I was having a fast-paced, full-fledged action and suspense dream last night, driving a semi-truck across country and chased by aliens in a flying space ship. But when I arrived at a something called a "marketplace school," everything slowed to a halt. Suspense ended. I got out of my semi and went inside to see what it was about.
It was a wonderful little school in its first year of existence, and it got its name from the half a dozen little shops bordering the patio down to its front doors. I believe they were all owned by the parents of the children that went to school there, or if not, they were community members fully supporting the school. My favorite was the bakery, full of delicious sweets and breakfast pastries and selling its wares quickly to the parents and children coming to school that morning.
The patio itself was a brick-laid downhill path, with big, thick wrought iron gates opened every morning and closed off from the street every evening. There were no cars, I don't think the gates would have been wide enough to let a car through--everyone walked. There were tables and benches in a little lounging area where one could eat a pastry they had just bought or sit while they wait for a friend to meet them, but being morning, no one was sitting, everyone was seeing their children off.
The school, at the bottom of the downhill grade, was separated by another set of tall, wrought iron gates. A bicycle rack sat just inside the gates, and some older children were taking off helmets and putting bikes up as they came in. The school doors were made of tall panes of beautiful glass. Inside, I was met by a lot of open space, brown walls with a bold stripe of green paint, and a black leather circular couch. There was a blackboard next to the door, which a handful of children, seated on the floor, were facing; tall shelves of books and materials; and a few wooden tables with four wooden chairs each along the back three walls. The back of the school was as well-lit as the front, perhaps it had floor-to-ceiling windows, and perhaps it led to a small garden out back.
I spoke with the head instructor / principal (whose name was Heather or Feather) after the day began, and she told me all about the school, but unfortunately either I have forgotten it, or my dream-brain made something up that didn't actually exist. The school may or may not have been Montessori-based, but it got a lot of support from the store owners it shared space with. Looking around, there were many parents sitting with their children, laughing and watching them work. Apparently, they also received a lot of support from parents. Who may or may not have been the same people. I talked to a few parents, too. The only thing I remember from what they told me was that I was somewhere in Kansas, remarkably.
When I awoke from my dream, I searched Google for this new concept, "Marketplace Education." I even tried, "Marketplace Montessori." I tried "Market Education," and "Market Montessori," all to no avail. What was this wonderful concoction my sleeping brain dreamed up? Does it exist, in some form, in the real world? Would it, could it, work in reality?
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Minimalist Teaching Redefined (An Introduction and Musings)
Inspired by a recent personal interest in minimalism, the other day I found myself wondering, "What would minimalism as a pedagogy look like?" Immediately I turned to Google, but every search result referenced what I've heard called silent teaching, standing back to let students discover knowledge for themselves. While I admire this approach, it wasn't quite what I was looking for.
I have two large tubs full of "teacher stuff" in my living room closet. The quotes are used in the previous statement to imply that not everything included is actually useful as a teaching tool. Honestly, it's been a while, and I'm not exactly sure what all is in there. I know that there are plastic paper organizers, small containers, stickers, ink pads and a couple of stamps, a few sets of bulletin board borders,... And that doesn't include all of the supplies (pencils, paper clips, sticky notes) that are kept in a separate box in my bedroom closet, the countless children's books that have crowded themselves out of an entire two-shelf book case, or a shelf full of professional books in my bedroom bookcase. And I don't even have a degree yet!
During my time as a paraeducator, I worked with a teacher that, frankly speaking, I shall call a hoarder. She'd been working for 26 years, and her room showed it. The first thing one noticed upon entering her classroom was, despite having one of the larger rooms in the school, the complete lack of space. Stacks of papers lined every surface. The students' tables were topped with a small plastic tub each, but the tubs were overflowing with worksheets in various stages of completion, broken crayons and various bits of their boxes, dirty ziplock baggies, pencils to be sharpened, and fragments of destroyed pink erasers. Boxes and boxes of worksheets stood around the perimeter of the room. Her walls were covered with faded, outdated, childish cartoon character posters. Stuffed animals lined top shelves. And the closet? I had to work with her for a year and a half before she let me take a glimpse. The door could only be partially opened because it was crammed full of tubes of wet wipes (for cleaning?), countless boxes of untouched construction paper, a million worksheets, and a tower of unopened boxes of tissues (literally around 50).
I also worked with a new teacher that had only been out of college for two years. She was unfortunately let go because of cutbacks, but found a position elsewhere in the state. I helped her clean out her classroom at the end of the year. Despite having worked for such a short period of time, it was surprising how much she had accumulated. She had let her students know a couple weeks before school let out that she had a new job in a different city, and they helped her pack most of her materials into boxes. Still, it took the entire morning to finish cleaning out her desk area and closet. By the end, she was tired and frustrated and kept saying variations of, "I don't care, just throw it all away!"
How do these kind of situations come to be? What does it mean? How can we prevent them from happening in the first place? When I did a preliminary search for Minimalist Teaching, I hoped to find more along these lines.
Just the other day, I got a catalog in the mail (who knows HOW they got my address) full of page after endless page of cheap junk. Apparently teachers are just another source of income for capitalist corporations wanting to make a buck. But is it at the expense of your students?
My political stance aside, when I first began looking into minimalism for my personal life, I noted to a friend what a contradiction it would seem to be both a minimalist and a teacher. You never know what might interest or help any particular student specifically. Therefore, everything must be saved in preparation for having that one student in your class. I've come to believe that this is the mutual though process of most teachers.
It's either, "Oh, look at this thing! I could use this in my X lesson!" or "Hey, that's an interesting thing. It might come in handy sometime."
I've learned a lot from Leo Babauta recently about how to quell these feelings and fears. (Personally, I have a fear that I might be able to use something for making something new or for a craft, but I'm not even a crafts type of person!)
Back to my original question, what would a classroom concerned with minimalism in regards to "stuff" look like?
