Learning with Computers: Chromebooks in my Classroom

Recently, schools all over the nation have been giving students their own computers: iPads, laptops, Chromebooks, or similar devices. Why do this? What does it mean for education and for these kids?

While some would like to keep our children and our educational system in amber and stop time, it is neither possible nor healthy. Regardless about how we feel about the digital age, it is our children’s home. We may wax sentimental about our own school days, but our experiences have less and less in common with present day students.

In short, it is irresponsible for educators to do anything less than get on this train. If we don’t, we leave ourselves, our students, and our communities behind, watching those on board bullet into the future. We live in a web infused, computer driven, technological world; our children must be ready for it.

So I signed on! For the past five weeks, my students have had their own devices: a Samsung Chromebook. I have been teaching for nearly thirty years, and using computers as a tool for almost as long. Yet, this month has given me a taste of the marriage of education and technology.

In the past, my Freshman English classes would make periodic trips to the computer lab. The computers were primarily for two purposes: writing and research. Technology was simply a replacement for typewriters and card catalogs.

Now, when my students arrive in my classroom, they retrieve these small laptop-like computers from a cart in the corner. It is a lightweight window to the web. It doesn’t have programs or applications on it. It has almost no storage. It can do one thing: connect to the web via the Google Chrome browser. It has transformed my classroom and is slowly doing the same to my students’ education.

I did research and received a little bit of training in the use of the equipment and in the pedagogical issues that came with it. I did my own reading and research. I had some hopes, goals, and questions when bringing this tool into my classroom. Yet, I am learning on the job.

My first goal was to enhance the goals that I already had for my students: teach them to become better readers, writers, speakers, listeners, and thinkers; to make them more effective communicators and critical thinkers; to engender a love of literature and language. It was my hope that daily technology would open up new avenues to reach these objectives.

I want to increase student independence and autonomy. I want to see if we can help students manage and direct their own learning more effectively. I want to teach students to help each other learn.

And of course there is the obvious: I want students to learn how to use the web and other technological tools to reach the targets I have listed above. Their smart phones, tablets, computers, and cameras can be far more than entertainment devices; they can use these tools for growth and good.

The addition of technology to my classroom also raised concerns: Will the focus be too much on the technology, and not so much on the processes that the technology should facilitate? Is the Chromebook a good choice for my students? Are there new technology skills that I must add to my curriculum to make sure that kids can use these tools in a productive and safe way? Will I see benefits commensurate with the time and effort it takes to adjust to this new world?

It has only been a month, and I am discovering, changing, and figuring out the new landscape. It is a lot of work. Lesson planning is taking far more time than it has in the past. I would be foolish if I didn’t use this blog to think aloud about what is going on in my classroom. Stay tuned for the continuing drama of Chromebooks in Freshman English!

Driving Away

My younger child is learning how to drive. He has taken traffic safety classes, behind the wheel lessons, and is driving our family vehicles – under supervision, of course. We dread it and look forward to it at the same time.

I have very clear memories of my experience learning to drive. I didn’t take private traffic safety class. I started the second semester of sophomore year. It was January. When we got to school in the morning, it was cold but clear. During class, we drove around the back parking lot learning how to handle the car. I didn’t really push too hard on the gas pedal. I had my ten minutes and sat in the back while my classmates took their turns.

Sometime around lunch, it snowed. It snowed a lot and kept on snowing. My brother and I were in a theatre production, so we stayed after school for rehearsal. By the time my father arrived to pick us up, the snow was several inches deep and still falling; it was a snowstorm.

I slid into the passenger seat and my brother went into the back of the car, “I bet Dave would like to drive home,” he teased. My father looked at me, “Would you?” I shrugged, “Let me put it to you this way: I have pressed the accelerator twice.” With that, my father got out of the car and walked around to my door. I traded places with him and drove home.

