My First Prezi!

Hoping to use this with some folks at an inservice in a few days, and thought I'd share it on here first. Pretty simple presentation, but I tried to decipher some of the strange terms from the Standards for Mathematical Practice and describe how things might look in the classroom.

Common Core is the Devil!

ugh...

Facebook can be bad for your health. I clicked on an image in my news feed asserting "This is Common Core." The picture depicted two methods of solving a simple subtraction problem - the standard algorithm, and a method involving using addition to solve a subtraction problem. Man, the venom spewing from people out there on the web was vile and misinformed.

Maybe we should start focusing on teaching logic and critical thinking more heavily in school, because there's a serious deficiency in the thought processes of the average Facebook commenter.

I was able to find a link to a well-written blog post over on HuppieMama that clearly explained the scenario, but I'll be damned if those Facebook trolls hadn't beaten me to it and started filling its comments with the same rhetoric:

“I got A’s all throughout school and took quantum mechanics and measure theory in college. Therefore, the way I learned math is the only way everyone should learn math.”

“Any student who doesn’t understand the standard algorithm is obviously deficient and should be sent back a grade.”

“I was a student, therefore I know all the best ways to teach.”

“The standard algorithm is obvious to me, therefore the only logical conclusion is that it is obvious to all others.”

“Common Core was designed and created by the Devil to trick all of us into raising a generation of mindless robots who are slaves to the government.”

Really, people? Let's use some common sense, calm down, and think clearly.

I really need to figure out how to disable comment notifications on that thread - every time I get an e-mail saying a new comment was added, I feel my blood pressure start to rise...

Programming and Math

So as I mentioned last post, I'm trying to learn some computer programming. Both my dad and brother have considerable experience with programming, and I've always been interested in computers and what makes them tick. I decided to pursue this interest in December, and I'm kicking around some ideas for iPad apps, web apps, etc...

In the course of this learning, I've noticed just how strongly computer programming and math intersect. Trying to create the perfect expression, or perform a variety of operations on a variable, has required such a solid understanding of exactly what I'm trying to do. My work as an Instructional Coach this year has also immersed me in the math (and language arts) Common Core Standards, and there's such tremendous overlap between the conceptual understanding expected of students and the required comprehension present in writing a computer program.

I decided to test things out to see if I could take a math standard (specifically, 5.NBT.A.1 - Recognize that in a multi-digit number, a digit in one place represents 10 times as much as it represents in the place to its right and 1/10 of what it represents in the place to its left) and demonstrate it with a computer program. What I wound up with was incredibly complex for a fifth grader - a program that attempted to identify place value and show numbers in expanded form, each digit multiplied by ten to the appropriate power. Could students do this? With lots of scaffolding and a firm understanding of place value, yes. A student's ability to create such a program would truly reflect what he or she understood, while at the same time being engaging and promoting many of the Standards of Mathematical Practice that also need to be addressed.

I'm hoping that in the coming weeks, I can find other teachers who have both the inclination and the resources to attempt a series of lessons like this. I think it could be so powerful, and there really aren't a ton of resources out there for teaching programming (Python is what I've been using) to elementary school students. I'll share what I find out.

Oh Yeah...

...I was trying to start a blog!

It's amazing how easy it is for time to slip away from you. I'm going to make a renewed effort to better maintain this thing.

What better way to get started than with a truly inspiring post from another blogger I follow? Ben Orlin's Math with Bad Drawings blog is immensely entertaining and enlightening. What a creative guy!

His most recent post, "Undiscovered Math", is ripe with possibilities. I'd love to introduce some students to his writing, and I think this could be the perfect post. How cool would it be to put students into the same situation as his fifth-grade self to "discover" this amazing mathematical pattern, then mimic the process of discovering that what you found is "trivial" in the grander scheme of mathematics? He has some wonderful insight into the notion that just because a discovery is viewed by some as trivial, it doesn't detract from the event's poignancy or impact on a budding explorer.

I've had much the same experience recently as I've begun learning computer programming. Few feelings surpass the pure joy I experience when I run a new program and discover that it worked exactly as it should. Recently, writing Python code to dump user-generated data into a separate, saved file that can be accessed in another sitting elicited all sorts of noises that are typically heard only from giddy schoolgirls. An experienced programmer, however, would scoff and say, "You're just using a built-in method from a module someone else created." Still, the sense of wonder and discovery I feel persists and only really serves as a motivator to get me programming more. Maybe one day *I'll* create a module someone else will use!

I want students to experience this same feeling. What an incredible catalyst to push students to excel and feel invigorated learning something new! How do we manufacture this feeling as often as possible, though? I have ideas that I'm hoping to flesh out over the coming weeks...

