Tag Archives: history teaching

Winding Road of Alternative Assessment

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http://pixabay.com/en/In an effort to extend students’ skills with primary documents, offer an arrhythmic assessment in the midst of a series of short course units, incorporate technology, and meet content expectations, I devised a project-based assessment for a unit that introduced students to the early years of the Cold War (1945-1960). As has typically been the case when I have facilitated a task like this, our class experienced mixed results. I would definitely incorporate this project again, but I would like to share some of my takeaways – partly so I don’t allow frustration with imperfect results to shape future decisions.

The base information for the activity (with a link to a Google Doc that students were to copy and use as a collection tool) is found here: https://www.smore.com/9pj2g-unit-16-cold-war-am-history-10 . With this and an introductory video I made using Tellagami – both first-time tools for me – I was modeling technological experimentation for my students. I hoped to cultivate a sense of adventure with these. On our first day of working with this material, I shared some basic vocabulary terms as well as the background information pertinent to the start of the Cold War as the cooperating Allies concluded their efforts in World War II.

Using the resources of Stanford History Education Group , I offered students four documents to help them begin this process of gathering primary documents to support their conclusions. Students were encouraged to collaborate in their document work through prompts about the Novikov Telegram and Truman Doctrine. In sharing the letter from Henry Wallace to President Truman, I needed to underscore the postscript that Wallace was asked to resign after writing this letter. While we have been working with primary sources throughout the year, a number of students still need guidance on recognizing subtleties.  I need to emphasize the notes that primary documents often provide more intentionally in the future – in a manner similar to emphasizing the need to read directions.

While most of my students have become competent at interpreting primary documents, I overestimated their ability to distinguish primary sources from secondary ones. While the Stanford resources applied well to the first two unit goal questions, I recommended other websites https://bitly.com/bundles/pstrukel/1 to use as well. Students had access to the link as well as a QR code to direct them to this collection site. In first drafts of work submitted, students occasionally used one of the base sites as their primary source and quoted an introductory paragraph from it. “But I found it in the Bitly Bundle!” was exclaimed in defense of this maneuver; this led to a review session of how historians tell the story versus a more direct account anchored in the time period that sheds light on what happened. It would have been a worthwhile investment to exercise primary document recognition skills prior to having students tackle this work.

Students were not as adept at Google Doc sharing as I had anticipated. Reminding that the default setting keeps a document private was a daily announcement. An analogy that seemed to resonate with a number of students was that giving me a link without opening access to the document was like asking me to open a padlocked locker without providing a combination.

Positive aspects of this project included the number of skills that needed to be applied. From primary document recognition to communicating through a presentation tool, students were asked to create meaning and connect their ideas to the content. An example of an exceptional student product for the third unit goal is provided here: http://www.thinglink.com/scene/505796041249914882  . This student had used Thinglink in the past, and it was such an awesome feeling to see how she used this tool to convey her understanding of the content and application of primary sources! While I occasionally smile upon reading a solid essay, I rarely experience a “wow” to the degree that I did upon evaluating this work.

The interactive nature of the “turn-in” document was positive as well. Asking students to communicate what they wanted me to notice or what they liked about their work was not merely a nice gesture, but it asked them to reflect upon their work. I feel like I don’t do this enough and, with about 150 students, it opened up the opportunity for conversations that simply can’t occur in the confines of a class period. Students appreciated the chance to improve their work and use the comments that I offered. On the second day dedicated to this project, I showed students how I had commented on a student’s Prezi using the turn-in document. There was an audible gasp in one of the class periods as they noticed that I had directly remarked on a request a student had made in her reflection column. “You mean that we can ask you if we think we did something wrong and then we’d have a chance to correct it?” Yes, that still counts as learning.

Mini-lessons on the processes and content at the beginning of each class period that served as a work session helped students. Since this unit introduced the Cold War, I knew that I had the opportunity to clarify widespread misunderstandings in future units that examine the Cuban Missile Crisis and Vietnam War. Thus, the foundation of understanding could be guaranteed while the structures produced from the foundation could certainly be varied – at least over the course of this unit.

