Completing The Circle of Sharing in Teaching

"Sharing, Sharing, Sharing" was a bulleted item in a recent Twitter list of tech habits teachers ought to have. Thanks for the reminder, I thought as I read it, but most of us have been taught that since way back when we all sat on our listening rugs in kindergarten. Sharing, we learned, is always important and is even sometimes rewarded with a pink sugar heart imprinted with magic words "Please" and "Thank You!".

When I was a new adjunct instructor, two communication arts instructors helped me survive my first classes. They freely passed along ready-made PowerPoints, creative narrative essay assignments and classroom activity handouts. They were also there to answer my countless and repetitive questions. At first I was shy about approaching two "real" full-time instructors, but was made to feel at ease when I was greeted by name with a smile and friendly word. They are the ones who welcomed me into the teaching profession. Sure, I ran across some curmudgeonly-inclined instructors who never look up from their steps and hold their lesson plans closer than their coffee-stained "Greatest Teacher" mugs. I still do, but they are the sad exceptions, not the rule in this business.

When I became a "real" instructor, other veteran teachers volunteered to teach a room of us bright-eyed newbies during our pre-semester boot camp. They openly shared tricks and traditions of the trade: keeping the syllabus efficient and correct, managing students who are having a particularly bad day, and showing us how to use WIDS, the massive state instructional support system. Each new instructor was also assigned a mentor by the college who helped tighten the nuts and bolts of our work and, more important, gave us the context of our work: answering questions about the culture and expectations within the profession.

Later, my mentors grew beyond the college boundaries as I was sent to state-sponsored classes in adult literacy techniques (STAR), adult numeracy theory (ANI) and adult basic education. Through these classes, my shared examples tapped classrooms of talented teachers across the state. And, on occasion when the college has seen fit to send us to regional and national conferences, the cross-pollination of shared ideas extends across a national range of advice, activities, programs and campuses. Whatever we find through these opportunities, we are prodded to share, share, share with colleagues.

Now that I have a few years under my teaching belt, the sharing roles have shifted a bit. I still learn a great deal from others informally and through conferences, but am now being called upon to nurture and support the work of adjuncts and colleagues. It's flattering but a responsibility that gives me pause.  So I guess the professional circle is complete as I carry on the practice of sharing that helped me so many students ago. The lessons I have learned do no good to others locked up in three-ring binders on my office shelf. I learned that way back in kindergarten.

The First Time Through

Huzzah, another week in the can.

For those of you not in the teaching trade that phrase means, "Woo hoo, I have completed next week's lesson plans on Sunday afternoon, not Sunday night, 24-hours before Monday's class walks in." Not the ideal time-line for a teacher, but better than walking into a class with the top three objectives scrawled on a post-it-note clipped to an unopened textbook. I've preached from post-its in a pinch, but that is not the preferred pedagogical practice. It's better to have the beginning, middle and ending of the course neatly organized in color-coded three-ring binders before the class roster is finalized. It's better to have individual lessons themed, planned out and fully prepared. It's better to have handouts at hand.

In past years I could comfortably move from subject to lesson to student, adjusting teaching to meet the expectations of the GED test and the learning abilities of the student. I was quite good at it -- achieving a consistent 90-percent success rate. This January all that changed when the GED 2002 test series was replaced with a new 2014 series. Now, GED instructors weren't caught unawares. We've known about the change for the past two years, but we spent most of last 12-months recruiting, instructing and pushing 2002 students into finishing off their credential, not prepping for the 2014 version. We focused on those students who needed our help the most. Later would come later. So now we pay in Sundays.

When I started teaching, I was told by an experience instructor that it takes three turns to settle into a class. The first time through, you are just trying to get your head around the new material and keeping a week or two ahead of the students. The second time through, you add too many extras to the first class -- all those great ideas that you had, but didn't have time to prepare for the first go-through. Second lessons become a bit bloated. The third time, you have the class structure in hand, know what works and what does not work, and feel free to add and delete according to the situation.

Right now, I am four weeks into the first time through.

