Compelling Students to Read: Why One Question Might Matter

The questions you see in this post are from a preview of a Middle School Guided Reading by Genre: CCSS Aligned, a product  for 5th-8th grade teachers available at Teachers pay Teachers. What I appreciate about the product is that Kiehl (the teacher-author) distinguishes between the genres in the discussions. For example, she clearly notes that each genre leads readers to think in a way that other genres may not and the questions reflect that distinction. Further, the questions provided do offer teachers an effective template from which to work. 

The essential questions, though, the big questions, the ones that would help students understand why we’re asking all of these other, rather random questions, can't be put on this template for obvious reasons. There are just too many possibilities.

However, my fear is that teachers, particularly those who are either too new, too fearful, or too apathetic to personalize the templates purposefully and thoughtfully, will over-rely on the offered questions, using them verbatim and nothing else. Again, don’t get me wrong—the questions will work, and Kiehl is to be lauded for creating a clear, cohesive document.

But what these questions cannot do is inspire any sort of motivation to read other than to answer the questions.  The motivation is the grade that the student will get from answering the questions (possibly for a simple participation grade or maybe for accuracy, depending on the teacher).  

Without any reason to want to answer these questions about a text or a character within it, why should the student bother exercising his or her brain to use the skill?

Without that desire, the questions, much like the ones answered on a standardized test, the goal is just to get the right answer by demonstrating mastery of the critical thinking skill.  But is that all really what we want? Don’t we want more? Don’t we want students to either LOVE reading or LOVE reading the particular novel, short story, text, or poem?  How can we encourage and instill that love for reading in any genre if all we want them to do is plough through questions to demonstrate that yes, Johnny can infer, synthesize, predict, and connect? 

We have to take a crucial initial step.

Let’s use one of the recommended inference questions from the template to create a quick example from Jean M. Auel’s The Clan of the Cave Bear, a text within the historic fiction genre: 

                What can you infer about Creb based on what Ayla has to say about him in the text?

From the template: What can you infer about (insert character's name) based on what (insert character's name) says about him/her in the text? 

I dearly love this book, and I’ve read it over and over again. I have to wonder, though, what question I could ask before this one that might inspire a student to want to care about what Ayla has to say about Creb. Why should the student care what Ayla thinks about the Mogur?  What question can I ask to get the student to even bother to desire to make this inference and respond to it? 

That compelling question, whatever it is, must be asked first. 

There must be a compelling reason for students to want to understand other than just practicing inferences because it’s something that students have to do because it’s a standard they have to know because we’re being evaluated on how well our students perform on that standard because that’s how our school is graded and plays a part in how much funding we get.  

Are we asking these initial, compelling, driving questions? 

Perhaps:

                Does it matter what daughters think about their fathers or father-figures? Why? 

From this over-arching question the follow-up inference question would flow quite nicely. 

Does it matter what children think about their fathers or father-figures? Why or why not?

Based on what Ayla says about Creb in the novel, what kind of a person and father do you think he is? (for the girls)

Based on what Broud says about Brun in the novel, what kind of a person and father do you think he is? (for the boys)

Actually, from that initial question, several others would naturally flow, particularly those under the category of connections.   Further, the distinction of gender provides an even greater connection for students. (You’ll notice that I changed the wording of the template question somewhat, but the meaning and underlying skill is the same.) 

When we offer students a compelling, clearly connective question BEFORE we have them analyze from a text, we can instill a greater intrinsic motivation to analyze, but we also move the emphasis away from the grade and the test and the standards. We make it real. We make the story mean something to them.  Figuring something out has a purpose that might make a difference in their lives. 

Try it once and see. Create that compelling, connective question that will drive the rest of those aligned questions on that worksheet and discuss it with students, first. If you’re really adventurous, try it one class but not the other, and compare the final products.  Let us know what you find out! 

Mindy and some of her former students have collaborated on a book of teaching strategies: Transparent Teaching of Adolescents: Creating the Ideal Class for Students and Teachers.  Check us out on FaceBook, too!

Authority Means Never Having to Say You’re the Teacher

Recently, I worked with some secondary educators who were interested in developing behavioral strategies for their more difficult students, particular as it pertained to students’ disrespect of the teachers.  I observed several classes over the span of a semester, and I noticed that many teachers would state the obvious in an attempt to gain control of their classes. They would say things like, “I am the teacher, and this is my class. You cannot talk to me that way.”

This approach didn’t stop students’ disrespectful behavior; if anything, the interruptions, talking back, mocking, and mumbling escalated. Further, those teachers struggling the most with student behavior made these statements more often than their counterparts who were having less trouble. So, why did they resort to stating the obvious? Why does a teacher feel the need to proclaim that he or she is the teacher when responding to student disrespect?

These statements (coined as authority statements by Laitin, 1977) seem to be offered as a justification for making the corrective statement that follows. The underlying thinking seems to be — Because I’m the teacher and you are the student, you need to stop doing X and/or start doing Y— an overt reminder that one of you is a subordinate.  