I've been a fan of Socratic teaching for a few years, but since I haven't made a post on it, I'll have to reference this article, in which the author teaches binary to third graders. In my ideal classroom, we wouldn't need a large quantity of materials because we would spend more time in dialogue and discussion.
But how realistic is that? As a pre-service teacher, I'm not entirely sure, but I may be able to approach the topic with more of an open mind than an experienced teacher whose judgement may be clouded with personal bias. The main issues that concerns me are the areas of tactile learners and (with a hint of bias picked up, whether truthfully or not, from media and popular conception) boys. Would I be able to reach them as fully without objects for them to hold and manipulate about every matter we discuss? The obvious answer, at least in the case of the tactile learner, is no, I would not. But perhaps the question I should have asked is whether I would be able to reach them as easily. To which the answer may not change, but the ideas to which it alludes might. It may not be easy to reach these learners, but maybe, it would benefit them more.
Perhaps, a good friend notes, children who are "inundated with the stuff and the entertainment of their parents" would benefit from a blank canvass. It could be a healthy break from the fast-paced, invasive life of our current society. She also suggests bringing in a new set of found objects every once in a while to study, perhaps from nature, seashells, feathers, pine cones, etc., which I thought was a wonderful and simple idea.
Above all, what I want to accomplish the most with this study is to get students to question more. "What is this doing here?" "What do we use it for?" "Why are we keeping it here?" I want for us to constantly re-evaluate and look for ways to improve our shared environment. And, hopefully, our dialogues themselves will be entertaining enough to keep the children's attention more than materials and manipulatives would. I want to teach the powers of community, thinking, and sharing, not the power of items.
I have two large tubs full of "teacher stuff" in my living room closet. The quotes are used in the previous statement to imply that not everything included is actually useful as a teaching tool. Honestly, it's been a while, and I'm not exactly sure what all is in there. I know that there are plastic paper organizers, small containers, stickers, ink pads and a couple of stamps, a few sets of bulletin board borders,... And that doesn't include all of the supplies (pencils, paper clips, sticky notes) that are kept in a separate box in my bedroom closet, the countless children's books that have crowded themselves out of an entire two-shelf book case, or a shelf full of professional books in my bedroom bookcase. And I don't even have a degree yet!
During my time as a paraeducator, I worked with a teacher that, frankly speaking, I shall call a hoarder. She'd been working for 26 years, and her room showed it. The first thing one noticed upon entering her classroom was, despite having one of the larger rooms in the school, the complete lack of space. Stacks of papers lined every surface. The students' tables were topped with a small plastic tub each, but the tubs were overflowing with worksheets in various stages of completion, broken crayons and various bits of their boxes, dirty ziplock baggies, pencils to be sharpened, and fragments of destroyed pink erasers. Boxes and boxes of worksheets stood around the perimeter of the room. Her walls were covered with faded, outdated, childish cartoon character posters. Stuffed animals lined top shelves. And the closet? I had to work with her for a year and a half before she let me take a glimpse. The door could only be partially opened because it was crammed full of tubes of wet wipes (for cleaning?), countless boxes of untouched construction paper, a million worksheets, and a tower of unopened boxes of tissues (literally around 50).
I also worked with a new teacher that had only been out of college for two years. She was unfortunately let go because of cutbacks, but found a position elsewhere in the state. I helped her clean out her classroom at the end of the year. Despite having worked for such a short period of time, it was surprising how much she had accumulated. She had let her students know a couple weeks before school let out that she had a new job in a different city, and they helped her pack most of her materials into boxes. Still, it took the entire morning to finish cleaning out her desk area and closet. By the end, she was tired and frustrated and kept saying variations of, "I don't care, just throw it all away!"
How do these kind of situations come to be? What does it mean? How can we prevent them from happening in the first place? When I did a preliminary search for Minimalist Teaching, I hoped to find more along these lines.
Just the other day, I got a catalog in the mail (who knows HOW they got my address) full of page after endless page of cheap junk. Apparently teachers are just another source of income for capitalist corporations wanting to make a buck. But is it at the expense of your students?
My political stance aside, when I first began looking into minimalism for my personal life, I noted to a friend what a contradiction it would seem to be both a minimalist and a teacher. You never know what might interest or help any particular student specifically. Therefore, everything must be saved in preparation for having that one student in your class. I've come to believe that this is the mutual though process of most teachers.
It's either, "Oh, look at this thing! I could use this in my X lesson!" or "Hey, that's an interesting thing. It might come in handy sometime."
I've learned a lot from Leo Babauta recently about how to quell these feelings and fears. (Personally, I have a fear that I might be able to use something for making something new or for a craft, but I'm not even a crafts type of person!)
Back to my original question, what would a classroom concerned with minimalism in regards to "stuff" look like?
I've been a fan of Socratic teaching for a few years, but since I haven't made a post on it, I'll have to reference this article, in which the author teaches binary to third graders. In my ideal classroom, we wouldn't need a large quantity of materials because we would spend more time in dialogue and discussion.
But how realistic is that? As a pre-service teacher, I'm not entirely sure, but I may be able to approach the topic with more of an open mind than an experienced teacher whose judgement may be clouded with personal bias. The main issues that concerns me are the areas of tactile learners and (with a hint of bias picked up, whether truthfully or not, from media and popular conception) boys. Would I be able to reach them as fully without objects for them to hold and manipulate about every matter we discuss? The obvious answer, at least in the case of the tactile learner, is no, I would not. But perhaps the question I should have asked is whether I would be able to reach them as easily. To which the answer may not change, but the ideas to which it alludes might. It may not be easy to reach these learners, but maybe, it would benefit them more.
Perhaps, a good friend notes, children who are "inundated with the stuff and the entertainment of their parents" would benefit from a blank canvass. It could be a healthy break from the fast-paced, invasive life of our current society. She also suggests bringing in a new set of found objects every once in a while to study, perhaps from nature, seashells, feathers, pine cones, etc., which I thought was a wonderful and simple idea.
