Wichita Sudbury School Reflective

It’s time.

It’s time to take a look back at what happened with Wichita Sudbury School. I have a lot of trauma around it, so maybe I can process a bit and try to heal through writing.

Why trauma? Well, WSS was my baby. It was an idea I conceived and tried to make happen. No. DID. Did make happen. For a year and a half. I can’t forget that we actually opened and ran a school and HELPED children. These students LEARNED from their experience at the school I co-created. Then why does it hurt every time I think about it?

Because I’m focusing on how we couldn’t survive. With our rotating cast of, at most, six concurrent students, all paying only what their families could afford, we literally couldn’t keep the doors open.

And more than that, I was second guessing myself the whole time.

Sudbury stands for freedom. Not just freedom to learn what you want to learn. Not just freedom from taking particular classes. Literal freedom. Inside the confines of rules of the Handbook, students are free to do anything they want, including nothing. As a human, this speaks to me, but as a Millennial, watching students spend the entirety of their school time playing Minecraft and Roblox was… upsetting somehow. I knew that at larger Sudbury schools, the students often get new ideas from watching others, but our tiny school didn’t have the variety of types of people and interests. The teacher in me longed to assign them portfolios and essays on what they were learning, an idea completely antithetical to the Sudbury name. So instead, I made my tea and read in the other room, pretending I was okay. For a year and a half. All while fundraising and talking with parents and trying to convince everyone that I believed in the process.

So that’s a large portion of where my trauma comes from then, is it? Being a teacher at a Sudbury school, trying to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing by allowing the students to play on the computer?

You know, what if we didn’t even have computers? This is my first time thinking of it. What if we weren’t donated computers? What if we only had one? What would the students have done? I can only speculate, as I’ll have no way of ever actually knowing. The issue can’t just be the computers. As Americans in 2017, we did everything on computers. Khan Academy, Codewars, YouTube, Google.. we wouldn’t be able to access any of it without computers. But what if.

We DID have plenty of things in person, though, like our weekly School Meeting, Judicial Committee any time there was a complaint filed, and classes like our martial arts and yoga, as well as Decorating Committee, which was regularly busy decorating the school. Yes, it hurt my Millennial soul that the students weren’t continually trying to better themselves, and there were days I didn’t see anyone for hours, but that’s not the end of it.

As long as we’re playing with hypotheticals here, what would have happened if you dropped my students into an existing school, like Hudson Valley or Clearwater? Somewhere where there was support for them. My guess is that they would have thrived. Sure, they still probably would have spent a lot of time playing their games, but perhaps not as much as they did here. Sudbury is a good model. Just maybe not for me, as a staff member.

So where, again, is my trauma coming from?

1. Trying to push with my whole self a model I didn’t 100% believe in

2. Watching something I created fail

Is there a 3? No, at the moment, I don’t believe there is. I’m not sure if I’m operating purely on logic brain at the moment or if writing this short piece really has helped me process through some of the hurt. But regardless, I don’t feel like crying when thinking about WSS for once. I’m tired of saying hiding all my pain. I want to acknowledge and say yes.

Yes, we made something. It was a school that operated for a year and a half.

Yes, I experienced burnout with trying to cheerlead for it.

Yes, it hurt when we had to close due to financial struggle.

Yes, I know for a fact (via their parents) that at least some of the students had an extremely positive experience at the school.

As for the future? I still want to remain in education, making the best decisions I can in a tortured career. I feel stronger as a teacher, however painful it is to me. I feel like I’m making a difference and that I’m where I need to be. So, as soon as I can, I’d like to get my teaching license renewed. I’m sure there’s somewhere that will welcome me, crazy radical ideas and all.

Edit, later that evening:

Okay. Point 3. Mourning what could have been. It could have been awesome. It could have been the best thing for Wichita and for me and for hundreds of students yet to come. But it wasn’t. And sometimes I forget that I’m still mourning that.

The Job of Sudbury Staff: Being an Authentic Human

Five months into working at a Sudbury school, I'm still learning how to authentically BE. I still find myself wondering, "What should I be doing right now?" with the back of my mind assuming I'm skirting some significant teacher duty.

The truth is, I never am. As a staff member at a Sudbury school, I don't actually have any duties. In fact, Hanna Greenberg once wrote that working at Sudbury Valley School, she does "nothing." The question of what a Sudbury staff member does has explored by Michael Sappir of Sudbury Jerusalem, the Hudson Valley Sudbury School blog, and nearly every staff member since the founding of SVS, according to Starting a Sudbury School (1998), so much so that it can be determined that each staff member may create their own job description.

Thus, the chief assignments I have given myself include:
-Being the legally required adult presence
-Solving any literal emergency in which anyone is in danger
-Making sure the bills get paid
-Being available for any questions the students have and offering advice when asked
-Modeling being a human

Not imparting specific knowledge. Not solving quarrels. Not making sure that the students are productive or accountable to anything. Not even cleaning the building, as was hotly contested in the early years of SVS (Starting a Sudbury School, 1998).

And not, as my brain keeps trying to tell me, supervising anyone. The students and I are "fundamentally equal," as the HVSS blog above noted. "I have no authority over anyone I'm hanging out with (or any other person at the school for that matter), anyone may leave for another part of the campus at any time, and I have no obligation to entertain, feed, supervise, etc. anyone at school." That's a line I remind myself of when I start to feel the public-school-teacher pull of supervising coming on. I think that's the bit of unlearning that's coming the hardest for me--the learning to trust that students are getting what they need on their own, that my supervision actually inhibits the lessons they need to teach themselves. I first tell myself, "My job is not to keep you out of trouble," and then I remind myself to trust. If the kids are in the other room, and something that they don't like happens, they know that they can talk about it. If it still continues, they know how to write the other student up for JC and even propose a new rule for the Student Handbook. There is a system for everything already in place, and if we come upon something that needs a system to be written, it will be brought up in conversation, and one will be created. (We're still in the process of writing the Open Campus Policy, for example.)

When in doubt, I try to treat the students as I would treat a good friend. I try to speak to them on the same level, with the same amount of respect, and give the same type of advice I would give a friend in the same context. That is, I treat them as humans.

Thus, what may be the most important of my self-imposed job activities, I try to model being human with equals.

Around the beginning of November, I had a bout of depression. I didn't try to hide it. I didn't put on a good face for the kids. I told them I was having a rough time and that to cope with it, I wanted to write in my journal. We talked openly about depression and anxiety, facing difficult topics head on. One day, I curled up into a ball on one of the couches and didn't get up all day. The students asked if there was anything they could do, and I thanked them but replied that I just wanted to be by myself for a while. They knew I had a therapist appointment later that week. This is part of who I am, part of being human, and I model my handling of it.

In early December, to help myself overcome that bout of depression, I realized there were two things I could do every day to help keep my brain chemicals balanced--a simple exercise of either yoga or pilates and at least 10 minutes of writing. I told the students I really wanted to do these two things but that I had to mentally fight the pushback my brain gave me about it. I wanted to find a way to keep myself accountable, and I wanted to do so transparently. After a short meditation on it, I created what may be considered a sticker chart. I know, I know. Sticker charts are a gross form of extrinsic motivation, but what if I'm the only one "making" myself keep it? Thus began a conversation about perseverance and pushing oneself to do things for the long-term benefits even if you "don't feel like it."

After morning tasks (turning on the heater/fan, putting away clean dishes from the drying rack, etc.) and chatting with the students, I do have quite a bit of time to myself every day. I try to use this time to demonstrating being an authentic human, that is, one with faults and flaws but also curiosity, love, and a continual striving to being the best version of oneself possible.

A Day at Wichita Sudbury School

What is daily life like at a Sudbury school? That depends entirely on who you ask and what's going on in their lives! What follows is just one day, Tuesday, November 28, 2017, from the perspective of a staff member.

I pulled up to the school building at 8:45, seeing J at the lockbox beside the front door. He had just arrived, as well, and hadn't yet put in the code or gotten out the spare key, so he closed it back up and waited for me to get out of my car and unlock the door for him. We said hello, and he signed in, got a cup of water from the sink, and sat down on one of the couches in the main room with his journal.