However, the use of explicit authority statements is ineffective. They work a lot like “but” statements: I love you, but you’re too impulsive.  The listener only hears you’re too impulsive; the but negates the I love you.  Similarly, explicitly stating your obvious and inherently authoritative role negates the more important information that follows it: I am the teacher. I am trying to teach. You keep interrupting me.  Adolescent students probably don’t hear the important part (you keep interrupting me) over the sound of their eyes rolling. 

Imagine your principal telling you: I am the principal, and I want everyone on board for the roll-out of this new system.  Wouldn’t you kind of get stuck on the idea of the principal making a hoopla about being the principal?     

The use of this phrasing comes across as weak and ineffectual.  No wonder students just smirk or yawn when they hear it. If you’ve reached that level of frustration and start spouting out the obvious, consider that what you’re really doing (most likely) is reminding yourself that you’re in charge.

Stop saying you’re the teacher and go for the nub.
What do you want the student to do or not do?

Teachers using explicit authority statements may not realize the greater effectiveness of simply implying them. Harmin and Toth (2006) define authority statements as “making a simple direct statement of our authority as teachers” (p. 439).  The following are some examples in their Inspiring Active Learning handbook for educators:

         I do not want even minor distractions or disruptions in our lessons.
         I need you to stop talking to your neighbors. It’s time to control that.
        We do not do that here. (Harmin & Toth, 2006, pp. 111-112)

These examples differ from explicit authority statements in that no explicit mention of the role of teacher is made. Though Harmin and Toth’s (2006) definition states that the statement is of our authority, these examples more aptly reflect a statement from our authority.  This distinction is important. We don't have to say it. We just have to be it. Implying authority carries more weight, and though decidedly unspoken in the examples above, “I am the teacher” is nonetheless clearly asserted.

Words matter, and what we say conveys how we feel about ourselves and our role in the classroom. You don’t have to say you’re the teacher.  You are.


References

Harmin, M., & Toth, M. (2006). Inspiring active learning: A complete handbook for today's teachers (2nd ed.). Alexandria, VA: Association for Supervision & Curriculum Development.

Laitin, D. D. (1977).  Politics, language, and thought: The Somali experience. Chicago, IL:  University of Chicago Press.
 

Mindy and some of her former students wrote Transparent Teaching of Adolescents, a discussion of effective teaching strategies for high school.

“I don’t believe in philosophies of education anymore.”

This statement, from an instructional coach, really surprised me. Her reasoning was, essentially, that once a teacher is faced with the reality of the classroom, a philosophy is useless. She argued, “Knowing that you have the task of motivating those students to learn, managing a group of children, or tweens, or teens who could conceivably turn on you at any point. Trust me. By minute two of that experience, all the philosophy statements you’ve ever written are forgotten.”

Respectfully, I disagree.

Maybe it’s because it isn’t the writing of the philosophy that’s the important thing. After all, writing it down doesn’t mean much. It’s the living of the philosophy that makes it your philosophy, and my colleague implies that a living of a philosophy isn’t possible when faced with reality.

Really?

If the philosophy is so far removed from reality that it cannot be lived, then, sure. It’s a messed-up philosophy, and she made a valid point about preservice educators and new teachers being asked to write down a philosophy when they had not experienced the classroom. Sure, I can follow why that might be an issue, but new teachers have to start somewhere. They have to be able to articulate what they're thinking in order to adjust that thinking.

Because a philosophy of education isn’t a stagnant mode of thinking. It’s flexible and changing. So it makes even more sense, then, that experienced educators who have lived the reality (as my colleague has), DO have a philosophy of education. A real, workable philosophy. One that they can convey every day.

My philosophy of education relies on my authenticity with my students at all times, particularly when I am unsure, stressed, or completely wrong because students don’t need a teacher to be perfect. They need to see a mature adult working through what is not perfect.  They need to see how to handle things when those things don’t go “right.”  And if we go off-track, but immediately verbalize awareness of that lapse or error to move back on track, we have taught those students the most valuable lesson of all:  how to be a life-long learner.

A large part of this philosophy entails the willingness of the teacher to be a fellow learner with students.  A sense of community brought into the classroom stems from that teacher as student. In our collaborative book, one of my former students wrote:

You learned from us.  You made us feel like our input mattered.  As you taught us, you also thrived on our myriad perspectives.  Due to this simple characteristic, you managed to reach me more than any other teacher had.  Because while other exceptional teachers may have managed to draw out our interest as students, they were the teacher and we, the students.  Not THEIR students, merely THE students.