Above all, what I want to accomplish the most with this study is to get students to question more. "What is this doing here?" "What do we use it for?" "Why are we keeping it here?" I want for us to constantly re-evaluate and look for ways to improve our shared environment. And, hopefully, our dialogues themselves will be entertaining enough to keep the children's attention more than materials and manipulatives would. I want to teach the powers of community, thinking, and sharing, not the power of items.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Eat, Exercise, Excel
The PE Methods for Classroom Teachers class I took this summer briefly mentioned a program called Eat, Exercise, and Excel, but just enough to catch my attention make me want to learn more. What follows is the research I found.
Anthony School in Levenworth, Kansas was the elementary school that no one wanted to go to. Teacher turnover rate was high, student grades were low, bullying was rampant, and everyone was unhappy. No teachers wanted to work there, and no parents wanted their children to go there. Until Janine Kempker took the position of principal and turned the school around with a new program she developed, Eat, Exercise, and Excel.
Main points of the program:
-Daily vitamins for the entire school population, students and staff
-Replacing recess with 40 minutes of structured PE
-PE/recess before lunch
-Lunch in the classrooms with polite socializing while learning manners and nutrition
-Teacher eats with students
-Constant access to water (bottles on desks)
It also seems that the school staff cracked down on discipline. The entire school, though happy and healthy, seems almost prison/boot camp-ish from the videos (links below), although I suppose it was a necessary measure to fight the bullying that once owned the playground (and probably every other part of the school).
The lunch aspect struck me as similar to the Montessori school I volunteered at a year ago and as possibly the most important aspect of the changes Anthony made. Eating is a time of vulnerability and sincere humility. Lunch time resembles an assembly line in most public schools I've seen--stand in line, receive plate, receive utensils, receive milk, sit along a long table, eat silently and quickly, line back up, exit, repeat for next class. Anthony has returned to a more natural lunch, calm, peaceable, and social. The teacher that eats with the class (on a daily basis, not as a reward), shows that she is human as well. She needs to eat to stay healthy, just as students do. Oh, and look, she's eating her vegetables! She's drinking her milk! Those things must not be so bad after all, maybe they're worth a taste. And there's no rush to eat quickly because the students have already had recess, and they can chat quietly with their friends as they eat. That results in less upset stomachs and more food eaten rather than thrown away in a rush to the playground.
The vitamins were an aspect I'd never considered before. What a great way to give students, especially low income as these are, a little extra advantage and nutrition. Available only to those with money or grants, but if you have it, use it!
And the test scores, every politician wants to know? Reading from 56% to 84% passing and math from 46% to 82% passing.
What a great program and a wonderful way to build a community. I wish every public school would/could implement something like it.
Links
Eat Exercise and Excel program home page, unfortunately down.
Anthony School before and after, from the EEE website, somehow still available even though the main page is down
PDF explaining program from Kansas State Department of Education, Child Nutrition and Wellness website
29 minute video by Hugh Riordan, M.D.
5 and a half minute video from Fox News
Anthony School in Levenworth, Kansas was the elementary school that no one wanted to go to. Teacher turnover rate was high, student grades were low, bullying was rampant, and everyone was unhappy. No teachers wanted to work there, and no parents wanted their children to go there. Until Janine Kempker took the position of principal and turned the school around with a new program she developed, Eat, Exercise, and Excel.
Main points of the program:
-Daily vitamins for the entire school population, students and staff
-Replacing recess with 40 minutes of structured PE
-PE/recess before lunch
-Lunch in the classrooms with polite socializing while learning manners and nutrition
-Teacher eats with students
-Constant access to water (bottles on desks)
It also seems that the school staff cracked down on discipline. The entire school, though happy and healthy, seems almost prison/boot camp-ish from the videos (links below), although I suppose it was a necessary measure to fight the bullying that once owned the playground (and probably every other part of the school).
The lunch aspect struck me as similar to the Montessori school I volunteered at a year ago and as possibly the most important aspect of the changes Anthony made. Eating is a time of vulnerability and sincere humility. Lunch time resembles an assembly line in most public schools I've seen--stand in line, receive plate, receive utensils, receive milk, sit along a long table, eat silently and quickly, line back up, exit, repeat for next class. Anthony has returned to a more natural lunch, calm, peaceable, and social. The teacher that eats with the class (on a daily basis, not as a reward), shows that she is human as well. She needs to eat to stay healthy, just as students do. Oh, and look, she's eating her vegetables! She's drinking her milk! Those things must not be so bad after all, maybe they're worth a taste. And there's no rush to eat quickly because the students have already had recess, and they can chat quietly with their friends as they eat. That results in less upset stomachs and more food eaten rather than thrown away in a rush to the playground.
The vitamins were an aspect I'd never considered before. What a great way to give students, especially low income as these are, a little extra advantage and nutrition. Available only to those with money or grants, but if you have it, use it!
And the test scores, every politician wants to know? Reading from 56% to 84% passing and math from 46% to 82% passing.
What a great program and a wonderful way to build a community. I wish every public school would/could implement something like it.
Links
Eat Exercise and Excel program home page, unfortunately down.
Anthony School before and after, from the EEE website, somehow still available even though the main page is down
PDF explaining program from Kansas State Department of Education, Child Nutrition and Wellness website
29 minute video by Hugh Riordan, M.D.
5 and a half minute video from Fox News
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Masters Programs in Montessori
I never saw myself as a Masters type of person. I figured I'd get a Bachelors degree, and that'd be good enough. But during research for Montessori training schools, I came upon an affiliation program with a university. Once I saw it and realized that a Masters degree was actually attainable, I wanted it. Here are the results for my further research on the subject, arranged according to my interest in the program. I did not include any online programs.