I am sure that in a year, once I have track record of comparing curriculum taught to GED tested, once I have settled into a new structured class routine, and once I am comfortable with new texts, materials and set-up, all will be well. I will be able to focus on the students rather than worry about when I am going to insert a Venn Diagram of Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee.

All will be well, I keep telling myself. Material will be covered in digestible, flipped chunks. Students will succeed and transition to gainful employment and college programs, and my teaching practice will begin to approach the expectations that I have of my work. All will be well.

But, in the meantime, I need to start thinking about the science section of week five.

The Case for Arts Education

"We need education that nurtures judgment as well as mastery, ethics and values as well as analysis. We need learning that will enable students to interpret complexity, to adapt, and to make sense of lives they never anticipated." I can imagine that these words from Harvard President Drew Faust might have been input on the keyboard of about a hundred college presidents across the country.

Mastery, ethics, values: check. Enabling students to interpret complexity and adapt to change: check. Enabling students to make sense of their lives: check, check, and check. Sounds like sound education strategy from a moving, thinking, planning, proactive post-secondary corner office. Except, President Faust was not talking of the latest whiz-bang construct from his engineering department or a breakthrough in medical research. He, along with legendary trumpeter and composer Wynton Marsalis, was writing a USA Today opinion piece (Jan. 2, 2014, p 7A) about the importance of arts education.

As examples of the practical lessons that arts teach, they cited music: "... Music stresses individual practice and technical excellence, but it also necessitates listening to and working with others in fulfillment of the requirements of ensemble performance," and they cited visual/performing arts: "... Learning to play or paint, dance, sing or act, means constantly being refashioned, constantly demanding risk."

Too often, when local budgets tighten, the first cuts are in arts education: labeled the  "luxuries" of the classrooms by misguided populists. In secondary schools, Faust and Marsalis noted a steady decline in arts education over the past 20+ years: "In 1982, nearly 66% of 18-year-olds in the US reported taking art classes; by 2008, the number had fallen to below 59%." That's troubling, but what is disgraceful is the practical elimination of credentialed arts classes from elementary schools: "The percentage of elementary school students who had theater or dance classes available to them went from 19% in the early '90s to only 4% and 3% respectively, in the 2009 - 10 school year."

My word.

What kind of education are we giving to a generation by eliminating early and consistent exposure to the fine arts? The lessons lost at that age create deficits in creativity, in discipline, concentration, and self-confidence. The loss is not just in those classrooms, but in all of us. President Faust and Marsalis wrote arts teaching encourages students "to develop understanding of those different from themselves, enabling constructive collaborations across national and cultural origins and identities." Arts are not just self-expression projects on school bulletin boards, but a rhythmic pulse from the best part of being human.

As we consider the basics of education, one of those basics has to be arts education: reading, 'riting, 'rithmetic and 'rts. President Faust and Marsalis summed it well, "As we lament the discordant tone of our national conversation, perhaps we should focus less on that which we can easily count. Let's instead look to the longer run as we teach our children how to practice until it hurts, to bravely take the stage, to imagine, create and innovate and -- after hitting that wrong note -- follow it up with the right one."

Keeping the GED on the Clock

Student numbers are now totaled from the last days of the 2002 GED test series and, not surprisingly, it was a record year in student numbers and student achievement. This past December's deadline seemed to push students harder than years and years of reminders from grandparents, spouses, friends, and tech college instructors.

During a typical academic year, our technical college graduates about 175 GED students. That's a nice, steady stream of students who then transition to better jobs or the college classroom: win, win, win. This past year was not typical because of the end of the 2002 series. During the first half of the current academic year (starting June 2013 and ending December 2013), when the GED Closeout Campaign was at full force, 341 students completed the series with us. That's almost double the typical 12-month total in just half the time: win, win, win, boing.

In a few days, I look forward to begin working with a new group of students on the new GED 2014 test series: realigned content, updated questions, computer-based testing, instant (practically) grading. All that is, again, to the good. What worries me is the lack of a deadline this spring: no clock ticking. Without one, I fear too many students will fall into the same trap as those who rushed to complete in December.