I got out the binders of paperwork kept in the computer room and sat down at the art room table. Because both of our computers were down, I had had to take the November bills home the night before to pay using my home computer. I was able to pay gas, electric, and water online, so I three-hole-punched those sheets and put them away in the PAID section. I wasn't, however, able to put the rent in the mail because I had forgotten to grab a check. I made it out to our landlord, slipped it into an envelope, and attached it to the outside of the mail slot with a paperclip to be picked up by the mailman later. After administrative things were out of the way, I sat down on a different couch with my own journal for a little while.

Around 9:15, L arrived. She, as the Attendance Clerk, wanted to get started right away on her task--calculating attendance. When we first opened three months ago, I did all of the paperwork and administrative tasks. Now that the students have gotten more of a handle on Sudbury life, they've been picking up clerksmanships here and there. L still likes to have me double check her work, so I sat with her at the art room table. Besides, with the computers down, she still needed my phone for the time calculator app. I brought my Kindle with me but soon discovered that the e-book I borrowed from the library didn't actually hold my attention. C arrived and sat on one of the chairs in the art room after signing in, so I chatted with him until he wanted to watch something on his tablet.

I watched over L's shoulder for some time. She accurately converted times after noon to 24-hour time for easier calculation, subtracting the sign-in time from the sign-out time. Occasionally she became frustrated when finding that someone forgot to sign in or out. She called them over and had them try to remember what happened that day, noting down a likely account for them. A few times when someone couldn't remember, she sighed to herself and resigned to just give them the minimum 5 hours.

J went into the kitchen to fix himself a snack. A few minutes later, I heard a shout of alarm and the shattering of a plate. Rushing in, I found J holding his hand. It didn't appear to be bleeding, so he must have burnt it. I turned on the cold water and told him to put his hand under it while I cleaned up the shards of ceramic plate. While I swept, he cooled his hand in the water and ruminated on what happened, "I was getting the grilled cheese out [of the toaster oven], and I think I touched the top part." "Oh, the heating element. Yeah? Do you think it's okay?" I responded. He took a moment to assess, then responded, "Yeah." He turned off the water and got another plate to put his sandwich on.

I went back to the art room. L was finishing up one sheet, getting the weekly totals for each student. "Woah, C, you're up five hours this week!" I noted. "I am? I have five extra hours?" he replied. "Well, just for this week that we finished doing. We still have another week to do, so we haven't gotten the totals yet." "What? Why do you still have another week to do?" J asked from the doorway. L shrugged. "Lazy." She may have been feeling lazy weeks prior, but she was working hard this morning! She contemplated whether or not she wanted to start the next week or take a break. Finishing up won out, and she hunkered down with the calculator app and pen. J went into the computer room to see if there was anything he could do about fixing the computers.

At 11, when G still hadn't arrived, I messaged his dad to see if everything was okay. He replied that they were just running a bit late today and were walking out the door. J, L, and C contemplated a hiding game when G arrived. Half an hour later, when G's car pulled up, they darted into the supply room. L had taken the sign-in sheet with her to finish in the room, but when G realized he couldn't sign-in, he was flustered and near tears. It must have been a rough morning. He called through the door, and L replied that she would sign in for him. He said, "Okay," and sat down to pull dinosaurs out of his backpack. "I brought these dinosaurs because I wanted to add battle damage to them," he said, scribbling on one of them with a red crayon. "Oh, I see," I replied, watching as he began staging an epic battle. When he was finished, he showed me the scene. Aside from the warring group all posed mid-attack, there was also a collection of dinosaurs a little ways off posed naturally. "This is the peaceful group," he declared, indicating them.

L finished the attendance shortly after and brought it to me. She had gotten into a flow and completed that second week's page in about half the time it took her to do the first one! I logged the time on the Excel sheet on my phone and then wrote everyone's initials and attendance totals on the white board. Students are required to be in school for 5 hours a day, 186 days a school year. I multiply how many days we've been in session by five and compare it to each student's totals, giving them a positive or negative amount of time based on the minimum they need to have according to state. Some students are satisfied with their minimum time while others have been saving up extra time (the two hours a day extra that we're open) to have extended vacations. They gathered around to see their time after I had written it on the board. "What happened to putting it on the board in the art room?" C asked. The white board near sign-in is used for announcements and daily scheduling, so it gets erased daily. Last time we put the attendance hours on the board, they were erased the next day, so C suggested we put it on the white board in the art room so it stays longer. "Oh yeah," I remembered. I wrote the hours there, as well.

"I want to do some yoga," I said out loud. "Oh, yes!" L agreed. C had been doing yoga in the mornings, and I usually joined in when he did his. He had lost interest in it, though, it seemed, so I decided to start it back up myself. I waffled for a few moments between yoga and pilates before finally deciding to download a pilates app. I set up the first beginner level, and after a couple of positions, L joined in. It was a 13 minute long session, and the moves were, indeed, rather basic, but it was a good exercise for us. Afterwards we collapsed on the couch and drank some water.

"There are a lot of dirty dishes in the sink," L noted. "Yeah, it seems like people haven't been washing their dishes after they use them. Let's add that to tomorrow's School Meeting agenda." I retrieved the folder for School Meeting minutes and began to create the agenda.

1. Reminder from Holly (SM chair): Everyone needs to wash any dishes they use.

"Do you want me to add about the signing in and out, too?" I asked. "Yes, please."

2. Reminder from L (Attendance Clerk): Make sure you are signing in and out every time you leave or enter the school building.

"Oh! And we need to talk about the Ouija board," L prompted. "I thought you were going to buy that with your own money for yourself?" I asked. "Well, I decided that I wanted it for the school." "Oh, so you want me to put it on the agenda to get it for the school?" "Yeah." "And it was $15 on Amazon?" "Wait, let me use your phone to check again."

3. Proposal from L to buy an Ouija board with school money. $18 from Amazon.

"Would you be interested in reading?" L asked me when I was finished with the agenda. She and I had been taking turns reading Wonder by Raquel J. Palacio aloud. "Sure," I replied, and we sat down to read a few chapters. After a while, she decided to get herself some lunch. I turned my Kindle on, remembered that I didn't like the book I was reading, and sighed. I wanted to read more! "G, I want to read more, but I don't have a good book right now. Do you want to keep reading your Minecraft book with me?" "Hmm.. no, not right now," he replied. "Okay." I went to make my own lunch. G hesitated, then followed me into the kitchen. "You know, I think I want to change my mind about reading right now." "Okay. Let's do that." So he read a little to me while I ate my sandwich, then he cooked some ramen for himself and listened to me finish the chapter.

"Miss! Guess what!" J burst into the main room. At the beginning of school, I had asked him to just call me by my first name, but he still preferred to address me as Miss. "Hmm?" "I fixed the computer!" he beamed. "Woah! How did you do that?" "I don't know. I took off the side of the case, and there was a wire that was loose. So I reconnected it, and now it works!" "Huh! Well, okay then. Awesome!" I pulled out my journal to do some more writing as he headed back.

There was some scuffle coming from the computer room, and J returned to me. "Miss, I was using the computer, but L said I didn't sign in. So she signed in and got to use it." While the computers were working, they had created a rule in the School Handbook that students could use the computer for half an hour at a time after they signed their name on the computer sign up sheet. "Aha! She got you on a technicality," I lamented. "Yeah. It's like that story about the hen who's making the bread, except backwards a bit. She makes the bread even though no one helps her, but then she shares it with everyone. But I fixed the computer, and L took it from me!" I laughed, "True, but you'll get to use it after her time is up." "Yeah."

After L's turn on the computer, she came wandering into the main room and sat close by, curious about my writing. "I'm creating a safe space," I told her. She looked even more confused. "One of my friends told me that at her therapy, she learned how to create a safe space that's just in her heart and her mind. When she's feeling overwhelmed or upset, she can close her eyes and imagine her safe space so her heart and mind can become calm again. She said that your safe space is something personal, just for you, and that you have to create it when you're happy. So I'm creating mine now, and writing about it helps me be creative." "Oh! I see." She continued to sit with me while I wrote, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, before going back into the computer room.

There was another scuffle, something about name calling and writing each other up, indicating that the agreed upon rules in the School Handbook had been violated. J and L were both filling out complaint forms. "Holly, when can we have a JC meeting?" came a voice from the art room. During a Judicial Committee meeting, a jury of peers (in our case, the entire school population of four students and one staff member) reviewed a violation of the rules and decided what should be done about it. "Uh, tomorrow?" I replied. "Why? Why can't we just have it now?" J asked. "Because you're both upset, and I want to give you time to calm down." "Well.. I'm the JC Clerk, and I say we're calling a JC meeting right now," L declared. "Alright," I sighed, and resigned myself to joining the group in the art room.