Loyola University (Baltimore) / Montessori Training Center of Minnesota (St. Paul)
PDF Info Pamphlet
Outcome: AMI Montessori diploma and Masters of Education in Montessori degree
Three summers of classes beginning June 2013 + 4-day winter seminars
9 hours (2 papers) at Loyola as a fourth summer or during semester
(27+9=36 credit hours total)
$10,000 for Montessori training, $? per out-of-state university credit
Applications available May 2012
Must take Primary Foundations course before program
Financial Aid SELF Loan through the State of Minnesota www.selfloan.org
Loyola student loans for MTCM www.loyola.edu/montessori_affiliate
Loyola financial aid www.loyola.edu/financialaid
MES Scholarship through AMI/USA. Application deadline is May 1st of each year http://amiusa.org/become-a-teacher/financial-aid
Information video
St. Mary's College of California (Morgana, CA)
Outcomes: AMS Elementary Education credential and Masters of Arts - Montessori Elementary Education
32 credits
$410 per credit hour (roughly $13,000)
Program length: Roughly 2 years + 1 year (of 2 more classes and culminating project)
1 year of classes, 1 year of paid internship or student teaching
Xavier University (Cincinnati)
Outcome: AMS Montessori diploma and Masters of Education degree
Full-time, part-time, or summer class options (20? seats available)
51 hours required for Elementary I. Take an intensive additional summer for Elementary II.
$? per university credit
Must take Primary Foundations course before program
St. Catherine University (St. Paul)
Outcome: AMS credential and Masters of Education degree, optional STEM graduate certificate
39 credits
STEM certification
$? per university credit
Primary Foundations included in credit hours
Chaminade University (Honolulu)
Outcome: Masters of Education with Emphasis on Montessori
31 credits
Belmont University (Nashville)
Outcome: AMS Early Childhood certification Master of Arts in Teaching and State Licensure
Hampton University (Hampton, VA)
Outcome: Masters of Education in Montessori Education
33 credits
Sienna Heights University
Outcome: Masters of Arts in Early Childhood Education: Montessori
36 credits
~*~
[Redacted text about choosing a program]
Edit (Feb. 2012): I found another great program. Although I've already decided which school to go to, I'll list it below.
Hershey Montessori Training Institute (Cleveland) / Loyola University
Outcome: AMI accredited Elementary Montessori license, Masters of Education in Montessori
Available as a one academic year (9.5 months) program or a three summers program (next three summers program begins 2014)
Cost: $12,500
Financial aid, scholarships, and discounts available
As well as being accredited by AMI, HMTI is also closely associated with NAMTA. It sounds like a great school. If I hadn't already chosen another school, HMTI would be the obvious choice.
Edit (Sept. 2012): Here's a site that would have been helpful while I was still deciding on a school, a list of all (currently 16) AMI certified training centers in the US, Training Center Locator. There's even a page of Degree Options With AMI Training Centers from the same site.
Loyola University (Baltimore) / Montessori Training Center of Minnesota (St. Paul)
PDF Info Pamphlet
Outcome: AMI Montessori diploma and Masters of Education in Montessori degree
Three summers of classes beginning June 2013 + 4-day winter seminars
9 hours (2 papers) at Loyola as a fourth summer or during semester
(27+9=36 credit hours total)
$10,000 for Montessori training, $? per out-of-state university credit
Applications available May 2012
Must take Primary Foundations course before program
Financial Aid SELF Loan through the State of Minnesota www.selfloan.org
Loyola student loans for MTCM www.loyola.edu/montessori_affiliate
Loyola financial aid www.loyola.edu/financialaid
MES Scholarship through AMI/USA. Application deadline is May 1st of each year http://amiusa.org/become-a-teacher/financial-aid
Information video
St. Mary's College of California (Morgana, CA)
Outcomes: AMS Elementary Education credential and Masters of Arts - Montessori Elementary Education
32 credits
$410 per credit hour (roughly $13,000)
Program length: Roughly 2 years + 1 year (of 2 more classes and culminating project)
1 year of classes, 1 year of paid internship or student teaching
Xavier University (Cincinnati)
Outcome: AMS Montessori diploma and Masters of Education degree
Full-time, part-time, or summer class options (20? seats available)
51 hours required for Elementary I. Take an intensive additional summer for Elementary II.
$? per university credit
Must take Primary Foundations course before program
St. Catherine University (St. Paul)
Outcome: AMS credential and Masters of Education degree, optional STEM graduate certificate
39 credits
STEM certification
$? per university credit
Primary Foundations included in credit hours
Outcome: Masters of Education with Emphasis on Montessori
31 credits
Outcome: AMS Early Childhood certification Master of Arts in Teaching and State Licensure
Outcome: Masters of Education in Montessori Education
33 credits
Outcome: Masters of Arts in Early Childhood Education: Montessori
36 credits
~*~
[Redacted text about choosing a program]
Edit (Feb. 2012): I found another great program. Although I've already decided which school to go to, I'll list it below.
Hershey Montessori Training Institute (Cleveland) / Loyola University
Outcome: AMI accredited Elementary Montessori license, Masters of Education in Montessori
Available as a one academic year (9.5 months) program or a three summers program (next three summers program begins 2014)
Cost: $12,500
Financial aid, scholarships, and discounts available
As well as being accredited by AMI, HMTI is also closely associated with NAMTA. It sounds like a great school. If I hadn't already chosen another school, HMTI would be the obvious choice.
Edit (Sept. 2012): Here's a site that would have been helpful while I was still deciding on a school, a list of all (currently 16) AMI certified training centers in the US, Training Center Locator. There's even a page of Degree Options With AMI Training Centers from the same site.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
University has pushed me further towards Montessori
Spring semester took its toll on me. I was so stressed, I really had no time for anything else but school, pre-student teaching, and 20 hours of co-op internship work. I had no time at all to research anything on my own time and never once cracked open an education book. As I progress further into my education, I get to experience more and more what it means to be a public school teacher. And I hate it.