Our five-minute drive took twenty minutes. My father said very little. He made some very calm suggestions and pretty much just let me drive. From that moment on, if I got into a car, I drove it. My parents instructed me gently, calmly, and in a manner that demonstrated that they had the greatest confidence in me.

Unlike my father, I have the benefit of already having taught a child to drive. I rode with both my daughter and my niece as they learned to drive. In both cases, my calm and supportive parents were my models.

Driving is our ultimate symbol of independence and power. It is frightening to parents for good reason. Let no one make fun of drivers education teachers. It is difficult enough to sit next to one’s own children when they are learning to drive. It must take stomachs of iron to teach other people’s kids!

My daughter and niece are good drivers, and my son is getting there. We moved slowly at first: starting in a parking lot, graduating to quiet neighborhood streets, and then Sunday mornings on major roads eventually heading to the highway. And there are moments: the overturns as we bump the curb, the near misses of parked vehicles, the turns into traffic that are saved by the good driving and graciousness of strangers.

Yet how we approach teaching our children to drive speaks so strongly about how we see our relationship. Handing my son the keys to the car is not only tremendous because he can now do damage on a grand scale, but because it communicates a host of messages. It says that I trust him. It says that I want him to be fully adult and independent. It says that is it okay to drive independently from those who love you. It is literally letting go.

And I don’t like letting go. I like control and I prefer my kids close. But this isn’t about me. This is about teaching my children that it is time take the wheel. Often while we are driving, my son asks me, “Which way should I go?” My answer is always the same, “You are the driver. You decide.”

Home(work) for the Holidays

“Teacher, I didn’t do my homework because…..” Every teacher has rolled his or her eyes at this line. However, there are times when school should accommodate the rest of students’ lives. Perhaps a dog’s wayward eating habits do not qualify, but what about religious holidays?

The Jewish High Holidays just ended, and my community has a significant number of Jewish families. Each year about this time, our assistant principal sends an email to teachers asking them “not to schedule assessments or major projects on the days immediately following Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, as many students will be unable to properly prepare due to family & religious obligations.” The assistant principal sends out similar notices for Easter, Ramadan, and a handful of other holidays.

It doesn’t matter.

Students report that they have quizzes, tests, and significant homework assignments due immediately following the High Holidays. When families are going to services, family gatherings, or traveling to be with relatives, time is tight. So the choice is to either participate in family and religious events or do homework.

I overheard two staff members talking in the teacher workroom.  One complained that his practice schedule was altered on the evenings before the holidays. He said that he made it clear to his athletes that it was okay if they needed to miss that practice or leave early. The second coach said something astute and sensitive: kids don’t want to disappoint the coach (or teacher). Although the practice may be noted as “optional,” kids fear that will reflect badly on them or cost them a chance at participating in the next contest.

The same scenario played out academically. As a teacher noted that his students were reporting lots of homework and tests the day after Rosh Hashanah, another teacher stated he made it clear that, if students were not able to get the work done, they just should tell him and he’d adjust their activities in class. But kids don’t like doing that. This teacher did note that few students had ever actually done this. I was not surprised.

I just learned that one coach had scheduled a field trip on the Sunday following Yom Kippur. The kids reported that it was “mandatory.” Given that some kids travel to celebrate the holiday, and Sunday after Yom Kippur is the primary day to get all that work done, this “field trip” was ill timed and insensitive.

School does not happen in a vacuum. There are many priorities competing for a child’s attention: activities, work, family, health, not to mention the emotional drama that is unfortunately part of many of our children’s lives. But none of that matters when we have to get through unit seven!

I am disappointed in some of my colleagues. Yes, it takes a little more planning and creativity to find a way to make a schedule work during the fall Jewish holidays – or the spring holidays when Easter and Passover come at nearly the same time. But it is important that we do so.

Kids do need to partner with their teachers. Students need to use assignment sheets to plan in advance. They can approach teachers and point out problems before they become issues. However, the adults have to give them these tools. If the test is announced on the Wednesday before Rosh Hashanah, the student has been put in an untenable position – and it is the teacher’s fault!

