Through the Back Door

I remember when I was a first-year teacher in awe of my mentor, an amazing veteran teacher who made it a point to speak to every one of her students each day - no small feat for a high school English teacher, juggling 100+ students, 5 classes, 4 different preps and loads of correcting. Yet, she did it.  That was 18 years ago.

Flash forward to 2011.  With 30-40 students in many classes, with many teachers having an extra class altogether, with laser focus on test scores in many districts, the goal of speaking to each student each day and hearing from each student each day seems to be a schoolgirl fantasy, literally.   

Enter: technology. In my continuing iPad experiment (see past posts for the full dramatics) I tried my first stint with backchanneling last week. Backchanneling involves having students engage in a second layer of participation during class. While the teacher is talking, while a video is playing, while the class is discussing, students can also be posting comments, questions, and answers about the topic at hand via a computer, ipad, or cell phone.

It's basically facebook for the classroom. Student comments are visible on their devices and visible on a screen in front of the room. Theoretically, the benefits are obvious: greater participation, increased engagement, a less-threatening way for shy students to converse, and an opportunity for students to speak in their native tongue: social media. The liabilities, however, are also obvious: how to control the conversation, how to keep comments appropriate, how to keep students focussed on the topic at hand. 

And so this week, I went beyond the theoretical in three of my classes with the following results:

In Junior English, my students had turned in generally dull first drafts of their college entrance essays. We'd stressed the importance of writing an essay that would rise to the top of the application pile, that would be unique and showcase its writer as an individual. The results were otherwise. So, as an antidote, I taught a mini-lesson on using figurative language in narrative writing. Then, I had them use backchanneling to write and post key metaphors they could incorporate into their essays. Next, students commented on each others' metaphors, communicating what they thought the metaphors meant and suggesting ways to extend or intensify them.

The results were exciting. All students but one posted metaphors; then, 189 comments were made on those posts. This class averaged 7 comments per student, far more than would have ordinarily happened in traditional discussion mode with one student speaking at a time with the others passively listening. Fingers were clearly on keyboards, tapping away, reading and posting actively. What also happened is that EVERY student in class (sans one) received peer comments. Once I allowed the "backchannel" to become the primary focus, I started commenting too, picking up on lost details, nudging some writers to go deeper.  Clearly both student engagement and constructive feedback were on the up and up. I'm anxious to see the full results on their revised essays. 

In Freshman English, I used backchanneling to turn a whole-class discussion on a short story into a posting session. We started with students posting what they thought the story was about - what the author's intent was. Answers appropriately and predictably varied as it was a difficult story. Next,  each student posted a line from the story that he/she didn't understand. Then, students posted comments on each other's lines, attempting to connect the ambiguous lines to the theme/point of the story. Again, all fingers were clicking and posts were flying onto the screen.  What was eerie was I didn't know quite what to do. I started out commenting aloud on posts as they appeared, but it felt strange because kids were responding with their fingers, not their mouths.  I was talking to a silently-clicking room of students. And so, I stopped talking and started typing too. I had been transformed into a mere moderator, watching the conversation flow. I found this rather confusing: Shouldn't I be talking? Shouldn't they be talking?  I felt out of place, like an interloper in my own classroom. I wondered what my role was; I wondered what the right ratio of audible and clickable words was; I wondered if it was okay that I wasn't speaking. Was I doing my job? Were they doing my job? What was my job? I ended the hour with plenty to ponder, but what I did know is that all students had participated, 6-12 times each: ten or more times more than they would have in a traditional whole-class discussion.

In AP English, I was anxious to try backchanneling because this year's class has ten more students than I've ever had in an AP setting. AP English is meant to be run as a seminar class with maximum student participation and discussion. I use Harkness Discussions, Socratic Seminars, and Lit. Circles to maximize participation; and while all are worthy discussion methods, they still boil down to one person speaking at a time while the rest of the class, or rest of the small group listens. Enter: backchanneling. I had students post comments on the Billy Collins poem "Introduction to Poetry," an intriguing little poem about poems. Prompted by my posts, they picked apart nuances of his language and his imagery and how he uses them them to comment on literary analysis. My experience was similar to that with the Freshman. Fingers were flying, comments galore, but I couldn't quite find my place in the mix. Speaking was awkward and felt a bit intrusive. The flow was clearly in their hands.