During spring semester, I taught science and social studies to second graders in a technology-focused magnet elementary school. My cooperating teacher says I did great, but my science professor (who graded all of my work) wasn't as fond of my ideals and practices. I felt more comfortable addressing the students Socratically, through dialogue and thinking aloud. Unfortunately, I was graded most of the semester on how well I could adhere to the Inquiry model of teaching, which works well for science lessons a lot of the time, but not 100% of the time, and not much at all with other subject, specifically the other subject I taught, social studies. It's a good model. It focuses on students learning scientific concepts by working hand-on with experiments and developing thoughts on their own about what they're seeing and doing, rather than being spoon-fed the concepts and doing the experiments to see if they can apply the knowledge well enough to get it to work. Perfect for a science classroom. But I'm not running a science classroom.
For the unit I taught, I was required to administer a pre- and post-test in order to calculate growth and, therefore, the accuracy of my teaching. I used backward planning, creating unit objectives, basing a post-test based on the objectives, and finally, developing lessons to reach the objectives. And then, as I taught the lessons, before I realized it, I... I was teaching to the test! Me! The non-traditional teacher! Teaching to the test! *sigh*
It wasn't a total disaster, though. I did teach a lesson on the March 2011 Japan natural disasters. The students learned a lot and wrote about what they thought the world could do to help. I was inspired. My science professor was outraged. She sent me an angry email saying that she did not approve or think the lesson was appropriate. She said she would not like her second-grade-aged niece learning what I taught in the school. I promptly responded with an email stating that I thought it was not only appropriate for second-graders to learn current events happening in the world around them and how to rise up and show compassion for their fellow man, but it was imperative. Personal regards to philosophy of educating family members not withstanding. It goes without saying that I received the poorest of my grades for that lesson, regardless of my justifications.
I also taught a couple of lessons about environmentalism, which I thoroughly enjoyed. We learned what composting is, what kinds of materials are recyclable, how to sort them, and even how long certain materials take to decompose (which, I admit, may have been over their poor heads. I wish I had had more time to explain that part). I even got them writing a little, which their classroom teacher didn't hardly bother with because of the high ESOL population (which I thought was all the more reason to focus on it). Good times were had.
I can't decide whether or not I'm looking forward to next semester and my senior year. I'm excited to meet the students I'll be working with next year, and I'm excited to teach and interact with them. But I'm not looking forward to having the lessons I want to teach frowned upon and more teaching to the test.
Public school teachers, I've found, have their days practically already planned out for them. Lunch, recess, and "specials" (music, art, and PE) are already pre-set, and teachers work in grade teams to determine the rest of the schedule. Schedules and routines are great for children. They thrive with a daily schedule. But it leaves no room for spontaneity, which grows flexible children. What if a lesson sparks a big dialogue? In my ideal classroom, we'd continue it because the students are engaged and learning from one another. Who am I to say, "Stop, we don't have time to finish that thought"? Who am I to say, "Stop, we've talked about this enough today"? But that's exactly what the public school teacher would do. What if students are incredibly more focused in math one day, for whatever reason, because somehow something just finally clicked. Why would you say, "I'm glad you finally understand, but now we're going to switch gears and go into English" instead of giving the students more time to apply what they've just figured out?
Unfortunately, I think I know part of the answer. It comes down to funding, No Child Left Behind, and assessments. It always comes down to one of those three these days. It's rush rush rush in public schools. It makes me frustrated, angry, and sick.
At the end of spring semester this year, I took a day to visit the other Montessori school in town, the one I had never been to. It was bigger than K.'s Montessori class of 6-7 students. This one had roughly 10 students per class, pre-K through fifth grade. The students shared three open spaces, one for Kindergarten and pre-K, one for 1-3, and an upstairs for 4th and 5th. The most distinct difference I found in this Montessori school was that they seemed to teach a curriculum based half on traditional Montessori and half on whatever the public school district taught. How unique! They had also embraced technology, from what I could see, something I was thrilled to see! The teachers were friendly and chatted amiably with me about any questions I had until the director kicked me out because the students 'needed to stay focused,' or something. I asked if I could return in the future, but the director edged around saying no. The reasoning seemed to be that I interfered with the atmosphere. Sadly, it appears that they have a closed door policy.
As I fell asleep the other day, I had a random memory of a small marimbula I saw in a store recently. I began to imagine, in the haze of sleep, a scene in which students could pick small instruments, such as the marimbula, a small flute, an ocarina, a triangle, etc., out of a basket to play. I humored the thought for a few minutes until I realized that this scene would not be practical in a traditional public school setting. At that moment, suddenly wide awake, I rejected public schools entirely. It would be acceptable in a Montessori classroom. And at that moment, I fully embraced Montessori. I wanted to be a Montessori teacher.
I did a little research on getting a Montessori license before I went to the second Montessori school at the end of spring semester (which I should call the first, as it was founded in 1985, I believe, and K.'s school will be beginning its third year of operation in the fall). There are few schools that offer Montessori training, and even fewer that offer it for elementary level. And they are far from where I live. And they are expensive, upwards of $10,000. Another option is an online license for around $4,000, which is not recognized by either school of philosophy (AMI--Association Montessori Internationale, AMS--American Montessori Society) but may still get me a job if I try hard enough.
My husband had a job offer for a computer science company that offers Montessori as a company preschool. Wouldn't it be amazing if they hired us both? But I don't want to work with Early Childhood, even though it'd be nice. My heart lies with the elementary age.
The only other thought I had was, with an immediate panic, "What about my pledge!?" Traditional Montessori doesn't lend itself to "Living in the Age of Technology," the fourth section of my Pledge to Guide Today's Students. But then, perhaps I don't want to work in a traditional Montessori school. Nontraditional here, remember? What's more important is that I've decided that I want to pursue a Montessori license, not the particulars of what goes on in the classroom. The Montessori school I visited recently used technology, what's to say I won't end up working in a school more like that?