Apparently J had "called G a 'b-i-t-c-h,'" which was declared a violation of Norms and Expectations #2, "Be respectful." There was a discussion, and as a result, JC decided to propose a new rule to school meeting: "Offensive words can be said to inanimate objects but not to people." However, J had done this because L and G were annoying him. Frustrated, he went back to the computer. "J, now it's time for your complaint," I offered. "Come and tell us about it." "No, you don't care, anyway," came the response. "I do care, and I want to hear your story." "No, just throw out the complaint," J called. "J, I care, and I want to hear your story. Come tell us about what happened." But he wouldn't return. Sighing, we threw out the case. I contemplated what to do and decided to add another bullet to tomorrow's agenda,

5. Discussion topic from Holly: Is the JC process working for us?

(This was an on-going dispute that lasted a few more days before being completely resolved.)

I went to the kitchen to make myself some tea, and C followed me. "I think I should bring something else to entertain myself," he told me. "I've been watching Ben10 on my tablet all day today, but maybe I need something else." I nodded, pulling my mug from the microwave and adding the tea bag. "Yeah. Are you not in the middle of a book?" I asked, recalling his love of fantasy novels. "I am, but it's at home. It's in the Gameknight999 Minecraft series. Maybe I'll bring that tomorrow. Or maybe I'll draw," he mused. I smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

L and G emerged from the supply room with two long, slender, plastic poles that looked like they might be used in plumbing or something. "Can we.." L started hesitantly, "take these outside and joust?" I didn't know where they came from or any reason why we would keep them, so I agreed. "Sure? Stay away from the cars in the parking lot, of course," I reminded her. By the time they came back in, they had perfected some sort of JROTC-looking synchronized pole maneuvering dance. "It's called Quartet. How do you spell quartet?" she asked. "I'm not sure. You made it up, so I think you get to decide how it's spelled." "Alright, well, I'm going to spell it.. Q-A.. 'cause I know in English the 'q' and the 'u' are married, but since I'm making it up, they're getting a divorce. Q-A-U-R-T-T-E-T. Qaurttet."

Remarkably, for once, everyone's parents showed up around the same time, 3:45-ish, so in a flurry of activity, everyone left rather quickly. I gathered the trash and took it to my car to throw away at home.

What will tomorrow bring? Who knows! The students whims are leading them, but they are constantly learning. It's amazing to watch where their creativity takes them, and I'm so excited to be a part of their journey.

Justification Labeling

I am so thankful to be starting the first year of Wichita Sudbury School with our amazing families! Coming from a traditional teaching background, I guess I still really believed that once the parents realized I actually wasn't making their children do any traditional "work," they'd pull out of the program. Even though my board had campaigned all year, I still couldn't believe we actually found families willing to try it. It took me these six school days we've been open to honestly trust that they trusted their children (and me, as the adult in the building). I've been sending little snippets of how their kids are doing every other day or so, and the parents have shared my excitement for the little things--their children's growing autonomy, creative problem solving, and expressing the unique character traits that make them individuals. It is beautiful watching the students learn authentically, and I'm delighted I have parents that agree.

But what am I really doing by sharing these small moments? There is such a fine line between what I've been thinking of as "justification labeling" and trust.

When I taught in traditional classrooms, I felt the need to justify everything my students did outside the curriculum. I suppose, to be fair, I WAS hired for the purpose of teaching curriculum, but it was more than that somehow. I felt as though every aspect of play and creativity were under attack. I had this hero fantasy outlook where I was the only adult that afforded children this "luxury" of play in a bad, evil world of adults that didn't understand what children truly needed. I was only able to do so by disguising it under names that parents and administrators took more seriously. Outside play became an opportunity for strengthening muscles and spacial awareness, reading educational magazines became a chance to teach current events and other subjects in an authentic manner, using a flexible seating classroom arrangement increases student engagement and participation, and so forth. For everything I wanted to "give" the students, there had to be a justification ready to present to skeptical adults, both to allow me to continue providing the experience and to make my look like I knew what I was doing. (Of course I was just making it up as I went along, but isn't everyone?)

I did so even as I started getting into the Sudbury culture, which was why I was so taken aback when I visited a Sudbury school for the first time and saw students just... existing. They weren't playing and hanging out under the guise of learning, they just WERE. There was no forced curriculum, but nor was there a hero fantasy of adults providing students with something illicit by tricking the higher ups. Everyone was allowed to just BE. No judgments, no pressure to look further into an activity in order to apply an educational label. It was liberating.

And difficult to fully comprehend. I'm still not completely there yet. I told my students on the first day that just as this is their first experience attending a Sudbury school, it is also my first experience teaching at a Sudbury school. We're all learning together, and we all have power to shape our shared experience.

I just know that without active communication, my anxiety gets the best of me. By keeping an open dialogue with all the parents, I am doing what I can to maintain transparency. It felt awful when I was teaching in traditional schools and didn't have regular communication with parents. It felt like a job. And I'm not trying to create a job for myself here. I'm creating an authentic life. I'm creating authentic relationships with real people. I'm modeling being the best version of myself I can be, and what makes me feel like the best, most honest and transparent version of myself is sharing with parents that I think their children are on the right track. The only way I know how to do so right now is to put my own justification labels on their activities. I know that these labels are shallow and don't take into consideration all the nuances and complexities encompassed by the human experience, but it's what I have right now. It helps me to see that the students and school are succeeding and to share that with others.

Maybe eventually I'll be able to just allow the students to be without the crutch of needing to apply my labels, but for now I'm just thankful I have a wonderful team of people supporting me as we all explore the path to get there. <3

WSS: Summer Session 2017

Because Sudbury schools are such a vast departure from "traditional" education, before a student enrolls officially, they typically spend what is called a "visiting week" as sort of a trial period to make sure it's a good fit. As a start-up, we don't have this option yet. On top of that, we're still trying to raise enough money for first month's rent! Thus, to tackle both problems, Wichita Sudbury School is offering summer sessions where a few students can get to know each other in a relaxed atmosphere. Our first session was held last week in a board member's back yard.

Honestly, with it being the first school activity with students, with wanting so desperately for it to go well after having worked hard to make it happen, my brain kind of shut off  for a lot of the week. I was afraid of anything going wrong, and to avoid the discomfort, I went on auto-pilot. I auto-piloted my way through a lot of full-time teaching, too, so I wouldn't have to deal with teaching in a method I morally disagreed with, so I'm not concerned that I didn't "do my job." I can even connect with students on auto-pilot, just not to the fullest, most genuine extent I can while being mindfully present. As it turned out, though, and as I was finally able to start seeing on Friday, everything went really well, actually. What follows is some of my processing of the week.

We had four students with us, and I'm still trying to decide how I want to refer to them here. I think I've finally decided on a method that involves their age and gender, even though I dislike using either of those things as distinguishing features for people. It's the easiest for now, though, so it will have to do. Thus, I got to hang out with 4m and 8f (siblings), 10f, and 13f this past week. A few of the other board members also dropped in and out as they were available.

Monday was probably the most difficult, as to be expected with learning a new environment, set of people, and expectations. 4m was not used to staying outside for such an extended period of time, and I had to explain to him multiple times that we were only to be in the house to use the restroom, and then we needed to come right back out because this house belongs to someone else. After the first day, he mostly respected that boundary, though there were other issues of throwing fits, having others do things for him like putting on his own shoes, taking food from others, not respecting boundaries of when others tell him to stop a behavior or action that affects them, etc. Even though he will be 5 by September, that these persisted throughout the week with no discernible effort to change, despite being talked to about it every day, shows me that he's not ready for the school. That's the point of visiting week, after all, so success!