It is important that we acknowledge that school, specifically homework, is only one of many priorities for students when they leave the classroom. We can help kids manage the “crunch” times, whether they are religious holidays, the play, or playoffs. It is critical to teach them ways to juggle their lives outside of school and stay engaged in their studies. It is a give and take, and teachers need to be better at giving.

Tears at the Airport

“Don’t cry in front of your child,” was the advice a friend gave me. And I didn’t when we dropped our daughter off for her freshman year of college about a year ago. I had more than a few tears after we left the dorm. I had a rough time on the flight back home. And then I got used to the new situation, video chats, text messages, and visits every two or three months.

But this year it is different.

My daughter just left for Africa. This time, she will be away for four months and there will be no visiting. This time, she is in a foreign country far away from the familiar. This time, she is really on her own. This excites her, and it scares me.

She is capable, smart, and strong. I am very confident that she will be able to cope with the challenges ahead of her. I know that some of them will be significant, and some will be “growing experiences.” My fear is not rational. It is not about her; it is about me.

My daughter’s semester abroad is so much more than an extended vacation. A majority of the students we know study aboard in more conventional locations. Had she chosen to study in Europe, the weight of the distance would probably have been less. Maybe. Since she is traveling to a part of the world that is very different and very distant, it means that she is more on her own than she has ever been before. And I am less in contact and control.

Yes, I think that is what this is about. This is about the ever-present parachute, even when she is two hours away by plane. I could come to her rescue if she needed me. I could sweep in and play powerful parent. I haven’t done that. She hasn’t needed it. But I could. It is possible. Not this semester.

We want to protect our children. We want to shield them from emotional or physical harm. We don’t want to keep them in a bubble, but we don’t want scars or scares. I don’t know that this impulse ever goes away. I can’t imagine ever losing it. Yet, I must suppress it.

I cried at the airport when we dropped her off. We all cried at home before we left. I cried on the way home, too. And every so often an irrational fear hits me, and I have to fight that feeling.

There are many parenting turning points. Many seem to be related to increasing the distance between parents and children. They are about putting our children in the very positions we worked so hard to keep them from; placing them in harm’s way, stepping back, swallowing our anxiety, and letting them protect themselves.

And we want that. Right?

Yes, I want that. She is more than ready for it. She can do it, and I am going to have to step back, shut up, and let her go. Besides, she is in Africa.

Yet, I am not ready to let go, and that’s tough luck, because she is on her way. And I am crying.

Back in the Salad Again

My school has a distinctive smell. I know the smell. It is the “school without kids in it yet” scent. It is the anticipation smell. It is the smell of possibility. I love going to school in the weeks before students arrive. I photocopy and decorate my classrooms. I get all the things I have packed away and pull them out again.

There are sad moments as well, as I realize that I won’t have last year’s groups. I miss them. I am delighted when familiar faces appear in the halls, and when new faces become familiar.

Getting ready to go back to school may be one of the most difficult transitions of the year. But transitions are one of the things that make being a teacher so joyful. Teaching is about working with people over time. Teaching is about change and embraces the transitions. We go. We go back. And each time we go back, we are all in a different place. Each time I enter my classroom, there are different children. Even day-to-day, my students grow, change, and develop. It is a beautiful and wonderful process.

It has been a good summer, and I have loved almost every minute of it. I am almost ready to return, and I am getting myself there. Recently, I got a glimpse of my class lists. Many of the kids I know. Many I know somewhat. Most I don’t know at all. I am excited to get to know them well. I am eager to learn with them.

New students and new things to study! I have rarely taught the same course for more than a few years in a row. It doesn’t matter much, because my lessons are never the same. In order to keep up with the kids, the lessons must change, too. Each summer I fuss with my curriculum. This summer, I gave one of my classes quite an overhaul. It is very different than it was last year. While there are texts I have taught for many years, they turn out very differently with each group of students. When I meet a class, I learn about them as individuals and a group. Even different sections of the same course end up with different lessons. They must! I need to tailor the course to the kids.