In the meantime, it just so happens that I'll have Fridays off next semester. I think I'll do some more volunteering, if I can.
EDIT: I didn't want to add this last night because I didn't want to admit it to myself and I needed to rethink a couple of things. Going into Montessori to some people (namely, my husband) means giving up on public schools. It means not reaching as many students. It's hard for another part of me to accept that--the activist part that shouts, "Education is a right!" and wants higher taxes and a good, quality education for all.
But I'm not giving up on public education, per se. I don't want to be the elitist teacher of the private, prestigious Montessori school, I want to be the brave teacher at the alternative school (which just happens to be Montessori) that accepts children that public school has rejected and helps them find success. And besides, there are public school districts that have adopted Montessori methods into their curriculum. I found them during research one day. They don't accept teachers without a Montessori license.
So I'm not going into Montessori to reject public school. I fully support public schools, I just think they need to be remodeled. Having lost the full-out activist kick I was on a few years ago, being a Montessori teacher is doing my part in education, but not having to put up with the system in its current state, and without having to barrel head first into the activist world (and maybe, maybe not making a dent).
Yes, he's right, I won't reach as many students that need my help, but I may be able to help the students that need the MOST help, assuming I find my destined school (or start my own, WHEW, WHAT WORK!). Besides, from what I experienced last year, going into public schools at this point may spell early burn-out for someone like me. And then where would we be?
Who knows what the future will really bring. All I know is that my heart is telling me that going into Montessori teacher training is the next step, and I hope to have the courage to listen.
During spring semester, I taught science and social studies to second graders in a technology-focused magnet elementary school. My cooperating teacher says I did great, but my science professor (who graded all of my work) wasn't as fond of my ideals and practices. I felt more comfortable addressing the students Socratically, through dialogue and thinking aloud. Unfortunately, I was graded most of the semester on how well I could adhere to the Inquiry model of teaching, which works well for science lessons a lot of the time, but not 100% of the time, and not much at all with other subject, specifically the other subject I taught, social studies. It's a good model. It focuses on students learning scientific concepts by working hand-on with experiments and developing thoughts on their own about what they're seeing and doing, rather than being spoon-fed the concepts and doing the experiments to see if they can apply the knowledge well enough to get it to work. Perfect for a science classroom. But I'm not running a science classroom.
For the unit I taught, I was required to administer a pre- and post-test in order to calculate growth and, therefore, the accuracy of my teaching. I used backward planning, creating unit objectives, basing a post-test based on the objectives, and finally, developing lessons to reach the objectives. And then, as I taught the lessons, before I realized it, I... I was teaching to the test! Me! The non-traditional teacher! Teaching to the test! *sigh*
It wasn't a total disaster, though. I did teach a lesson on the March 2011 Japan natural disasters. The students learned a lot and wrote about what they thought the world could do to help. I was inspired. My science professor was outraged. She sent me an angry email saying that she did not approve or think the lesson was appropriate. She said she would not like her second-grade-aged niece learning what I taught in the school. I promptly responded with an email stating that I thought it was not only appropriate for second-graders to learn current events happening in the world around them and how to rise up and show compassion for their fellow man, but it was imperative. Personal regards to philosophy of educating family members not withstanding. It goes without saying that I received the poorest of my grades for that lesson, regardless of my justifications.
I also taught a couple of lessons about environmentalism, which I thoroughly enjoyed. We learned what composting is, what kinds of materials are recyclable, how to sort them, and even how long certain materials take to decompose (which, I admit, may have been over their poor heads. I wish I had had more time to explain that part). I even got them writing a little, which their classroom teacher didn't hardly bother with because of the high ESOL population (which I thought was all the more reason to focus on it). Good times were had.
I can't decide whether or not I'm looking forward to next semester and my senior year. I'm excited to meet the students I'll be working with next year, and I'm excited to teach and interact with them. But I'm not looking forward to having the lessons I want to teach frowned upon and more teaching to the test.
Public school teachers, I've found, have their days practically already planned out for them. Lunch, recess, and "specials" (music, art, and PE) are already pre-set, and teachers work in grade teams to determine the rest of the schedule. Schedules and routines are great for children. They thrive with a daily schedule. But it leaves no room for spontaneity, which grows flexible children. What if a lesson sparks a big dialogue? In my ideal classroom, we'd continue it because the students are engaged and learning from one another. Who am I to say, "Stop, we don't have time to finish that thought"? Who am I to say, "Stop, we've talked about this enough today"? But that's exactly what the public school teacher would do. What if students are incredibly more focused in math one day, for whatever reason, because somehow something just finally clicked. Why would you say, "I'm glad you finally understand, but now we're going to switch gears and go into English" instead of giving the students more time to apply what they've just figured out?
Unfortunately, I think I know part of the answer. It comes down to funding, No Child Left Behind, and assessments. It always comes down to one of those three these days. It's rush rush rush in public schools. It makes me frustrated, angry, and sick.
At the end of spring semester this year, I took a day to visit the other Montessori school in town, the one I had never been to. It was bigger than K.'s Montessori class of 6-7 students. This one had roughly 10 students per class, pre-K through fifth grade. The students shared three open spaces, one for Kindergarten and pre-K, one for 1-3, and an upstairs for 4th and 5th. The most distinct difference I found in this Montessori school was that they seemed to teach a curriculum based half on traditional Montessori and half on whatever the public school district taught. How unique! They had also embraced technology, from what I could see, something I was thrilled to see! The teachers were friendly and chatted amiably with me about any questions I had until the director kicked me out because the students 'needed to stay focused,' or something. I asked if I could return in the future, but the director edged around saying no. The reasoning seemed to be that I interfered with the atmosphere. Sadly, it appears that they have a closed door policy.
