Quick! Name a goal of classrooms all across the United States? Ding, ding!
To create a classroom of innovation.
Teachers and administration alike pou over the blogosphere, Twitterverse, and attend conferences en masse and on-quest for this holy grail of transformation. And while there are innumerable treasures to be found within each and every resource, one very powerful ingredient to innovation is encouraging voice and agency in the classroom.
Think about it: when learners feel safe to express their ideas and supported to take risks with their learning, we are able to transform the classroom from a place of instruction to a community of exchange, intrigue and interaction.
Interested? The key to nurturing a culture of voice is establishing an environment of trust and respect. Here are some important considerations to ponder, and integrate into your classroom, at the start of the school year.
#Choose2Matter
Angela Maiers’ 2011 Tedx Talk “You Matter” tells us that two words, YOU MATTER, “can change lives and can change the world.” In her work, Maiers advocates for recognizing each person as significant contributors to society; that each person deserves to be heard, seen, and cared for. With this, Maiers dares us to frame our interactions with our students by saying: “YOU are a genius and the world needs your contribution. What will you share with us today?”
At the time, I was teaching middle school English. I took this simple idea and presented it to my students.
#BEEageniUS
#BEEageniUS became our galvanizing underpinning for learning that year. We explored different ways to share genius with the world every chance we could.
Using Padlet boards, they responded to these conversation starters, including:
What’s your theme song? Pull a lyric or two that best describes you.
What cartoon character is most like you?
Name one skill that you are proud of. Create a #hashtag to explain its significance.
Name one challenge that you are setting your sights on this year. Create a #hashtag to explain its significance.
The collaborative nature of Padlet allowed students to watch as each classmate added their post. Students showcased their creativity and personality through Padlet’s built-in multimedia tools, embedding photos, recording audio responses, even drawing and creating short videos. As the responses posted, colors, fonts, images, each student’s answer offering insight into his interests and her personality, and at the same time, combining to weave a tapestry of community.
My students began to see their peers through different lenses: they began forming new appreciations for their gifts instead of focusing on right and wrong answers. To further encourage relationships, we (myself included) commented on posts, drawing on similarities and providing kudos.
We’re all GIFTED, some just open their packages DIFFERENTLY.
One of the important features of this activity was that it was exclusive of “academic content.” So often, we limit the interactions of our students by restricting conversations to “school.”
This puts their contributions into a box: they’re either good at math or not; it’s a right answer or not.
When we learn more about their inspirations, influences and ideas, we’re better able to appreciate their gifts. This is paramount to creating a culture of community.
Learners need to know (and believe) that we’re not going to silence them every time they make a comment or ask a question.
How we respond (especially in the first weeks of school) sets the stage for the entire year.
If we continually tell them they are wrong, they will begin to “not:” not try, not care, not learn.
If we continually tell them to be quiet or ask fewer questions, they hear: your voice doesn’t matter.
#wordsmatter
My students taught me to listen. I've carried that lesson with me working with leaders to create equitable and empathetic environments.
Leading learners, both small and TALL, requires us to be intentional with our words and cognizant of their impact and purpose. Conversations lead to communication which then lead to relationships and then to trust.
We encourage that which has always been done, to be approached differently.
We look for the unheard voice to rise above the crowd of contentment.
We turn to the young people we serve daily and ask them to lead us.
Year after year, educators take on the timeclock, pitting relationships against rigor, connection against curriculum, hedging bets that our tried-and-true tactics will prove to be enough, oftentimes throwing the figurative and literal kitchen sink at challenges.
The midpoint is messy. It’s mangled and manicial, full of reworked lessons, redirected conversations, and reworded explanations, scribbled and marked out, revised and rewritten, crumpled up and smoothed out, only to be crumpled up again.
With all the messes leading up to it, January stresses me, and I’ll be honest, on more than one occasion, I’ve decided the best way to handle these types of messes is to throw them into the bin, trashing the wasted efforts and attempts, and learning absolutely nothing.
This year, I’m trying something different.
I’m taking some of my own advice and rebranding January from irritable messy middle to innovative magic maker.
Innovation requires us to improve upon previous efforts. To do so, we have to reflect and take stock, auditing our nows to reveal our status quos, status nos, and status grows.
When we consider imagery of transformation, oftentimes a cheery, vibrant butterfly comes to mind.
This is not one of those times.
This era of global metamorphosis more fittingly corresponds with the sun-loving butterfly’s subtler cousin: the moth.
Like the butterfly, the moth evolves from egg to caterpillar, eventually re-emerging as a winged creature. In fact, so critically intertwined is this life cycle to our cultural understanding of transformation, that third grade classrooms across the country observe, chart, hatch, and celebrate the metamorphosis of the butterfly.
Anybody hatch a moth?
Nope. Not even by accident.
Both are often interpreted as symbols of rebirth and transformation, but moths are more commonly associated with a decidedly more sinister representation: destruction.
Butterflies get flowers, glittery stickers, and revered affection.
Moths get monster-status and a dedicated pesticide.
Frankly, moths get a bad rap. But there is a lot to be gleaned from their way of being.
As a caterpillar, the moth weaves a delicate silk and leaf cocoon around itself, remaining slightly vulnerable during the process of metamorphosis. Risk-taking and vulnerability are necessary elements of true, deep, lasting change.
Year after year, educators take on the timeclock, pitting relationships against rigor, connection against curriculum, hedging bets that our tried-and-true tactics will prove to be enough, oftentimes throwing the figurative and literal kitchen sink at challenges.
The midpoint is messy. It’s mangled and manicial, full of reworked lessons, redirected conversations, and reworded explanations, scribbled and marked out, revised and rewritten, crumpled up and smoothed out, only to be crumpled up again.
With all the messes leading up to it, January stresses me, and I’ll be honest, on more than one occasion, I’ve decided the best way to handle these types of messes is to throw them into the bin, trashing the wasted efforts and attempts, and learning absolutely nothing.
This year, I’m trying something different.
I’m taking some of my own advice and rebranding January from irritable messy middle to innovative magic maker.
Innovation requires us to improve upon previous efforts. To do so, we have to reflect and take stock, auditing our nows to reveal our status quos, status nos, and status grows.
When we consider imagery of transformation, oftentimes a cheery, vibrant butterfly comes to mind.
This is not one of those times.
This era of global metamorphosis more fittingly corresponds with the sun-loving butterfly’s subtler cousin: the moth.
Like the butterfly, the moth evolves from egg to caterpillar, eventually re-emerging as a winged creature. In fact, so critically intertwined is this life cycle to our cultural understanding of transformation, that third grade classrooms across the country observe, chart, hatch, and celebrate the metamorphosis of the butterfly.
Anybody hatch a moth?
Nope. Not even by accident.
Both are often interpreted as symbols of rebirth and transformation, but moths are more commonly associated with a decidedly more sinister representation: destruction.
Butterflies get flowers, glittery stickers, and revered affection.
Moths get monster-status and a dedicated pesticide.
Frankly, moths get a bad rap. But there is a lot to be gleaned from their way of being.
As a caterpillar, the moth weaves a delicate silk and leaf cocoon around itself, remaining slightly vulnerable during the process of metamorphosis. Risk-taking and vulnerability are necessary elements of true, deep, lasting change.
Quick! Name a goal of classrooms all across the United States? Ding, ding! To create a classroom of innovation. Teachers and administration alike pou over the blogosphere, Twitterverse, and attend conferences en masse and on-quest for this holy grail of transformation. And while there are innumerable treasures to be found within each and every resource,