There were other times I felt uncomfortable, and after a couple of days I realized that it was because I was actively supervising the students! These students and their parents signed a waiver reminding them specifically that they wouldn't be supervised constantly. That's not how Sudbury works. They need to be left alone in a safe environment so they can learn from making their own choices and mistakes. After I realized that, I started trying to focus more on doing my own thing, which in this case was reading. It was difficult having everyone in one, large area, though. When I visited a Sudbury school, if a group of students came up to adults with "he said / she said" problems, the adult would send them away with, "You guys need to work this out on your own." The students would go to a different room and solve the problem themselves (or write up a complaint to JC if need be). Being all in one area, I had to pretend to not take any interest in my students' squabbles. Of course I could "solve" all of the problems by dictating what everyone needs to do, as I'm used to doing at traditional schools, but that doesn't give the children any chance to learn how to do it themselves. It doesn't prove to them that they are strong, capable, individuals with the capacity of problem solving. Instead, it teaches them that if they have a problem, they need someone else to solve it for them. So I tried very hard to focus on my book. I'll get better at this as time goes on.

One interesting time when this came up was while the students were playing in the shed, which had a latch that automatically locks from the inside when closed. They called for me to come let them out once, which I was fine with, but when it happened a second time, I decided I wasn't comfortable with them playing in a way that requires them to ask for help. As I walked across the yard, I contemplated what I was going to say. I didn't want to say, "I'm not going to let you out again," because I knew I wouldn't be able to follow through with that. If they got locked in and needed help, of course I would help them. What I finally came up with when I unlocked the shed for the second time was an honest, "I don't want to keep getting up to let you out. I'd like to sit and read my book, so don't keep getting yourselves locked in, alright?" Back at my blanket, I pulled up my book and noticed that the door was immediately shut again. I sighed, but since they weren't calling to me, I didn't head back over. It took them five or ten minutes, but they finally burst triumphantly from captivity. They were so very excited to let me know that they didn't need my help getting out anymore because they had figured out how to trigger the latch from the inside using a stick. "That sounds like some creative problem solving," I smiled.

Another thing we worked on this week was the democratic process. 8f got outvoted several times when the others wanted to walk to the park, and she had to come along with us even though she didn't want to. She came to sit by me a lot when she wasn't getting her way, and I straddled a thin line between discussing the ideology of the school and just being a calm, nonjudgemental body she could sit by when feeling uncertain. I'm still finding my comfort zone with that. It's also difficult for me not to side with the underdog. In politics, we have to stand up for the minority to make sure they have their voices heard. But that's a discussion for another time. 8f made it clear that she didn't want to be at the park, but she didn't present any arguments convincing enough to persuade the majority, so we went to the park. Each time, I made it clear that we were going because the majority wanted to go. Likewise, when on the second day, she started a motion to go to the store to buy ice cream with her own money, I made it clear that those arguments had convinced her friends, and she had the majority on this issue. I wanted her to know that democracy works both ways. We went to get ice cream because SHE made it happen.

Speaking of getting ice cream, that issue came up again on Thursday. All four students wanted to get ice cream, and they had their own money to pay for it again. They just needed me to drive. This time I wasn't so sure. I told them that it wasn't enough to just convince each other, they needed to come up with a way to make it happen. If I'm the one driving, I needed to be convinced, too. I just so happened to have an appointment that afternoon, so I left them, unconvinced, with the other board members. By Friday, they had strengthened their arguments. They reminded me that they had learned how to convince each other, and that learning about democracy was one of the main goals of this week. I agreed that was true, but I told them that I wasn't sure I wanted them spending all of their money on ice cream. 10f told me that it wasn't actually her money. It was given to her by her neighbor specifically FOR ice cream after she had told him about Tuesday's events. Oh really? Now that was a little more persuasive. Before I could respond, she presented her next argument, "And I can use some of it to buy you something. Would you like me to get you something?" I disliked the idea of taking money from children, but I could see that she was putting a lot of effort into coming up with tactics. I complied, drove them to the store, and allowed her to buy me a cherry limeade for $1.25 as compensation. They enjoyed their second ice cream day.

I think I was also successful at modeling effective communication language, as well. This is a separate issue from language in general. It didn't take long for 4m to realize that I wasn't going to scold him for cursing. The Sudbury-esque stance I've seen taken and have adopted myself for that goes something like, "If they are left to play with language as they please, cursing won't seem as powerful as if it were taboo. Let them get it out of their systems and don't pay them any heed." Thus, 4m cursed up a storm. The girls were skeptical. I doubt they'd ever seen an adult take this stance. I explained that he wasn't hurting anyone with his language. If it bothered them, they could move away from him or say something to the effect of, "I don't like that language. Please don't say those things to/around me." My modeling of I-statements caught on quick, and I was happy to see them being used more and more as the week went on, especially by 8f.

Everything culminated in a pool party on Friday afternoon. 10f brought an inflatable pool from her house, and 13f found a shop vac in the cellar with which to blow it up and a hose in the shed with which to fill it. They asked for help retrieving the shop vac because there were boxes on top of it and finding the water spigot because it was hidden under a cold-weather sealer. The rest they solved themselves. (Well, I also recommended 13f find an old shirt for 4m to wear because he didn't bring a swimming suit and wanted to just play in his underwear.) They used the shop vac themselves to blow up the pool. They filled it with water. They even worked together to move the pool into the sun when they realized it was too cold in the shade. I stayed off to the side reading my book. Like the instance with the shed, they knew I was there if they needed anything, but they had the confidence and independence to try it on their own first.

One of the games they played involved the older students picking up the younger ones and throwing them into the pool. I heard it as I read and ruminated on how a supervising adult would probably make them stop because "the little ones will get hurt." After having spent all week together, though, they knew each other well enough to play this way. The maternal instincts of the older girls kicked in and they were careful of how hard they threw the younger kids. There was one point where 4m sat down on the side of the pool and said, "No!" 13f replied, "Come on," and moved to pick him up again, but 10f stopped her. "No, he said, 'No,'" she spoke up. "We have to leave him alone now." 13f complied, and they kept playing until he was ready to join them again. The four of them played until they were finished and then sat out in the sun to air dry in a peaceful, happy daze until it parents started showing up. What a perfect end to a wonderful week of real learning.

What else is there to say? There were epic stick fights, climbing and standing on railings, sliding down the cellar door, eating lunch in the grass, hand turkeys made of construction paper, and plenty of being bored. I'm learning to let the kids have their play and not get too involved myself. They need their time to be kids, and my influence isn't necessary. I'm looking forward to our next summer session. <3

Book Review: Free to Learn

Free to Learn
Peter Gray
Copyright 2013
235 pages

Taking a break from SVS Press books but still wanting to continue my Sudbury research, I picked up Free to Learn, an examination of what it means to play from an anthropologist (and also father of an SVS student)'s perspective. I'm not sure I really have much to say in review because I completely internalized the entire thing while reading it, enjoying it much more than I expected to. It's an easy read, apparently, as Gray's words leapt off the page and melded themselves immediately into my view of reality.

One of the things I enjoyed most about Free to Learn is the scale from which Gray speaks as an anthropologist. While exploring the world of alternative education, most every bit of literature I come across asks the Why question--"Why is our education system the way it is?" To which the unanimous response reads, "Well, the Industrial Revolution." But Gray, not accepting that as the complete answer, explores further, back to hunter-gatherers, the earliest humans, and plays with concepts he finds there.

In fact, play is exactly what he does, as he, himself, admits. "...I would estimate that my behavior in writing this book is about 80 percent play. That percentage varies from time to time as I go along; it decreases when I worry about deadlines or how critics will evaluate it, and it increases when I'm focused only on the current task of researching or writing. ... I am taking into account not just my sense of freedom about doing it, my enjoyment of the process, and the fact that I'm following rules (about writing) that I accept as my own, but also the fact that a considerable degree of imagination is involved. I'm not making up the facts, but I am making up the way of stringing them together. Furthermore, I am constantly imagining how they will fit into the whole structure I am trying to build, one that does not yet exist as concrete reality." (p. 140, 151) That play through which Gray writes is palpable throughout and makes for an entirely enjoyable experience.

Before reading Free to Learn, I knew, perhaps only through intuition, that play was an important part of learning, just not to this extent. Gray teaches us, through an examination of evolution, that play IS learning and that it is a powerful force, indeed. I can't recommend this book highly enough.

Autonomy

I cannot make children do anything.

I can keep them safe.
I can model behavior and communication.
I can listen.
I can be a sounding board.
I can explain.
I can provide logic.
I can comfort.
I can encourage.
I can love them.

But I cannot make children do anything.