As I fell asleep the other day, I had a random memory of a small marimbula I saw in a store recently. I began to imagine, in the haze of sleep, a scene in which students could pick small instruments, such as the marimbula, a small flute, an ocarina, a triangle, etc., out of a basket to play. I humored the thought for a few minutes until I realized that this scene would not be practical in a traditional public school setting. At that moment, suddenly wide awake, I rejected public schools entirely. It would be acceptable in a Montessori classroom. And at that moment, I fully embraced Montessori. I wanted to be a Montessori teacher.
I did a little research on getting a Montessori license before I went to the second Montessori school at the end of spring semester (which I should call the first, as it was founded in 1985, I believe, and K.'s school will be beginning its third year of operation in the fall). There are few schools that offer Montessori training, and even fewer that offer it for elementary level. And they are far from where I live. And they are expensive, upwards of $10,000. Another option is an online license for around $4,000, which is not recognized by either school of philosophy (AMI--Association Montessori Internationale, AMS--American Montessori Society) but may still get me a job if I try hard enough.
My husband had a job offer for a computer science company that offers Montessori as a company preschool. Wouldn't it be amazing if they hired us both? But I don't want to work with Early Childhood, even though it'd be nice. My heart lies with the elementary age.
The only other thought I had was, with an immediate panic, "What about my pledge!?" Traditional Montessori doesn't lend itself to "Living in the Age of Technology," the fourth section of my Pledge to Guide Today's Students. But then, perhaps I don't want to work in a traditional Montessori school. Nontraditional here, remember? What's more important is that I've decided that I want to pursue a Montessori license, not the particulars of what goes on in the classroom. The Montessori school I visited recently used technology, what's to say I won't end up working in a school more like that?
In the meantime, it just so happens that I'll have Fridays off next semester. I think I'll do some more volunteering, if I can.
EDIT: I didn't want to add this last night because I didn't want to admit it to myself and I needed to rethink a couple of things. Going into Montessori to some people (namely, my husband) means giving up on public schools. It means not reaching as many students. It's hard for another part of me to accept that--the activist part that shouts, "Education is a right!" and wants higher taxes and a good, quality education for all.
But I'm not giving up on public education, per se. I don't want to be the elitist teacher of the private, prestigious Montessori school, I want to be the brave teacher at the alternative school (which just happens to be Montessori) that accepts children that public school has rejected and helps them find success. And besides, there are public school districts that have adopted Montessori methods into their curriculum. I found them during research one day. They don't accept teachers without a Montessori license.
So I'm not going into Montessori to reject public school. I fully support public schools, I just think they need to be remodeled. Having lost the full-out activist kick I was on a few years ago, being a Montessori teacher is doing my part in education, but not having to put up with the system in its current state, and without having to barrel head first into the activist world (and maybe, maybe not making a dent).
Yes, he's right, I won't reach as many students that need my help, but I may be able to help the students that need the MOST help, assuming I find my destined school (or start my own, WHEW, WHAT WORK!). Besides, from what I experienced last year, going into public schools at this point may spell early burn-out for someone like me. And then where would we be?
Who knows what the future will really bring. All I know is that my heart is telling me that going into Montessori teacher training is the next step, and I hope to have the courage to listen.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Musings on the Control and Role of a Paraeducator
I realized objectively today that I wasn't in control of the students in the third grade class I work with. Little girl swiped my keys from me during recess! That's when I noticed. I guess I was acutely aware of it before that moment, but when she actually grabbed the lanyard dangling from my hand and dove, following the momentum of the movement, to the ground, and then wouldn't give them back upon my request, that's when it really hit me. These students don't view me as I would like to be viewed. I mean, I guess it's not that big of a deal because I'm only a para, I only see them 6-8 hours a week, but it is nevertheless my intention to be construed as an adult.
There is not much I can do in my current position that I would do to change the situation as a classroom teacher. The teachers I work with have rules and expectations (or the lack there of) that they set themselves, and who am I to walk in and change them? When I am in another's classroom, I must abide by their atmospheric intentions. But to what end? Even if it means losing what little control I once may have had with the students? How can I convey order in a classroom whose teacher doesn't demand it?
I remember having these very thoughts after my first semester of para-educating. Blatantly, I had blown it. The first graders hung on me and called for me to stand by them and to be their special friend. After my first semester, the school I was at lost funding and I found a position at another school, one I've held for a year and a half now. And before beginning here, I asked myself how I had gone wrong, how I could have let myself be seen in such a manner. The answer I found was presence. I needed to harden my presence and let students know that I was an authority figure, one to be respected but also obeyed.
And apparently I have been lax in doing such, because I find myself in this position yet again. Only this time I don't have the newness and mystery of being a new employee for support. I have to stand even taller and tell the students who already know me that I will no longer tolerate such behavior.
....
Writing those words just now somehow hurt my spirit. How can I say such things in the place where I wish to evoke creativity and unconventional educational ideas? But doesn't any effective classroom deserve a strong, firm educator? Where does the line between strong/firm and oppressive/authoritarian really lie?
There is not much I can do in my current position that I would do to change the situation as a classroom teacher. The teachers I work with have rules and expectations (or the lack there of) that they set themselves, and who am I to walk in and change them? When I am in another's classroom, I must abide by their atmospheric intentions. But to what end? Even if it means losing what little control I once may have had with the students? How can I convey order in a classroom whose teacher doesn't demand it?
I remember having these very thoughts after my first semester of para-educating. Blatantly, I had blown it. The first graders hung on me and called for me to stand by them and to be their special friend. After my first semester, the school I was at lost funding and I found a position at another school, one I've held for a year and a half now. And before beginning here, I asked myself how I had gone wrong, how I could have let myself be seen in such a manner. The answer I found was presence. I needed to harden my presence and let students know that I was an authority figure, one to be respected but also obeyed.
And apparently I have been lax in doing such, because I find myself in this position yet again. Only this time I don't have the newness and mystery of being a new employee for support. I have to stand even taller and tell the students who already know me that I will no longer tolerate such behavior.
....