At the end of each of the three classes, I gave students an exit question, so they could give me their anonymous feedback on backchanneling (not posted for other eyes this time).  Of 77  responses, 70 were positive. Here are a few:

• I like how you can comment instantly. It was very exciting. 
• We should do it more often. I feel like seeing others examples is helpful. 
• I am in love with this!!!
• Can we please use it more? I learned and had fun using technology. 
• I felt more involved with the class and the discussion.
• It's great because many people can casually discuss without it getting loud. 
• LOVED it! New facebook! Makes learning REALLY FUN!
• I enjoyed how we used it; everyone gets a voice.
• It gives people a chance to connect without being run over.
• It really complements your teaching. When is there going to be time for 200+ comments in a class discussion?
• No one person can control the whole discussion.
• This has real potential (my fav. comment : )

And now, the negative (followed by my commentary):

• Everyone did get to "say" more, but the discussion wasn't as deep [x3] (fair point; that's my job: to figure out how to moderate, nudge, and push the "deep" card).
• Speed was emphasized too much (interesting - I think speed is one of the advantages of backchanneling as students who can process quickly, can go quickly; those who can't, don't have to: built-in differentiation, but I need to think more about that one. I need to let students know they need find their own stride/pace). 
• It got in the way during class: why can't we just talk? (I'd argue that traditionally only one can "talk" at a time - a major limitation of whole-class discussions. I'd love to know who wrote this comment - I suspect it may have been someone who already participates a great deal in class. Backchanneling enables such students---albeit reluctantly perhaps---to respond to more voices and share the mic - a good thing). 
• It's good, but I would split the class into two discussions; otherwise there's just too many posts to read. (Great suggestion: next time around, done).

The more doors, the better.

So, where does this leave me? Excited and challenged. Excited to see students run with social media in the classroom. Clearly, this is an extraordinarily engaging tool. Challenged to figure out the right mix of talking and texting. Challenged to figure out my role in balancing speaking and writing, in pushing posts into "the deep," in figuring out how to negotiate their steps and mine on this new terrain. 

What I do know is that backchanneling is an effective back door method of increasing engagement and participation. And in today's educational climate, with increasing class sizes, increasing demands on our time and energy, increasing urgency for a populace fluent in 21st century skills, we need to use all doors available: front, back, side, or otherwise.

And so, the back door will remain open. 

Big Picture Shrinking

And so, when I read Marc Prensky's Teaching Digital Natives this summer, I was sold. Provide students with a framework of open-ended, interesting driving questions, and let them loose. Let them figure out the answers by leveraging various tools, technological and traditional, to do so. Guide them as they exercise their critical thinking skills and their creativity in ways that are both natural to them (technology, multi-tasking) and foreign to them (having them integrated with their school lives; being held accountable for the quality of their technology use) and ways that are increasingly critical in the 21st century work place.

Sounded amazing. Until I walked back into the classroom.  Prensky's philosophy is exciting, but I'm beginning to think, requires revolutionary means - flexible scheduling, cross-curricular projects, and a completely different mindset by students and teachers alike.  In an ideal world, students would be accustomed to and comfortable taking charge of their thinking in self-directed way. In an ideal world, teachers (I'm currently struggling with this one) would be comfortable giving up control, comfortable not knowing all the answers, comfortable with the unkown. In an ideal world, the system would not be giving teachers 130+ students per day for 50 minute time periods in single-subject classrooms created to prepare students for the Industrial world of the 1900's.

But here we stand. And my Driving Questions have turned into Daily/Weekly Objectives, not so driving or exciting anymore. And without the right tools (see earlier posts for details on the deal with iPads) the Prensky plan doesn't get much play these days.

And I'm here to change that. My current solution is not to take an all-of-nothing approach to this experiment. Prensky may not be practical in my 4 daily preps without iPads leaving the room, and with persistent import/export issues, BUT, that doesn't mean I can't try it on a more limited basis, part-time Prensky.

In walks the Sophomore English poetry project. After making sure they know the poetic devices, can identify them independently, and can evaluate their effect, I'm going to pull a Prensky.  I need to do some more thinking about this, but here are my thought so far:

As a class, reexamine the poetic devices, identify the non-negotiable qualities of poetry (classification and evaluation). Then, have students create original "poetry" in a non-traditional format (creation) while demonstrating that it meets the criteria for "poetry" (application). We'll brainstorm the "verbs," or tools,  as Prensky calls them, and them, we'll go...

Forward motion...

And the shrinking big picture, alas, will not wither away to nothingness; it will just display a little humility.