~*~

Note: I wrote this a few weeks ago after a particularly difficult day with a 17-month-old I've been babysitting. It went through a series of purposes throughout its creation. First it was merely a reminder to myself in the moment of what I had control over. Then it was a disclaimer for parents of children I teach or have taught in the past and a sort of explanation about Sudbury education. Finally, I realized it was as true for myself as a future parent as it was for other parents. It rings true for all situations, but I may edit it a little more before attaching it to the school.

Books Included in the Sudbury Valley School Starter Kit

Summaries updated as I read them

Free at Last: The Sudbury Valley School

by Daniel Greenberg

1987 (1995 reprint), 184 pages

If you are looking for somewhere to start delving in, this is it. I consider this the quintessential Sudbury book. It is the first book published by Sudbury Valley School Press, and covers, in quick, easy language, all of the introductory questions parents have.

The Sudbury Valley School Experience
by various authors
1985 (1987, 1992 reprints), 234 pages
This is the second-most turned to book about Sudbury education. In a series of short articles and vignettes, adults at SVS describe different aspects of school life. It ends with A School for Today, 25-page account of how Sudbury works and why it's perfectly fit for modern times, that would be great to share with parents.

Starting a Sudbury School: A Summary of the Experiences of Fifteen Start-Up Groups

by Daniel Greenberg, Mimsy Sadofsky

1998, 220 pages

Written specifically for potential founders, if the title didn't give that a way, this one is incredibly practical. It guides step-by-step through a lot of nitty-gritty and answers questions I didn't know I had. This is one to keep nearby and check every so often for recommendations on how to go about different situations. 

Legacy of Trust: Life after the Sudbury Valley School Experience

by Daniel Greenberg, Mimsy Sadofsky

1992, 332 pages

The first (SVS Press) study of SVS graduates, 188 individuals that graduated over the span of 21 years after SVS was established. Great to have on hand when speaking with parents who are new to the movement, as it answers such questions as, "Will my child be able to go to college without classes and grades?" It probably isn't something they would want to read in its entirety, but perfect to flip through for a little while. I keep mine highlighted for easy reference.

The Pursuit of Happiness: The Lives of Sudbury Valley Alumni
By Daniel Greenberg, Mimsy Sadofsky, and Jason Lempka
2005, 364 pages
The second study of SVS graduates. I had hoped that it would be better, more informative, and more up to date than Legacy of Trust, but it's just different. It has more anecdotes and direct quotes from graduates, but fewer statistics and findings about them. 

Sudbury as a Metaphor for America and Learning to Trust

"We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard." - John F. Kennedy

Welcome, fellow humans, to the year 2017. This is, again, a reminder that social constructs are merely facades of barriers, and if you have a desire to break one down, the only thing stopping you is your own hesitancy.

I am afraid of starting a Sudbury school. It's a fear I keep not in the foreground of daily life, but one continuously simmering on the back burner of my mind.

It's akin to the fear I have of having children.

I know that once I birth this thing, it will no longer be in my control. I will have the illusion of control over it, but it, itself, will be its own, autonomous being. Making my way slowly through the books by Sudbury Valley Press reminds me of that over and over.

To create a platform for the democratic process to exist is to acknowledge the relinquishing of control, giving it, a gift, to the people. At times, that will hurt. It will seem as though it is destroying itself, this thing that was created with such great effort and sacrifice. The people will convince themselves to go in a direction entirely antithetical to what I believe to be right, and there will be no way for me to prevent it from happening. There will be nothing for me to do besides trust. Trust in the system. Trust in humanity.

How apt it is that I'm writing this at the dawn of 2017 when the American people at large are struggling with the same thing.

A friend and I once had the most open-minded discussion of politics I have ever experienced. We realized, together, that he is a libertarian because he trusts humanity, while I am a socialist because I think humanity needs to be protected from itself. It was an eye-opening realization, one I haven't known what to do with since. I felt guilty upon realizing it and tried to take it back at once, but I knew I never could. It was a truth I had learned about myself. It was a truth about myself that I disliked.

I want to be more trusting. I want to trust that there exists enough kindness and love in humanity to overcome the hatred, anger, and fear that keeps presenting itself throughout the world. It will be an ongoing struggle, one that I may fight my entire life. But every time I succeed in this way of thinking is a victory, and it will get easier, one small victory at a time.

I must trust in the children, the future of our planet.

(That is, at least, easier than trusting adults, those who have learned to lie and cheat and think only for themselves. Wait. There I go again. Breathe. Let it go. "The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice." Good. Continue.)

When I came back from my first visit to a Sudbury school, I told Joanna that the concept most concerning to me was Judicial Committee. In brief, because it's not my current goal to explain it in its entirety, the students agree on certain rules. If someone (adult or child) breaks a rule, it gets written up as a complaint to a jury of peers who investigate the matter and determine what should be done about it. I told Joanna that I could see it easily being something that I try to enact while everyone else rolls their eyes. Something that I, alone, fight for. Something like nearly everything in the classroom I attempted while I taught high school.

"Then drop it," Joanna replied. If it gets to that point, we don't do it. It is only for them, after all. When they complain that someone keeps doing something they don't like, we remind them that we had a process for what to do when rules were broken. Ask them if they want help setting that system up again or if they want to create something entirely new.

Trust. Trust in the system. Trust in humanity.

A Long and Emotional Introduction to Starting a Sudbury School

I've been staring at a blank page all day.

I've been trying to write about the two weeks I spent in another state visiting a Sudbury school, and I think, instead, I'm letting my perfectionism control me. I wanted to write up a sweet, little blurb about the school that they could add to their list of things cool people have written about them. I wanted it to be a positive, little thing that we could all share around and be happy and proud about.

But the truth is, my experience there and my thoughts about Sudbury aren't entirely positive.

The reason I can't write is because I haven't been true to myself. I've been trying to hide. I've been trying to hide all of the real-life, potentially negative aspects, both from myself and from everyone around me. I've been trying to convince everyone that there are simple solutions and that I trust myself to make positive change happen.

~*~

Okay, back up. You deserve more context for all of this emotion I'm spewing at you. I've been writing a lot about how teaching high school went last year, but I haven't mentioned anything about what I'm doing this school year.

Well, I'm not teaching.

For years I've been entertaining a daydream about creating my own school. That's the logical outcome for this entire blog, right? Surely that's why I've been exploring so many aspects of education, right? What else would one do with this knowledge?

And yet it's remained a dream for so long.

Almost two years ago now I started seeing a therapist. It has been an incredible journey of self-discovery and insight into the psychology of humanity. I've grown more than I ever expected to, difficult as a journey as it was. I've found parts of myself I didn't know existed, parts of us that we all have in common but never speak of, parts of humanity that make us flawed but beautiful. I've discovered how to embrace the parts of life that are uncomfortable and learn from them. I feel like I am foundationally almost a different person, continually changing and growing and learning and living--intentionally.

I've learned that my life is my own, and I am in charge of how it goes.

Subconsciously, I've been living in the pattern, the system, that modern society has created. It's not a bad pattern. It does very well for most people. But that doesn't mean that I have to be confined by it.

That school doesn't have to remain a daydream. I can bring it to reality. It's a lot of work, but I  can make it happen.

There are people out there that do great things. They are real human beings, just like I am, and I, too, can do great things. I know I can because they can. We are fundamentally the same. We are all made of star stuff, after all.

~*~

The journey to create a school still probably wouldn't have gotten off the ground if it weren't for the random happenstance of realizing that Joanna, an acquaintance, a friend-of-a-friend, also had daydreams of creating a school. We come from different backgrounds--I'm an unsettled teacher; she's an unsettled parent--but that unifying desire to make something great was all it took. Neither of us were going far on our own, but as partners, we pushed each other to accomplish more. It's her children I think of now when I start to question myself.

My research, having gone through a Montessori phase, was now travelling through the land of Sudbury. We hesitated but then went all out on a successful internet fundraising campaign to raise $675 and purchase a School Planning Kit from Sudbury Valley School.

The first goal after receiving the kit was supposed to be looking through the material more thoroughly to determine whether this was, in fact, the path we wanted to be on. It was roughly timed, though, because Joanna got caught up in other aspects of life, and my brain simply refused to look critically at the material. Every time I sat down to ask myself, "Is this what you want your school to be?" the immediate response came, "Uh, well, of course. We spent all this money, and it seems like the right choice." Our progress stalled. At least I had set up that two-week visitation to one of the schools I had been in contact with! I allowed the dust to settle while I waited for the trip. "Everything will be better after the trip," I told myself. "You'll go and see how perfect it is and come back motivated and eager to keep going all the way to the finish line."