A few years ago, I was given a Freshman English class that was all male. No girls. I made a few adjustments in the texts (For example, I had been teaching A Midsummer’s Nights Dream; I went back to Romeo and Juliet), and then many adaptations to activities and lesson structures. The group needed more small group work, more physical movement, and this group loved reading aloud and enacting literature. So that’s what we did.

And once I get to know the kids, I can help them grow in new directions. Neither their strengths nor their struggles should be their prisons. I try to help students understand their current skill level and then teach them how to improve (or develop) those skills.

It is wonderful to reconnect with my colleagues. I have seen a few of them over the summer at workshops and meetings as well as at social events. Being away from each other for a little while lets me see them anew. There are new things to share: an engagement, a pregnancy, a new degree, a new home, and, of course, a new school year.

It is all thrown together: new kids, new tales, old colleagues with new news, updated curriculum, and all the energy and activity of the start of school. To twist the old Roy Rogers song, “I’m back in the salad again,” – and delighted to be there!

A Warning to College Profs from a High School Teacher

Educational reform has run amok in the United States. Our current education “programs” are destroying our children’s learning. This article articulates this beautifully. Please take a look:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/wp/2013/02/09/a-warning-to-college-profs-from-a-high-school-teacher/

The College Journey Continues: A Partially Empty Nest

The house is quiet. My daughter is at college. My son is at camp. We have quick visits with my daughter on special weekends and winter break. Since she is doing college in three years, she does not come home for the summer. We have video chats, text messages, emails, and phone calls a few times a week. Soon, she leaves for Africa. My son lives here, but increasingly has his own schedule that depends less and less on his parents. Right now he, too, is away. Even when he is home, he only one wing in the nest.

I am adjusting to how much I see, or don’t see, my children. It is the right amount, but it is not what I would choose. I am fighting the over-parenting impulse. It isn’t easy.  

My busy life is distracting, and I have my own activities. Most of the time, I do not focus on the fact that my daughter is far away. Yet, she is on my mind. Frequently. When I see the blur that is my son, I must resist the urge to reach out and stop him!

My friends whose children have left the house say that, although they too missed their children initially, they came to really enjoy their empty nest. I am not there yet. I am delighted that my younger child still has a few years before college. And maybe I can’t fully appreciate the quiet with a child still living at home. Maybe I don’t want to.  

I am becoming a long distance parent. I am learning to hug via FaceTime. I am figuring out what it means to send a pithy text message with an emoticon to convey my feelings.

I will not keep my children dependent and sheltered. I do not want them to remain “children.”  However, I do want them to remain. This is really about our changing roles. This is about accepting and embracing my new role when I have been so comfortable and happy in the old one.

And this is about letting go. Having loved ones far away is challenging. I liked our relationship when the kids were younger. It didn’t need fixing or “time off.” I am still mourning that relationship, and working on liking the new version. It is where the relationship must go next to stay healthy. I know that. I am just not there yet.

That is what I keep telling myself. This is the right move. This is good for them. This is the natural way. I know this is only partially true. Many kids go to college closer to home. Some separate regardless of physical distance. Some stay very close (sometimes too close) when they are even farther away.

And my children are capable! They can handle problems without me. They do not need their father to rush to their rescue. I am not their only resource for assistance, and they are good at coming to me (or other people) when they need help.

As I face the reality of my children making their own “nests” and living a majority of their lives apart from me, I am living a kind of adolescence. My daughter is not a full-fledged adult out of the house. My son will soon have his driver’s license and need my help even less. But I have not full launched them into the world. This is a trial period; a training time. We are all learning and figuring out how this works. I hope we’ll get the hang of it by the time the nest is really empty and our younger child departs for college.