The Changed Mind of an iPad Skeptic

So a couple years ago, my principal emphatically attempted to get me and the rest of the staff to board the iPad hype train. A few teachers bought their ticket, but I was more interested in the laptop monorail. I thought the iPad wouldn't take me where I wanted to go, and that a laptop in my students' hands was immeasurably more powerful. Now, two years later, I do believe I've changed my mind.

I guess it was somewhat an indicator of my age and the speed at which technology moves. When did I cross the threshold of no longer being in touch with the latest and greatest technology? I remember being skeptical because "you can't type on an iPad! You can't feel any keys, how are you going to type documents?!" Wow...just look at the speed and efficiency with which students today text and type! Even I have gotten much better with touchscreen keyboards, although I'm still an old fart who prefers a physical one.

"How can an iPad support the upper-grade classroom? Sure there are tons of 'Number Cruncher' apps out there, but how does an iPad enhance my students' learning experiences?" On this point, I will give myself credit where credit is due: when iPads were first working their way into schools, there really were an overabundance of crummy apps that were basically time sponges and rote learning devices. Heck, there still are way too many of them floating around on the App Store! But now, there are also plenty of choices that really do enable you to do things never before imagined possible in the classroom.

All this is to say, "I really love Subtext."

Subtext. Somehow I came across it on the App Store a year or so ago. It was one of those cases where you're browsing the store, see "Free" next to an app that sounds somewhat interesting, you install it, and it sits in a folder, never having been opened. But woo doggie am I glad I checked it out again earlier this school year!

Subtext allows you to pull in web content from pretty much anywhere, PDFs, or eBooks and assign the articles to a group of students. The app magically translates web content into a readable format that detects text, and then the real excitement begins. As a teacher, I can create assignments, polls, questions, web links, quizzes, discussions, etc. for my students to complete in Subtext.

For example, right before Halloween, I shared The Legend of Rip Van Winkle, by Washington Irving, with a group of students. Included in this collection was the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, some prime Halloween-y reading material.

As students began reading, they encountered green tabs in the margins that indicated assignments. They had to highlight and tag words and phrases that created mood and tone.

They had to respond to text-dependent questions I sprinkled through the text like Easter eggs in the backyard.

They participated in polls to gauge their understanding of the story.

They answered T/F and multiple-choice questions designed to attract their attention to important passages.

They asked questions to determine meaning, and they responded to each others' questions within the app to enhance understanding and start true, rich literature discussions.

All the while, I could track their progress, identifying who was way ahead in the story and who was slowly trudging through the complex text. I could see who was having to look up words every other minute, and who was struggling to correctly answer the questions I had placed. I was able to work one-on-one with students who I could see were getting behind, and promote discussions between students by digitally inviting all students to a particular page and passage. I was grading assignments students were completing right there by dragging an intuitive slider to indicate percentage and leaving comments on what I wanted to see and what students did well.

All this was happening simultaneously, and it was amazing.

I'm now hooked on the idea of 1:1 iPads in the classroom. At one of the sites where I work, they have an iPad cart for each grade level. We're looking into getting Subtext for two grade levels and immersing ourselves in the workflow and capabilities of the app. At my other site, I find myself desperately wanting those brushed aluminum devices to share with anyone who'll listen. "Look what I can do!"

I'm finding more and more uses for iPads in upper-grade classrooms. From Edmodo to Educreations to Socrative (each of which I'll likely write about in the future), the iPad is becoming the device that can change (for the better) how we teach students and how students show what they know.

I can't wait.

Not Calling on Those Who Know

I've been thinking about this topic for about a week now, and one question has stuck with me: Why do teachers not call on students who know? I know I'm guilty of it, but seeing it from another role in the classroom has really given me cause to stop and consider the philosophy behind this practice.

From my own experience teaching, I used to not call on students who I believed knew the answer because I thought that it would stifle class discussions, or because I thought that somehow I would reach more students by refusing to call on those who I knew were with me. Instead, I would pick on those who I thought would be *close* to being right but who needed a little push.  Or, even worse, I would call on a student who I thought wouldn't know the right answer.  That'd show 'em, right?

Wrong.  Thinking back more carefully now, all that philosophy promoted was the thing I was hoping to avoid, to an even worse degree: by not calling on those who knew, I stifled their contributions to the class discussions I was longing for!

The solution is so simple, it's amazing I taught for so long without ever really implementing it.  It's a strategy I was just reading about on Ben Blum-Smith's blog.  It's something I tried bringing into a classroom last week, and it's something that I know can be extremely effective:

Have students summarize, revise, or add-on to others.