But nothing is perfect, after all.

I am so incredibly thankful to the school for hosting me for two weeks. It was a fantastic experience that I still haven't completely unpacked yet.

Again, mostly because I'm afraid to. I'm afraid to come to terms with two major points. But we don't move forward without difficulty, so here we go.

~*~

The first point is partially an issue with my own expectation. I had built myself a little bubble of how I imagined Sudbury to be, and I was unsettled when I didn't find it to be true. Or, more accurately, when I found it to be truer than I completely realized.

"It's the atmosphere," I told everyone who asked my first impression. "It's an atmosphere of literally doing whatever you want and not feeling any amount of judgement for it. It's one thing to know that, conceptually, but it's another thing to actually witness it."

What I meant to say was, "I'm happy to see the littlest ones running and playing in the main room where they have a lot of space; their bodies and minds appreciate all the physical movement and activity. I'm also happy to see the group of kids playing video games in the computer room; they're learning to solve complex puzzles and be efficient and control technology. However, the teenagers just hanging out and talking make me uncomfortable."

Perhaps it's because I'm still stuck in the current societal system of, "Okay, you're going to be productive now, right?" In the Sudbury framework I had built for myself, it was okay for the children to play all day because they are learning in their own ways, and when the appropriate time comes, something will click inside of them, and they will produce something. They will become something. They will have something to show for all of the work they did when they were younger. They will prove to all the adults watching with scornful faces that freedom is a shortcut to a happy, productive adult life.

How could these teenagers just sit around talking when they had so much to do? They should have been well on their way by now. What happened? Did they join the school at too late of an age? Did they not get what they needed out of their younger years? Was the system failing them?

Boy, did these teenagers have something to teach me. And, in true teaching fashion, the seeds they planted in me when I met them at the beginning of the month are just now starting to sprout. I suspect I won't be harvesting fruit from them anytime soon, but for now, the sprouts are reminding me what trust is all about.

Trust is the backbone of the entire Sudbury model. Again, it's one thing to know, conceptually, but it's quite another to actually practice it.

Because teenagers, you know... Teenagers like to hang out and talk. That's true of teenagers everywhere, and it's true of Sudbury teenagers. I know, logically, that they're getting a lot out of it, just like the others running around in the main room and playing video games in the computer room. They're learning what is socially acceptable. They're learning how to treat others. They're learning empathy, current events, and how to have a conversation. They're learning how to interact with others. They're learning connection.

It doesn't matter that the girl with the sketchbook couldn't draw every day with all the conversation buzzing around her. It doesn't matter that she admitted she doesn't "get any work done at school" and does most of her drawing at home. She chose to stay in that room and participate in the conversation instead of finding a quite space to be by herself, and I'm choosing to trust that she's getting what she needs.

The oldest teenagers were actually the ones that had been there the longest, and, as difficult as it was for me to see at the time, they were serving as impeccable role models for the younger students. They were the ones who ran the weekly school meeting and judicial committee that met whenever a problem needed to be solved. They were the ones that scolded the younger ones for running in the halls and kept the school running smoothly. Sure, they didn't do a perfect job, but I'm choosing to trust that they are getting out of it what they need.

I can tell it will be a long journey to actually embracing this. It will take a long time and a lot of struggle on my part, but if I allow myself, I can form myself in this way. I've had 28 years of society forming me, so that it will take effort and patience to unlearn is to be expected.

But how can I also convince parents to trust their children if I am also struggling?

~*~

Which brings me to my second point--I'm still not convinced Sudbury is the model I want to follow.

I am hyper-aware of my tendency to, as my husband puts it, follow the novelty. I'm the type of person who likes to explore everything. There's always something new to look into. Who's to say that in one year's time I won't feel the same about Sudbury as I do about Montessori. Goodness knows the Sudbury community is rife with drama.

But even more than that, settling down with one model for what, at this point, seems like the rest of my professional career... That scares me more than anything else. It almost seems like a compromise of my own values. In the aforementioned "list of cool things people have written about" the Sudbury school I visited this month, I found links to where two other visitors like me had written of their experiences. Two other people who explored alternative education. Two other people on this endless quest.

I don't want my quest to be over. I don't want to settle down and decide, "This is the best. There's no reason to keep looking." And that's the biggest reason I'm hesitant to commit to the Sudbury model.

Joanna and I have played around with the name of our future school, which we're still planning to open September 2017. Nothing seems quite right. We almost settled on Wichita Creative Learning School but then decided it was too ambiguous. Immediately upon returning home, I decided we had to commit, at least partially, to Wichita Sudbury School so that we could open into an already existing community. We could keep our business name as Wichita Creative Learning, Inc., but the school itself needed to completely comply with the Sudbury model so that we could have support that came with it.

Now again I'm questioning that.

~*~

There are no easy answers. Life is not that simple.

I'm fully aware that this school could fail. I'm also fully aware that even if this school is successful, it's not necessarily the only thing left in my professional career. I'm hoping that it can grow and change with me, but I'm not quite sure how to let it.

And that's where I stand now, eager to proceed but nervous that I'm going in the wrong direction.

But I can trust myself.

One thing I've learned from therapy is that there is no right direction. Any direction I choose to go is fine. Regardless of what happens, I will continue to grow and learn. If I let fear of failure control me, I won't do anything great. And I know that I can do great things.

DIY Notebooks and My 2016 Take on PBL--Individual Study

Sometime right before winter break in my second year of teaching high school English, I got this idea for a do-it-yourself notebook. You see, I have this specific something instilled in me that's part environmentally-friendly, part OCD, where I don't like things to be wasted. I've been saving paper that's only been used on one side since high school (and, boy, did I get teased because of it!), and I've amassed quite a stack of it. I encouraged the third-graders I taught to draw and color on the blank sides, but the practice never quite caught on with teenagers. I'd been taking notes and doing daily writing on them, but the stack was growing ever taller, regardless.

It was around this time I started thinking that I should just carry some of this scrap paper around with me. Like a notebook.

But... more like a 3-ring binder because, as much as I like having the pages in a notebook securely attached, I enjoy the flexibility of being able to reorganize, add, and remove pages as necessary.

But... full-sized sheets are so large and cumbersome. I'd definitely need to cut them in half to be a good size.

But... one thing that's awesome about 8.5x11 pieces of paper is that.. well, they're a standard size. So when you put them in the hole punch, one of my favorite toys, all the holes are in the same place. There's not a standard hole punch for 8.5x5.5 papers.

Wait! What an excellent critical thinking opportunity with real world application! I offered my students some extra credit and gave them 20 minutes to come up with the best solution.

I finally settled for one offered by two of my juniors--If you align the papers at the bottom of the hole punch, like usual, the holes are awkwardly positioned. Same for if you align them at the top of the hole punch. It's not so awkward if you turn the hole punch to the right side, flip the pages to the back so that the used side is showing up, align at the top, and then punch! It took some getting used to, but it totally works! I was so happy to offer that opportunity to my students, and even more so to let them see me use a design they helped come up with on a daily basis.

A few months later, I decided that size wasn't right for my needs. I needed an even smaller size, a quarter size, to fit inside my purse. That was a bit of a struggle to design, as well! Eventually we decided that this one wouldn't work if aligned at the top or bottom; we just needed to center it between two of the holes. The pages weren't exactly the same size, which is what I was afraid of, because I cut several pages at the same time in an inexact method, but it really didn't matter. All that mattered, after all, was that the holes were a standard distance from each other. Neat!

Alright, switching topics, just a little. I knew I wasn't coming back to work the following year about half way through third quarter. That being said, I really wanted to go out with a bang. I wanted to give my students something they would really learn from and remember, something important.

At that time, I had a sophomore who was teaching herself Russian in her spare time, which I was immensely proud of. It reminded me of teaching myself Japanese when I was younger, and that spurred an idea I had been considering after reading Summerhill School.

It had a basis of Project Based Learning, and that's how I sold it to administration, but in reality, I just wanted my students to realize that they live in the digital age. Literally ANYTHING they want to learn is at their fingertips. Mostly, I wanted them to have more control over their learning, to have more ownership of their own learning.