Writing those words just now somehow hurt my spirit. How can I say such things in the place where I wish to evoke creativity and unconventional educational ideas? But doesn't any effective classroom deserve a strong, firm educator? Where does the line between strong/firm and oppressive/authoritarian really lie?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Thinking Outside the Worksheet
What follows is the final essay for my Seminar 1 class and answers the question, "What issue have you seen in during your observation hours, what is the relevancy of the this issue, and how would you have solved it?"
During my observation hours this semester, I saw many worksheets given to students as assignments. I also saw many bored students. I think that these two occurrences are related and that this is a problem in the classrooms I observed in as well as others across America today.
The first grade boy in the general education classroom I wrote about in an Exceptionalities essay worked well and participated during whole class instruction, but displayed AD/HD characteristics and couldn't concentrate when given a worksheet over the material that was covered only moments before. I highly doubt that this was because the boy actually had AD/HD, rather I believe that the worksheet was not a creative enough assessment approach. It did not meet his learning style needs, and he was not engaged enough to work on it.
While I observed a high school special education classroom, one boy showed me the Lego creations he had been making in his free time before I arrived, vehicles fueled by solar power. He was passionate in his descriptions about how they worked, and when I asked him where he learned all his information about solar power, he explained that he liked to do research on the internet. He was still describing his Lego vehicles when the special education teacher walked over to say, almost rudely, that it was time for math and pointed to a worksheet of word problems on the desk. Although the high schooler sat at the table and didn't talk to me again, he seemed upset and fiddled with the Legos until the teacher gave him one-on-one assistance with the assignment.
Worksheets are easy. Find a page in the book or on a website and print off 25 copies. Worksheets are easy time fillers and easy to grade. Perhaps they are too easy. Giving such an assignment, one with a lot of ink and a little area for the student to write the single correct answers, creates students that are forced to think in one perspective, forced to be the same—cookie cutters. Instead, we should be teaching innovation, creativity, and how to think outside of the box, or worksheet, if you will.
The first grade classroom was learning parts of a book cover (title, author, illustrator, and publisher) before being given the “boring” worksheet, and while I observed, the student spent the entire time allotted doing anything he could think of but completing it. Because I could not intervene in my position as the observer, watching him and knowing that the assignment was not holding his attention or interest was almost painful. Couldn't there be a better way? I asked myself, and of course there was. If the teacher wanted to assess if the students retained the information about what is found on the cover of a book, they could have created their own book cover on a blank sheet of paper. At the very least, they could have done it together on the white board with more assistance.
The high school special education teacher, with fewer students in his room, had more time to spend with his students individually. He was aware of his student's interests, and yet still printed out a sheet of generic word problems for his technically-absorbed student to complete. Sure, it would have taken more time, but couldn't he have created problems catered towards technology or alternative energy sources? In fact, because the student is in high school, the creation of the problems could even be included in the assignment.
As a teacher, I must keep the interests of my students in focus. How can I expect my students to learn, let alone retain, any information I attempt to teach them, if they are too disengaged to pay attention? I must be a model for my students in regards to creativity and innovation, and that includes the assignments and assessments I give. I will not have cookie cutter students, and thus, I cannot give cookie cutter assignments.
During my observation hours this semester, I saw many worksheets given to students as assignments. I also saw many bored students. I think that these two occurrences are related and that this is a problem in the classrooms I observed in as well as others across America today.
The first grade boy in the general education classroom I wrote about in an Exceptionalities essay worked well and participated during whole class instruction, but displayed AD/HD characteristics and couldn't concentrate when given a worksheet over the material that was covered only moments before. I highly doubt that this was because the boy actually had AD/HD, rather I believe that the worksheet was not a creative enough assessment approach. It did not meet his learning style needs, and he was not engaged enough to work on it.
While I observed a high school special education classroom, one boy showed me the Lego creations he had been making in his free time before I arrived, vehicles fueled by solar power. He was passionate in his descriptions about how they worked, and when I asked him where he learned all his information about solar power, he explained that he liked to do research on the internet. He was still describing his Lego vehicles when the special education teacher walked over to say, almost rudely, that it was time for math and pointed to a worksheet of word problems on the desk. Although the high schooler sat at the table and didn't talk to me again, he seemed upset and fiddled with the Legos until the teacher gave him one-on-one assistance with the assignment.
Worksheets are easy. Find a page in the book or on a website and print off 25 copies. Worksheets are easy time fillers and easy to grade. Perhaps they are too easy. Giving such an assignment, one with a lot of ink and a little area for the student to write the single correct answers, creates students that are forced to think in one perspective, forced to be the same—cookie cutters. Instead, we should be teaching innovation, creativity, and how to think outside of the box, or worksheet, if you will.
The first grade classroom was learning parts of a book cover (title, author, illustrator, and publisher) before being given the “boring” worksheet, and while I observed, the student spent the entire time allotted doing anything he could think of but completing it. Because I could not intervene in my position as the observer, watching him and knowing that the assignment was not holding his attention or interest was almost painful. Couldn't there be a better way? I asked myself, and of course there was. If the teacher wanted to assess if the students retained the information about what is found on the cover of a book, they could have created their own book cover on a blank sheet of paper. At the very least, they could have done it together on the white board with more assistance.
The high school special education teacher, with fewer students in his room, had more time to spend with his students individually. He was aware of his student's interests, and yet still printed out a sheet of generic word problems for his technically-absorbed student to complete. Sure, it would have taken more time, but couldn't he have created problems catered towards technology or alternative energy sources? In fact, because the student is in high school, the creation of the problems could even be included in the assignment.
As a teacher, I must keep the interests of my students in focus. How can I expect my students to learn, let alone retain, any information I attempt to teach them, if they are too disengaged to pay attention? I must be a model for my students in regards to creativity and innovation, and that includes the assignments and assessments I give. I will not have cookie cutter students, and thus, I cannot give cookie cutter assignments.
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