to talk to: someone who will take the time to listen to her. Time I have.
At the moment, I just try to handle the trust she has given me as if it were a precious crystal carving. Her gift quivers with insecure fragility. A clumsy touch, ill-chosen words, or even the unintended interruption of an instant message chime will shatter the threads that are twining about themselves to form a new image of self-confidence created as she speaks. I dare not drop the gift because when a student hands trust to you, their hopes and dreams are also tied to it. Drop one and all are shattered.
The GED student is half-in and half outside the doorway to my office. Her book bag rests on the floor. Its shoulder strap hanging loosely from one hand. Her other hand clenches her unzipped coat as if she were standing exposed in a cold February farm field rather than an interior school hallway. Instinct and experience tells me the problem she has today is not about a reading assignment.
Of course I have time. I always have time for students, that's my calling: so I invite her to sit in one of the chairs of the office with a buffer zone of a desk between us. The door is open, but my voice is low and won't carry into the hallway. The student will be talking with her back to the door, so her voice won't carry at all and she won't be distracted by the casual glances from other students walking by. We can talk in confidence.
"What can I do for you?"
Even though meetings like this only happen a few times every semester, I am still uncomfortable in the non-academic academic role. During these meetings I feel like there should be someone sitting in my chair with more wisdom and experience than I and at least three Ph.D.s in counseling. The student deserves better. As she speaks, my mind scrambles to recall active listening techniques that I taught last semester. And then, when the student pauses in her narrative, looking for a response, my mind scrambles to figure out the correct thing to say. I want to be helpful, honest, supportive, understanding but not glib, never glib -- I don't want to demean her problem by being snarky.
On the other hand, I also know my respected position as a faculty member is why the student is sitting here to begin with. I have some authority in her eyes, but also some distance. I am safe. For many of my students, this gift of trust is not easily given out since the trust has too often been mishandled by unworthy partners. She is talking to me because she thinks she has no one else to talk to. A student with a strong network of friends and family does not confide in a GED instructor on a spring day.
For good or ill, I'm the someone she's chosen. I listen, help her explore her problem and her options, and, perhaps, guide her toward suitable resources in the school or out in the community. The meeting might be one-off or might have longer-term consequences. That is yet to be decided and future steps are not very important right now. What's important is that she has someone to talk to: someone who will take the time to listen to her. Time I have.
At the moment, I just try to handle the trust she has given me as if it were a precious crystal carving. Her gift quivers with insecure fragility. A clumsy touch, ill-chosen words, or even the unintended interruption of an instant message chime will shatter the threads that are twining about themselves to form a new image of self-confidence created as she speaks. I dare not drop the gift because when a student hands trust to you, their hopes and dreams are also tied to it. Drop one and all are shattered.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
GED 2014 Has Some Bite
Three months into the new GED series, instructors and students are discovering the increased rigor of the tests: reading selections have doubled in length; science and social studies questions requires a basic knowledge science and history; extended answers assume a working knowledge of the structure of an argument; math is liberally sprinkled throughout science and social studies questions; and the math test questions range from decimals, fractions and percent and end with Algebra II: polynomials, linear equations and simplifying quadratic expressions.
I have taken the GED Ready tests and have, retaining some academic pride, scored in the green "Likely To Pass" category on all of them. Unfortunately, I have heard that other instructors have not done as well. I'm not really worried about that right now, because I remember when I started to teach in the Basic Ed classroom, I had forgotten the basics of how to divide fractions. Good instructors know how to fill in deficits and learn new material quickly and efficiently. I am more concerned about my students.
Initial national reports confirm my classroom observations about the increased difficulty of the series. When GED 2014 was given to recent high school graduates as a comparison sample, only two-thirds passed on the first try. In last year's version, the pass rate was, I believe, about 70-78-percent. In other news, the new math test has been extended 25-minutes, from 90-minutes to 115-minutes (almost a 28-percent allowance) because too many students were not completing the test in time. And, I am hearing from colleagues on a local and regional level that more students than last year are not passing tests or the rate of testing has slowed dramatically.
This does not mean I am giving up on GED 2014, and I am certainly not advocating for an easier test. Last year's GED needed to be updated and the update needed some bite in order to maintain its credibility. I believe those who pass the GED 2014 series will be better prepared for career opportunities and post-secondary classrooms than previous graduates. Going easy is not the solution, but everyone -- instructors, students, employers, family and friends -- will have to adjust expectations.
At one time, average to high-level students could expect to complete the series in a good semester of work, about 50 hours. Some could successfully test more quickly. Now, I expect that most of my students will need two or more semesters in order to successfully pass the test. GED students who come to me now will need patience, persistence as well as hard work. The GED has upped its game. Students and instructors will need to do the same.
I have taken the GED Ready tests and have, retaining some academic pride, scored in the green "Likely To Pass" category on all of them. Unfortunately, I have heard that other instructors have not done as well. I'm not really worried about that right now, because I remember when I started to teach in the Basic Ed classroom, I had forgotten the basics of how to divide fractions. Good instructors know how to fill in deficits and learn new material quickly and efficiently. I am more concerned about my students.
Initial national reports confirm my classroom observations about the increased difficulty of the series. When GED 2014 was given to recent high school graduates as a comparison sample, only two-thirds passed on the first try. In last year's version, the pass rate was, I believe, about 70-78-percent. In other news, the new math test has been extended 25-minutes, from 90-minutes to 115-minutes (almost a 28-percent allowance) because too many students were not completing the test in time. And, I am hearing from colleagues on a local and regional level that more students than last year are not passing tests or the rate of testing has slowed dramatically.
This does not mean I am giving up on GED 2014, and I am certainly not advocating for an easier test. Last year's GED needed to be updated and the update needed some bite in order to maintain its credibility. I believe those who pass the GED 2014 series will be better prepared for career opportunities and post-secondary classrooms than previous graduates. Going easy is not the solution, but everyone -- instructors, students, employers, family and friends -- will have to adjust expectations.
At one time, average to high-level students could expect to complete the series in a good semester of work, about 50 hours. Some could successfully test more quickly. Now, I expect that most of my students will need two or more semesters in order to successfully pass the test. GED students who come to me now will need patience, persistence as well as hard work. The GED has upped its game. Students and instructors will need to do the same.
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