Simple, right?  Why did that take me so long to discover??

Last week, I was teaching a lesson about absolute value and found opportunities ripe for this technique.  Students were trying to create an equation that would reveal how close everyone's guess was from the actual number of candy corns (ew) there were in a large jar.  The discussion began as it logically would; students proposed subtracting the actual number from the guess, or the guess from the actual depending on which was bigger.  I pushed students to think further, though, since I wanted to use a formula in Excel and could only use one equation for all guesses.  I gave students a few seconds to discuss in their table groups, then called on a student to share.  It helped that I don't really know these kids, so I could not make any form of informed pick.

The first kid I picked on proposed an idea that was close, but no cigar.  Instead of saying, "No, not quite.  Who else?" I asked, "Can anyone paraphrase what Johnny just said, or revise or add on to what he said?"  I then cold-called a student, and I really made them sit and think.  Normally, after an awkward moment of dead silence, I'll move on; this time, however, I reminded the students that they could, if necessary, simply repeat what the previous student said.  This eased tension a little bit, since even if I called on someone who had no freakin' clue what equation to use, they could just paraphrase what the previous student said.

I did notice, however, just how little students listen to each other.  I thought they just didn't listen to me!

I'm sure that with regular implementation and lots of practice, this technique could be used to ignite some serious class discussions.  It's also a focus area for my school, so that teachers become more of a facilitator than a "sage on the stage."  I can't wait to try it out more and encourage others to adopt the practice!

My "Classroom"

I signed up for Exploring the MTBoS partly because I had no idea what "MTBoS" meant.  Everyone was mentioning it on the sites I had recently discovered, so after some research I decided that I wanted to get involved.

My situation is somewhat interesting this year - I'm in a brand-new role (for me and my district) as Instructional Coach.  I'm lucky enough to be a full-time coach, split between two different sites.  Being a coach, though, means that I don't actually have a class of my own.  I'm also not only coaching teachers of mathematics - I'm also working with teachers on writing, language arts, you name it!  As a result, some of my posts on here will have nothing to do with teaching math, but maybe they'll still be useful to others.

By far, my favorite rich, open-ended problem has been a 3-Act Math lesson with Bucky the Badger.  I've written about it before on this blog, so I'll just briefly sum it up.  I found Dan Meyer online, watched a few of his YouTube videos, and was hooked.  I immediately brainstormed ways I could use this in the classrooms with which I'm working and found a willing participant guinea pig.  After some prepping (I basically took Dan Meyer's Cambridge penny pyramid talk and created a generic script), I nervously entered the classroom to begin the lesson.  I'd never done this before, and it was all a grand experiment.  Oh yeah, and I had two other teachers observing the lesson.  "This had better go well," I imagined them commanding.

I showed the class a short video to introduce the lesson and then asked them to write down any questions they had.  What did I get back from these wonderful young minds?  Blank stares and blank papers.  They could not (or would not) ask any questions!  I panicked.  I showed the video again.  I pleaded, "Please, write down ANY questions!"  And then, the spark caught.  Students began sharing, and I soon struggled to keep up recording the questions they called out.  We generated a long list, and thankfully one student asked the question I was hoping the class would ask.

We began diving into the lesson, and students truly struggled to find an entry point into the problem.  They multiplied.  They used exponents.  They drew function tables.  Finally, about five minutes in, students began to get the brilliant idea of drawing a table and just filling in data.  They worked for about 45 minutes straight on the problem, and shared out their thinking for other students to examine and scrutinize.  Some groups arrived at the correct answer and cheered when "573!" appeared on the video.  Others immediately went back to their work to determine where they went wrong.

The big picture for me was, "these kids just did an hour of intense math" and "students cheered when they saw the answer!"  I knew at that point that I had to share this with as many others as I could.

What made this problem and experience so rich was that students really, genuinely struggled to get started.  There was no list of clues to lead them toward the answer; when they asked me for help, I responded with questions of my own; when they shared their answer, I encouraged them to question each other and justify their steps.  All of these critical activities would have been pretty much impossible to complete using word problems for the textbook.  The kids were hooked.

Going back to my own classroom last year (and the six years before that), what made my room unique was my rapport with students and the class culture I tried to create.  I really emphasized students sharing thoughts and discussing with each other, and I wanted everyone to feel comfortable with what they thought and develop confidence in their own abilities.  Whether that happened or not, I'm not positive.  I'm starting to see that, from my coaching vantage point, I still had a lot of growth to make.  I do feel that I am (and was) on the right track, though!