Thus, it manifested like this: Individual Study. Once again, I threw the entire curriculum out the window for the final month of school, telling my students that we were going to be doing something more important--focusing on whatever they wanted to learn. I stressed how important it was to follow your passions, not let anything come between you and what you want to learn, and turn hobbies and interests into viable options for study and bettering yourself. I reminded them that this is what it means to be a 21st century learner.

But being a public school teacher, I still had to enter grades into the computer, unfortunately, so.. Remember those journals I had the students help me on? We made more, and they became logbooks.

This is what I told students I was grading on:

This hastily-hand-written-and-then-photo-copied sheet became "conference sheets," and students were to keep them to use as a reference every day. We discussed the entire sheet at length together, but also during conferences. I'll go through each bullet here like I did then.

1. Logbook
I. Participation - Are you filling out your log book every day?
II. Legibility and neatness/organization - Can someone else pick up your logbook and understand what you're doing without context?
III. Completion - Does each entry have everything it needs? Include the following:
i. Date
ii. Pre-planning with signature of approval
iii. Reflection - What do we mean by that? Here are some examples:
a. Self-exploration / meta-cognition - Thinking about your thinking. What are you learning about yourself during this time?
b. In depth explanation of process and findings - What path did your thinking take? What problems did you come across, and how did you solve them? What were the answers?
c. Analysis of findings - What do you make of what you found? What can you generalize or apply to other areas? What does it all mean?

2. Presentation of findings
I. Communication of ideas - Can you explain what you did in a way that everyone else understands and learns from, too?
II. Advocating for self - Are you enthusiastic about what you're learning? If someone is critical of you, do you stick up for yourself and what you're doing?

3. Weekly conferences

As you can see, the logbooks were the backbone of the project. It was a difficult line for me to address because I wanted to demonstrate to other teachers, parents, and administrators that this plan could work. I wanted them to be a physical representation of students learning on their own with minimal guidance, but to do that, I had to set a secure infrastructure. I wanted to leave enough room for the students to explore and be able to come up with their own, innovative ideas, and I knew that involves being able to fail. It's so much to learn in just a month. I knew it wasn't reasonable, so I built myself a safety net. I started a spreadsheet of what I noticed the students doing each day.

The truth is, I hated keeping this. I felt like I was judging my students on something they shouldn't be judged on. Isn't that all grading in a nutshell? Yet this felt worse, somehow.. Like I was giving them false freedom. Like I was keeping secrets from them. It felt like judgement, but it never entered into how I graded. It's just what I had to do to ascertain that I was still doing my job as a public school teacher, and I still hated it all the while.

It did, however, free me from keeping unnecessarily close tabs on the logbooks. Once they were created, I let the students conduct their business in whatever way they wanted and only asked them about their process during conferences. Thus, they knew what the expectations were and could choose to act on them or not, hence the pages being kept for reference and being revisited during conferences. They knew that the expectation was they kept their entries dated, for example, and could decide how much not doing that counted off of their own grade.

Here's an example of what one looked like. Again, the sophomore teaching herself Russian. (She chose to use the backs of scrap paper, as I did in my own journals. Other students used lined paper.)

The presentations were a little difficult to get started, my students all being hesitant to talk about themselves and having been instilled with a fear of the word "Presentation." My Juniors, however, were extremely grateful to realize that they didn't have to be formal presentations and arranged themselves into a big circle on the floor on presentation days. They went around the circle describing what they were learning and answering questions from the others. It was informal and pleasant, and it went so well that the biggest struggle we had was the time limit because of the bell system.

My favorite part of the entire project were the weekly conferences. I met with each student in their own space, joining them on the floor or in the desks, and let them flow through the Conference Sheet at their own pace, expounding on whatever they felt most important. I got to hear their genuine voices during these times, how they thought and what interested them. I asked them questions about their work and process, and then asked them what they would grade themselves, which was an incredibly interesting undertaking. Some students were hypercritical of themselves while others weren't as much, but, regardless, I always asked them how they would improve during the following week. It was an honest, authentic conversation, and one in which I felt like I was doing my best work as a teacher. This speaking quietly with students in a relaxed environment, listening as they explain what interests them and how they can and are growing as humans, while the other students work and play conversate and live around us.. This is what teaching is about for me. <3

I know this was a unique experience for my students, and I hope that they got something out of it. My biggest hope is that they will remember these four weeks at some later time in their lives and that it sparks some sort of renewed flame in pursuing passions. Teaching is sewing seeds of inspiration that won't grow into anything noticeable for years. I have faith that in 10 or 15 years, this one month will make a difference in the lives of some of my students.

And as for now.. I may have found another transformation for those logbooks in a new project of my own... more on that later!

Ownership of Learning in a High School English Classroom

The most difficult thing about being a public school teacher in 2016 is that the students have given up all autonomy in their learning. Especially when they get to high school, they're completely accustomed to being fed lectures, work, problems, solutions, and techniques for every part of their day. By that point, they're even accustomed to being beat back down, and quickly!, every time they try to rebel against the system.

During my second year of teaching high school English, I wanted to give my students just a small taste of actual control.

I had designed my curriculum schedule for second semester very quickly. I probably only spent about 20 minutes on it at most. It looked like this:

My four grades each still had seven unite left, and it worked easier for me to teach the same unit with all four classes, just using different materials. My OCD found it much more manageable that way. However, for the sake of my students, for the sake of something I knew they would benefit from, I relinquished control. I gave them the opportunity to redesign the curriculum schedule.

Now, at this point, I knew giving them complete control would be too much. They wouldn't be able to handle that sort of shift suddenly, so I'd have to decide what was on the table. I gave them each the list of seven units, and they decided how long each should take and how to order them. It was extremely interesting watching how the problem solving discussion evolved differently among each class!

Here's what they came up with:

 Freshmen

Sophomores 

Juniors 

Seniors

After our discussions, I transferred all the calendars to separate sheets of paper. At first I thought we could hang them on the insides of different cabinets and open them during the appropriate class, but with the flexible classroom, I had students sitting against the cabinets every hour. Thus, change of plans, I moved them to a pillar at the front of the room. It was a rather inconvenient spot when I lectured, but I tried not to lecture so much, anyway. Plus, I think it was more convenient for the students to be able to see their schedule at the front of the room.

And the results?

First, yes, I was a little bit crazier not having everyone on the same schedule, but it was definitely worth it. When my students have more autonomy, I can deal with a little OCD-related anxiety. I own that, and it's mine to deal with.

It was also very important to me to listen to my students likes and dislikes. I gave them all a suggested time frame of how long I thought each unit should take, but then we discussed and compromised. My freshmen collectively hated poetry. They had taken 8 units of poetry in their school career thus far, and they knew their preferences. Even though I had planned to spend two weeks on that unit, we realized together that one week would suffice. This was helpful to them because they got to avoid more time with something they already knew wasn't their favorite, but also helpful to me because I learned that they had a very limited attention span for that unit. I would need to pare it down to just the most important highlights because if I included anything remotely boring, I'd lose them.

Some students admitted to me a few weeks or a month into the second semester that they were really surprised I followed through with the curriculum schedules they came up with. When I asked why, they told me that they thought it was a gimmick I was trying to sell them to get them interested in class but would eventually go back on. I was sad that they had that impression, but even more glad that I had made the decision to go forward with this idea. A month or two into the new schedule, as everyone realized I actually was serious, my juniors even came to me with the idea to replace their Shakespeare play for that year with Beowulf! They convinced me that it was a piece of fiction with arguably more historical significance, and I agreed. The unit was changed.

Some students listed designing the curriculum schedule as their favorite part of being in my class that year in their evaluation survey, and that makes my heart sing. <3

Daily Writing Journals

I'll be the first one to admit that I don't rely much on routine as a teacher. I'm fully aware that humans, especially young children, thrive on routine, but it's just not who I genuinely am as a person. I find it far more important to be an authentic person to students than to drive myself insane trying to be someone I'm not. (Though I'm sure they get SOMETHING out of the novelty I embrace instead, right?) There aren't many routines that I commit wholeheartedly to. Most of the time, I test something out, see how it goes, and then scrap it. The intent is, of course, to iterate on what went wrong and make it better, but my anxiety usually gets the better of me. Thus, the whole thing usually goes out the window, and we try something completely new. (This is something I'm working on.)

There was, however, ONE routine I did carry from start to finish during my second year of teaching high school English, and that was daily writing.