Does Not Play Well with Others

 Yes, I entered our relationship with eyes open, and by "our," of course, I mean Apple's and mine. He seduced me with his legendary packaging and seamless processing, and after decades of suffering the thralls of abusive PCs---unreliable, erratic, indifferent at best, Apple and I became one.

First an iMac found its way into our living room, next a macbook, and then, boyfriend: a 3G 64 meg iPad with a black leather cover, filling an aching void I could only vaguely identify until we met.

If you are the tiniest bit altruistic, dear reader, when you find something beautiful, something that brings happiness, peace, fulfillment, you want to share it.  This has happened on a global scale as Apple continues to dominate the growing market; this has happened on a personal scale as iPad 2's made their way into my classroom this year.

And now (as in any melodrama worth its salt), the reversal: the Apple Turnover, if you will. My boyfriend has changed. He promised seamless processing, and he delivered seamless processing...when it was just the two of us. He promised that he'd  fulfill my needs---and he did...when it was just the two of us. He's changed. He's ornery, he's possessive: boyfriend does not play well with others.

It's complicated, you see, we're married. I thought he was the perfect boyfriend. Before we met, I dated voraciously on my quest for the perfect classroom companion. I tried a half-dozen netbooks, none of whom were the least bit attractive: some were slow: like trying to talk existentialism with a kindergartener; some were short, barely squeaking out a 3 hour charge; some were just plain cheap, destined to self-destruct within our first year together.

Then, there was iPad2.  Everyone was talking about him, digital natives and immigrants alike. He was gorgeous, intelligent, intuitive, and very, very tall---a 10 hour charge, beyond my wildest imaginings. He could do everything---word process, websearch, multi-task, shoot photos, record voice, capture video. AND exciting, boy was he exciting, sweeping me out of the ordinary to new functions, new apps, new "yes's." And so, I married him.

Then, he changed.

I've introduced him to Dropbox, FilesAnywhere, Google Apps. He hates them all. What's worse, he's passive-agressive. He doesn't say a word to them, but then rejects them outright in a classroom lab setting, refusing to import or export student work. He has decided that he is an island. And as John Donne advised, no man, nor device, is.

Somehow, dysfunctionally probably, I still love him.

Somebody get my Camera

Sounds hopeful, doesn't it? There's something good happening, camera-worthy. And there were only 30 iPads available to document the moment. I didn't have my digital camera, so I didn't take a picture.  Irony, yeah. Next time, photos will be taken and posted. So what, you may ask, was this documentable moment?

Learning Centers. So while most of my Sophomores finished their poetry terms and identification pre-test, I introduced several who were finished early to my newly-created Learning Centers. I had been inspired by our first grade teachers every since I spent some time in their rooms two years ago. I guess I was also inspired by my own third grade teacher as well who fostered my love of writing at her writing station - prompts that lead me to writing story after story about Priscilla, a name that I was fond of, for no reason in particular.

So I spent the better part of the last two weekends designing Learning Centers - extensions and practice with Language Arts skills: reading, listening, writing. I used QR codes to label the stations and as students scan the QR codes, they are sent to a google spreadsheet to produce a short verification/reflection on what they chose to work on.

And so, today, I showed the Learning Centers to six students who were done early. Two chose to explore a book of psychologist self-tests (from my "Quirky" section). Another read about optical illusions and peered intently at the book, trying to discern the hidden pictures. Another answered moral dilemma prompts from a book of questions. One listened to part of an NPR "This American Life" podcast. Another read from Sherlock Holmes on a Kindle. The choice was theirs.

There they were - in memory foam chairs and scattered about on the carpet, reading, writing, listening at their whim. It was rather dreamy to watch. From where I was standing, it looked like a love of learning, and it smelled even weirder, something like, maybe, perhaps, the early stages of life-long learning. Not necessarily measurable in test-form, but arguably in line with the district motto, and so it has been deemed "a keeper" and next time shall be properly captured on film.

The Bleeding Edge

The Bleeding Edge of Technology

So "the bleeding edge" has been getting a lot of print lately, or maybe it's just the journalistic company I've been keeping. It rang a bit melodramatic to me (bleeding edge, now really?) UNTIL TODAY.

There's the cutting edge - at the forefront, on the cusp of innovation: a good place to be: don't we all want to be "cutting edge"? And then there's "the bleeding edge," which, as the term implies, is a bit too close to the knife, a bloody ordeal. The term seems to have started in reference to early versions of software - the ones with loads of glitches that make you want to take a sledge hammer to your CPU. With new technology comes metaphorical blood. Before I expose my gentle readers to my metaphorical blood, I shall first start with disclaimers:

1. I'm crazy thankful to have iPads into my students' hands. Humbling -very- every time I stop to think about it.
2. I'm grateful for the opportunity to learn (1st-year-teaching style) about technology integration and 21st century skills. I've always been a lover of learning, something not many get to do to this degree, mid-career.
3. I realize that many to most teachers do not have the resources and support that I have.