But with you, we were all in it together.  We thrived and grew off of each other.  And while you were clearly the authority, the source of our knowledge, our teacher, you were also our mentor.  There with us.  Growing with us. ~Daniel

This sense of “all in it together” is a powerful force to embrace, particularly as we find ourselves in the Digital Age. Helping students understand that technology is a tool that can be molded, wielded, created, and enhanced is where teachers are at this moment in education. Integrating technology in curriculum is not an “extra” to be tagged onto a lesson, nor is it something just for the privileged or gifted. If teachers are to ensure that they have adequately prepared students for the kinds of problems that they will encounter in the future, then we must be prepared to learn alongside them, work through the glitches and our own mistakes, and find the balance between what is known and what can be.  I want to continue to thrive and grow with my students.

Philosophies of education can aid new and struggling teachers, but they have to have the opportunity to develop them and live them, not just write them down.  And certainly, not dispense with the exercising of this thought because it requires an adjustment of perspective. To the contrary, that is why teachers should be asked to reflect on their philosophy, again and again. 

 
Mindy and some of her former students wrote Transparent Teaching of Adolescents, a discussion of effective teaching strategies for high school.

A Look into Critical Literacy for High Schoolers

From Apathy to Action, Injustice to Repair: Motivating Secondary Students with Critical Literacy      

Mindy Keller-Kyriakides, Author, Student, Teacher, Capella University
Jennie Waldrop, FLVS instructor, NBCT 

Secondary students often ask, “How’s reading this going to help me in real life?” This webinar offers educators a potential answer! Helping students understand how the analysis of a text reveals messages to the reader through silence, marginalization, nominalization, or collectivization is a crucial skill, and by taking that analysis to the next step—civic action—we can help adolescents move beyond the classroom and themselves.

In our webinar, we’ll explore having students use their analysis as a springboard to identify and resolve an issue that they perceive as unjust. From selection of text, to analysis, to action, educators will be offered the tools to create a powerful learning experience for their students, based on the insights at which students arrive while reading. Participants will also be provided with a sample project that they might use or refine for their own purpose.

Let me know in the comments if you'd like a copy of the Tipping Point Project (it's on an Understanding by Design template) and the handout with relevant links! I'll be happy to send it to you!

The title above is a hyperlink, or here's the URL, in case you need to copy/paste: https://sas.elluminate.com/site/external/playback/artifact?psid=2013-11-02.0829.M.3DAD9FA69075EB4C4173628C44E674.vcr&aid=57997

Some Thoughts on Andragogy and the Secondary Classroom

When deciding on my degree program, I ran into the first of many personal learning hurdles. What program should I undertake, if I desire to teach teachers?  Should I focus on the subject matter in the field itself (e.g., secondary curriculum), or should I focus on how to teach adult learners?  In other fields, the choice is much clearer:  e.g., to teach English Composition, one majors in the field of English, not adult education. 

I decided on subject matter as a focus and began my journey in Curriculum and Instruction (in-field). However, I soon became frustrated with the material we were learning as it mirrored my undergraduate work:  same theories, same topics, same theorists (for the most part).  Once one has "Piageted," one has "Piageted." I got it, already! 

The “move” to adult education has offered me some powerful new insights into not only how adults learn, but how I learn. Further, the study of andragogical principles has validated some of the choices I made in instructing high school students. I’m continually struck by the parallels of andragogy and self-directed learning as they pertain to secondary students and what school districts now desire of their students. These have made, and will continue to make, a huge difference in the field of secondary education. 

The push for differentiated learning, critical thinking skills, flipped classes, and Whole Child instruction –all recent “buzz” on the education front--clearly reflect andragogical principles, not just pedagogical ones. (It would be interesting to see how teachers would react to a semantical switch.)

As I straddle this fence of teaching teachers, I am wondering why these principles and theories are not offered as part of a secondary educator’s curriculum. Much like Jarvis, I am more interested in human learning than adult learning or children's learning (McCluskey,  Illeris, & Jarvis, 2007, p. 9), and the distinction between the two seems to be becoming more and more blurred, especially when considering adolescents and young adults in the secondary system. 

I suppose then, the difference all of this might make in the field of secondary education the ability of my intended learners (new teachers) to use what is warranted for their students as opposed to tying their hands with canned and prepackaged with nice educational labels by school districts. 

Did some of my high school students surpass me as their teacher? You bet! Many of my students were just far more intelligent than me, and that awareness made a huge difference in the way I taught them. 

Pedagogy had no place in some of my high school classes. In others, it had a role only at the beginning.   

I want aspiring educators to know that and accept this "contradiction of life" ((Knowles, Holton, & Swanson, 2011, p. 225) instead of fighting for some illusive perceived entitlement of a position of authority. If embraced by secondary educators, the use of andragogical principles would certainly make their work with students more meaningful—for themselves and the students.   

References

McCluskey, H.Y., Illeris, K., & Jarvis, P. (2007). Knowles's andragogy, and models of adult learning. In Merriam S. B., Caffarella R. S., Baumgartner, L. M., Learning in adulthood: A comprehensive guide (3rd ed.), 83-104.