I think it started with inspiration from Corbett Harrison's extensive discussion of writer's notebooks, most of which I latched onto immediately, right down to his "Sacred Writing Time," which I incorporated into our daily schedule.

One of my sophomores didn't like the use of the word Sacred and took it upon himself to change the acronym shortly after I hung this poster at the beginning of the year.

In essence, it was this: Ten minutes of silent free writing first thing at the beginning of every class. 

In practicality, it was much more nuanced than I realized until now! Let's break it down.

What to write about?

This was the hardest part for a number of my students, children who grew up in the system and were used to always being assigned topics on which to write. I occasionally offered prompts if anything interesting had come up the night before, but students were free to ignore them if they had something else in mind. And for the most part, I actively encouraged them to just write about whatever was on their minds.

We had a few brainstorming sessions on the board at the beginning of the year. Eventually I turned it into a permanent fixture to help a couple with consistent writer's block.

What Can I Write?
1. Things I'm looking forward to. Things I'm excited about!
2. Fears. Things I'm worried about.
3. Vent. Something I'm angry about and need to get off my chest.
4. Something I've been sad about.
5. Exploring my feelings and emotions to see if I can find out more about them or where they came from.
6. A secret I can't tell anyone. (Remember to fold this page over and staple it!)
7. Reflection. When I go over something that happened, I can learn more about it.
8. Stream of Consciousness. Just write whatever comes to mind with no judgements. Sometimes I think thoughts I didn't even know I had!

For some reason I didn't get stories of various genres, poems, etc. down. This poster didn't go up until after Christmas, and I think at the time we had already discussed a lot of fiction. This poster must have been specifically for non-fiction "journal" type writing. (Note to self: Make one for fiction writing, as well!)

And for the record, I let the students know that I WAS serious when I told them they could write anything they wanted. We talked a bit about how to use writing to get things out that one is holding in and what a great stress reliever it can be. If they didn't want anyone (including me) to read an entry, all they had to do was fold it over and staple it shut. (See #6 on the poster above.) Some students did this when they wrote about drama, others did it when they wrote about inappropriate-for-school topics. I'm glad to report that there were typically a couple of folded over pages each day--that means that students were working through and processing something they found stressful or otherwise important, always a sign of good mental health! (Also see the section on Grading, below.)

And, yes, to return to one of my favorite points, I DID have a few students who frequently felt they had nothing to write about. That's one of the successes of this program! I'm glad I gave my students something different to constantly struggle with. It was a known struggle, something 99% of them continually overcame, despite difficulties, and what might be considered the public school version of "being bored," the necessity to rely only on themselves for ten minutes.

Grading

At the beginning of the year, I thought I would just keep a chart of participation. If someone wasn't writing, they were docked points. I quickly realized that wasn't something I wanted to spend ten minutes doing. Thus, an iteration! Here's what we ended up with:

Journals were collected at the end of every month for participation points, two points per entry plus an additional two points for reading through their entries again, identifying which one was their best work, and writing a short explanation for why on a sticky note on that page. (It usually worked out to be about 40 points per month, or roughly 20% of their overall grade.) If students were absent from class, they just had to make up the writing time at a later date, either during homeroom or as homework, as long as all entries were accounted for.

I had one student working on a story of her own, especially during NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), so I allowed her to work on that during writing time. I knew that if she wrote "Worked on novel" under a dated heading, I could trust that she did so for that day. Shortly before term papers were due in History, I had a handful of students do the same, "worked on history paper," as well as shortly before college applications were due, "worked on college essay."

I didn't read every entry, but made a point to at least read the "best" entry, as well as a few more, time allowing, and leave a little feedback, all of which was about content, not structure. The intent was to hear the students' voices and to make a positive connection along with a little encouragement.

I didn't speak much on how much writing was expected, since this was a new concept for them, so for the most part, if it was more than a few sentences, and it was ABOUT something, I counted it. Some frequently lost points for writing, "I didn't do anything. I don't have anything to say." These were students that were already on my radar, and I conferenced with them, but probably not as much as I should have, considering it was still occurring at the end of the year. Definitely one of my biggest mistakes of the project.

Grading typically happened during self-led activities in class or during homeroom, so the students knew that I didn't open folded pages but did hold them up to the light to ascertain that there were, indeed, paragraphs of words. I felt transparency on that issue was worth taking a class period to do while they studied for tests or did other projects on their own, and it was never a problem.

What did it look like in practice?

We used the timer from Online Stopwatch on the SmartBoard to make it visible to everyone. I started the timer soon after the bell rang each English period, and there was to be no talking while the timer was going. If students wanted to share with someone, they were to save it until after the timer. If they had a question, I encouraged them to write it down and see if they could figure the answer out for themselves.

I used a flexible seating arrangement in my class, so students came in, sat in a desk or found a cushion, got out their notebook and pencils, then chatted with friends, waiting for the bell to ring. There were occasions when I had to make a quick announcement before writing time, but I tried to start the timer when the first bell rang as often as possible so as to maintain the routine and not distract them from what they were planning to write.

My seniors got in the habit of listening to music on the SmartBoard while writing. They would give me suggestions of what to play (which ranged from hard rock and metal to dance-y pop to literal classic music), and I would queue it up on YouTube. My juniors selected one student to play DJ (the same person every day. They must have all appreciated her taste in music), and she played mostly Disney songs and pop-ish country music from her phone. My sophomores and freshmen preferred to listen to their own music on headphones or write in silence.

Once music was set and the timer was going, I gathered my notebook and found a spot on the floor among the students, modeling expectations. I tried my best to write with my students every day. That was my intention, anyway, but I had four main English classes. Forty minutes of writing every day is wonderful for me because writing is what I do, but to have it segmented in quarters was a test in patience and developing new skills. Just as my students were learning how they could write EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. for ten whole minutes(!), I was learning how to chunk my writing. The buzzer frequently went off right as I was getting into the flow of my work.

And then there were the occasion or two where I just needed to get some paperwork done quickly, and the ten minutes at the beginning of class felt like the right time. That's not a good excuse, and I was always disappointed in myself whenever I did so, but the students were rather forgiving because they knew I wrote with other classes.

After the timer went off, there were a couple of minutes during preparation for grammar in which students could share their writing if they wanted to. At the beginning, I frequently read what I wrote aloud. It was mostly silly little stories back then, but my students loved hearing my writing voice, and I loved being able to model it for them. I encouraged them to share aloud, as well, but they rarely did. Instead, I started giving them two or three minutes to share with a friend before moving on. To encourage feedback (which we also discussed) I handed out sticky notes to anyone who was sharing, on which their partner wrote one reaction they had to the writing and one question. This was an interesting idea, but it didn't seem to work well. Only a couple students gave feedback. Others just read and handed the journals back, perhaps to discuss privately later.

Student feedback

My other greatest failing was not scaling the project up properly. I started with expectations right where I wanted them to end up--ten minutes of writing every day. I didn't even realize that I should start slow. My juniors and seniors adapted pretty well, but after winter break, my freshmen and sophomores were burnt out. We held class meetings about how to make it better, and they decided (separately) that they would like to write every other day for the rest of the year. After that, they were satisfied.

This would have been a good way to begin the project, only writing every other day. Or perhaps only for five minutes per day, as my sophomores were contemplating. Especially for younger students, starting with a lower time frame and slowly increasing would have been preferable. Another idea I had after the fact that would have been especially good for younger students is workshopping a different type of writing every day at the beginning of the year. It would probably work well in an elementary classroom to workshop different genres and styles for the first semester, then free write after winter break. Alas. Live and learn!

Regardless, my juniors took immediately well to journal writing. They actively looked forward to it, scowled at any distraction while the timer was running, and thanked me numerous times for assigning it. The seniors generally disliked it but didn't complain.

Final thoughts

I'm thoroughly pleased with how this program turned out. We may not have written many formal papers this year, but we DID write. Every. Day. (Okay, Monday through Thursday. Fridays were blocked for another activity. I guess I forgot to mention that.) I'm so pleased to have shown my students that writing isn't a scary thing--it's just something we do, and it's a useful tool for a myriad of instances. I'm glad to have given my students an outlet for some of their difficult teenage emotions, and we talked at the end of the year, especially my juniors, about how they could continue this project on their own, even when it wasn't an assignment. A couple eagerly agreed that they would. <3