That said,

I'm bleeding.

Following a very challenging day in the classroom, realizing that currently, I'm a less effective teacher with technology than without - that my learning curve is immense, that the dynamics of a classroom full of students coupled with persnickety technology and unchartered territory make for stressful days and loads of self-questioning.

I actually uttered the following to my husband: "I don't have time to have fun"(just before leaving him at a "fun" event to go back and work the bugs out of iPad export issue).

If a friend told me that her husband didn't "have time for fun," I'd be concerned for them both. Last night, though, that came out of my mouth. Bleeding, I tell you.

So while Malcolm Gladwell (Outliers) talks about the 10,000 hours needed for significant achievement in a field, the kind of monomania that I find myself embodying, balance and band aids must also be available.

A Big Fat Felt-Tipped "F"

inhale. exhale. inhale. exhale. inhale. exhale. AND remember this is a public genre as I am uber tempted to go say far too much, "dear diary" style. This summer, as I put in my spousally-testing, parentally-guilt-inspiring number of hours preparing for my iPad classroom, I had grandiose visions of students sprinting to class in anticipation of what's next, scholars creating and thinking and writing beyond anything I'd ever seen before, even (ha, ha) teaching being a tad less exhausting.

'twas the height of utter foolishness.

After a day of technological challenges, stacks of other responsibilities and needs floating my way, and a mixed bag of classroom fair, I sat down after 8th hour to make sense of it all - the many emailed papers to me, some sent to the right place, some not; some with clear headings in the subject line (which hour? which assignment? which student?) others not; I was organizing my desk when I noticed movement on the screen; I looked at my monitor to discover the last 6 days of emails systematically disappearing from my inbox. I was not touching the keyboard, nor was any random object touching the keyboard. Once this cryptic robbery ceased, I discovered that all emails sent between 5:14 p.m. on 9/8/11 and 2:54 on 9/15/11 were nowhere to be found, not even in the trash, student work included.

Tomorrow, I shall grovel; tonight I shall regroup, This year, I shall survive; next year, move ahead. Professional growing pains, called growing pains for a reason. They feel like big fat felt-tipped "F's"

I was never very good with non-A's, much less F's.

Revising "The Snoozer"

So, here's my lesson in revision, dear scholars. My blog post yesterday was a snoozer. It was me thinking aloud while disregarding my legion (lol) of followers (as if).

So, instead of editing it down, I'll attempt to make this a teachable moment, leaving the original snoozer in tact, and revising it for today (with a few editorial comments):

I've often said I'm a manic-depressive by trade. Teaching has extraordinary highs and staggering lows, often in the same day, sometimes in the same hour.  I'm finding this year to be no exception. So, today's extraordinary highs: (opening's not bad: will stay as is; but soon, I shall chop):

• read my Freshman blogs today: they're funny, smart, oozing with voice. I'm excited about where this is going...
• my Juniors were brainstorming and writing and helping each other come up with good ideas for college entrance essays. The flexible seating this year is incredibly conducive both independent work and collaboration. Every teacher and every student deserves this kind of space. 

And now for today's staggering lows, which are not exactly staggering (I tend to fixate on the negative):

• my Sophomores were squirly. I had them go "old school" and write a shape poem - easier to do with pencil and paper than an iPad. But they weren't as engaged as with iPads in hand: less energy, less focus. I need to think more about this - is it that iPads are so engaging that students keep writing while pencil and paper are so two-thousand-and-late that they hang it up early? Maybe the music IS in the piano. 
• my APES were heady today - smart stuff was uttered, but having ten more bodies in the room hampers discussion. I'm rushing them in order to hear from others. I have to figure out a way to cut this class in two or three or four chunks, so groups of 10 or 15 react within themselves instead of everyone vying for a voice. 

But now, this manic depressive needs sleep, and so, a bit more correcting and then, a well-earned pillow.

(Conclusion: this revision is only slightly less snooze-worthy than yesterday's original. Blogger lesson-of-the-day: perhaps a blog post is like a class period: some are rather brilliant, others rather snoozy, appropriate fair for a manic depressive).

Still, pillow earned.