So, along with the new test series, I think we also need a new schedule of deadlines. Rather than rely on a vague, unspecific closeout deadline every decade or so, the new GED tests should have expiration dates built into them. Let's say, for example, that test scores are only good for three years. If a student isn't able to convert a test score into a credential within three years, then the test expires and needs to be retaken. The students would lose the fee and the time it took to study for the test -- a little push toward timely completion.

Three years should give students plenty of time to complete the series. Exceptions can be given to those who need them, but for most, a built-in deadline would provide a game clock by which they measure their progress. The expiration deadlines would force students to complete the new 2014 series sometime, I hope, before a last second rush in December of 2026.

Measuring a Vacation in Memories

The counter person with the dark visor looked at me carefully, "You were here last night."

Yes, I was. We had driven south during Christmas break searching for sand, shells, and sunsets, and at the end of the trip found instead snow, ice, and sub-zero temperatures. We stopped at the McDonald's the night before in Vandalia, IL. about 100 miles south our intended destination. After a quiet night of reconfiguring our plans, we now were up at daybreak to begin our push for home: that is why we were back at the McDonald's.

"Large coffee, black, and bottled water."

"Same thing you ordered last night." The counter person was polite and efficient last night when we were tired, and, twelve hours later, she was just as adept. She also had a good memory.

"That's right."

The trinkets and t-shirts you buy from vendors, attractions you gawk at, and images you snap and store in scrapbooks and smartphone albums are the grand strokes of any vacation. But, what makes any trip really successful are the unexpected experiences that fill in the lines between the paint-by-number outline of a vacation drawn by trip planners. These unplanned moments are found from dealing with people, most of them low wage workers, who wait on you in restaurants, coffee shops, bookstores, state park kiosks, toll booths, and hotel front desks. To their credit, most of them will go out of their way to help you have a good trip. It doesn't cost them much to be kind, and, I like to believe, most people do try to be kind.

Each moment of honest person-to-person contact when you travel -- eye contact, a smile, a greeting in the morning, remembering your order from the night before -- creates as strong a memory of a trip as birds flitting in and out of a rolling surf or the stolid brick and earth battlements of a Civil War coastal fortress. Author Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote, "We are here to change the world with small acts of kindness rather than one great breakthrough."

So sure, I will remember Spanish moss hanging like Christmas tinsel from the southern pines, seafood lasagna, and the "Beware of Alligator" signs along walking paths in the salt marshes, but I will also remember other incidental moments. I will remember, for example, the pre-teen who scrupulously checked out our purchases from the main street bookstore under the watchful eye of her grandmother/owner, the hotel custodian who pointed out that the dot and dash on the horizon was a 600-foot nuclear sub leaving its Georgia base on New Year's Eve, and the diner hostess who showed us a YouTube clip insisting it was proof of a "real" mermaid: after all, it was on the Internet. A vacation is measured by those small bits of memories, not by miles driven.

The counter person poured out my coffee, capped the cup, and pulled out a chilled water out of a cooler.

"Where's home?"

"Green Bay, Wisconsin."

"Long drive." She added, "Happy memories."

"Thanks." Thanks to all of you, I have them.

Giving Mr. Wuffles

My wife called me to the Amazon link that was keyed to this year's top selection of children's books. The picture book featured on the screen told the story of Mr. Wuffles, a black and white tuxedo cat who "doesn't care about toy mice or goldfish. He's more interested in playing with a little spaceship full of insect-size aliens." Sounded like our kind of gift.

Each Christmas, we traditionally give books to nieces and nephews. We love researching and browsing the children's and juvenile book sections of independent and chain bookstores during the year as well as those touted by Amazon and other online entities. The best children's books are clever, creative, and current, without being cloying, and the illustrations are amazing. Mr. Wuffles (2013), by David Wiesner, Caldecott medalist (the Caldecott is the Pulitzer of children's literature, and Wiesner is one of two authors to have been awarded the medal three times), wordlessly tells the story of first kitty-contact (other than alien script and insect "cave" paintings) with finely rendered watercolor illustrations.

Over the years, we have given many different editions of Dr. Seuss, of course, as well as Polar Express, James and the Giant Peach, and other classics. After reading a little more about Wiesner, I realized that we had also given his third Caldecott winner, Flotsam (2007), as a gift some years back. Nice to see the best return to delight us.

What was a good idea when nieces and nephews were third and fourth graders, seemed not such a great idea when they passed through their teen years. So, we fell back on the tried and true and boring aunt and uncle Christmas presents of gift cards. Not as much fun as Green Eggs and Ham, Sam I am, but safer. Now, we have a new generation of young grand-nieces and grand-nephews and our book-giving binge continues.

I wondered, recently, if our Christmas books were anything other than a momentary distraction for young ones on Christmas morning. Would it be better to gift the latest "Hello Kitty" or other fad now in the rage? Then, this past Thanksgiving, one of our nieces, grown into a fine young lady and mother herself, silenced those doubts when told me that as a child she looked forward to our annual books. "My shelf above my bed was filled with the books that you guys gave me each year. I read them and reread them until I knew them by heart. I still have them and still use them."

That made me smile. My wife and I chose the books hoping that it would create a habit of reading as well as provide parent/child time when the books were read. I suppose it's old fashioned, but I think children (and adults) do need the physical presence of a book to develop and nurture the habit of reading. I think a family benefits from a book like Mr. Wuffles where, according to a reviewer on Booklist, "the mundane and the magical collide."

At one time, children's book magic was in the comic but recklessly destructive hands of the The Cat in the Hat. Now it's the turn of another generation of cat, the fickle Mr. Wuffles, to create wonder and memories through the talent of the author and the interaction of child, parent, and book. Enjoy the gifts, Bailey, Avaleigh, CC, Maleah, Quinn, and Emma. We promise to give you, as we gave your parents, a special square-shaped package each Christmas morning tied with a shiny bow and ribbon and sent, with love, from your aunt and uncle.

Final Thoughts from 2013

I collect quotations the way people collect coins, stamps, and matchbook covers. I collect them from Internet sites, from books and magazines, and from miscellaneous social and unsocial media -- T-shirts are an under-utilized source of inspiration. At one time, early in my pre-computer career, I pasted address-sized stickers of sayings on interoffice mail envelopes until the mailroom stopped that practice after most of the envelopes of the school were cluttered with my little bits of wisdom.

Now, my life's work is to fill the digital capacity of the world's servers with witticisms. But rather than hoard them in digital folders buried many layers down, I recycle quotations on email messages, classroom whiteboards, assorted posters, and lesson PowerPoints.

Before I retire 2013 quotes from active use to inactive memory, I thought I would give a dozen favorites one more moment to digitally shine. Think of this post as a parting, end-of-the year gift for those just starting their collections of wisdom.

Many of my favorite quotations talk of journeys:

"It doesn't matter where you are coming from. All that matters is where you are going." Brian Tracy.

"The best sermons are lived, not preached." Cowboy saying.

"If it's both terrifying and amazing, then you should pursue it." Erada.

Some talk of overcoming problems along that journey:

"One cannot stumble upon an idea unless one is running." Vladimir Kosma Zworykin.

"A bird only flies. It does not turn to another bird and ask, "Am I doing this right?" Mary Ann Rademacher.

"No one would have crossed the ocean if he could have gotten off the ship in the middle of the storm." Paul Boese.

Some talk of persistence while overcoming problems along that journey:

"It's hard to beat a person who never gives up." Babe Ruth.

"Never make decisions while running up a hill." Christina Cox, runner.

"If Plan A didn't work, the alphabet has 25 other letters." Unknown.

And some talk of our most difficult journeys: those we take within ourselves:

"If you don't have confidence, you'll always find a way not to win." Carl Lewis.

"You become what you think about." Earl Nightingale.

"Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken." Oscar Wilde.