The scoring rubric performed as I hoped. It rewarded deeper thinking and synthesis. It offered a “C” to a student who capped his/her work with only one primary source on a unit goal. Because I use standards-based grading, the unit goal scores were recorded on a spreadsheet and a trend score was determined prior to establishing an overall percentage grade on the work. On a typical unit test, a student who does not “test out” of a unit goal, or standard, earns a score of “NYC” for “not yet competent” on the unit. This means that the student’s grade stands as 50% until the lack of understanding is remedied. A similar principle was applied on this project since it served as a unit assessment: NYC conditions- Only secondary sources are used. Only a student’s interpretation of the question is used. No citations are provided. Inaccuracies are frequent. Unfortunately, some students carried this as their score on this project as the calendar page flipped to fourth quarter. As an instructor, this is part of the eternal struggle; is it best to let unfinished work haunt a student for an entire grading period or to pinch a student’s grade at the time of a grading period? Class-time work on this project concluded on March 28. Third quarter ended on April 4. Some students will opt to finish this project in a month that rhymes with “hey” for any number of reasons – just as is sometimes the case when a student is absent in the days prior to a test and postpones making it up until feeling completely ready.

This project provided many twists and turns for students and for the instructor implementing it for the first time. This wasn’t the safest way to assess my students’ understanding of the early stages of the Cold War. It wasn’t the easiest way to determine the degree to which they grasped the struggle between the superpowers. This project didn’t lead to a mundane weekend of correcting forty test questions. It stretched my students and me. It amplified the need to address supplementary skills over the course of the year. It showcased synthesis and rewarded persistence. It required students to tell a story anchored in historical documentation. As I reflect on it, it is essential to celebrate these victories rather than opting to take the beaten path of traditional assessment all of the time. I owe this to my strongest students and the ones who found ways to get lost on this winding path cannot be my impetus for selecting instructional methods. If I only act in accordance with the students who produce the least, I do a disservice to those who are willing and able to extend themselves. It is difficult to accept how often a desire to give all students a chance to succeed leads me to minimize my expectations.

What am I doing right?

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question-mark-213671_640One of my college friends used to caution us about being too content with our lives. She theorized that when people were overly satisfied, horrible events occurred to knock them down. I’m not sure that I ever bought into this thinking because it made me chuckle more than it made me pause; however, being able to recall it almost twenty years later suggests that my brain didn’t just dismiss this mantra. The wisdom in this, I believe, is that it deflects haughty actions and keeps a person grounded in all of the circumstances that contribute to success. While this warning about contentment might serve as a billboard for Midwestern thinking, (“Welcome to __ – We like this place, but we know darn well that it could be better. Let us be humble.”) I will dare to defy it by taking this moment in mid-December to identify the good things happening in my classroom.

One of my favorite pieces of wisdom from Top 20 training is to “keep curiosity alive.” When my teaching is effective, my students are curious. One of my favorite moments, that I can happily say occurs with frequency in class, is when a student enters the room with no intention of learning and ends up as a linchpin in the lesson by sharing his or her questions and skepticism. We all grow from this candid approach. I am so grateful for these students because they reward relevance. Some “usual suspects” for this have definitely emerged at this stage of the current school year, but I know I have really captured lightning in a bottle when this symptom spreads to students who don’t even like to call attention to themselves. While writing about primary documents we examine invites students to explore and express, the inquiry approach to daily lessons has been paramount in cultivating curiosity as a habit. In addition to that, building relevance is crucial within a history class because the curiosity has to help students understand their world better – without that incentive, so many of our topics are simply “nice to know.”

Another element at work is allowing setbacks. I get mad at myself for typos or oversights, but I own and communicate them. Botched test components, in a standards-based grading system, can be retaken. A verbal answer that is wrong is accepted (and validated with the way that it does resemble the correct answer or the kind of thinking that will lead a person to it), but an answer of, “I don’t know,” just means that I’m going to doggedly pursue what the student does know in connection to the question posed. Discomfort strikes the first time this happens, but it becomes enough of our class culture that students recognize that I wasn’t just picking on someone. Of course, a key to making that happen is asking questions with enough depth that the answers have layers and degrees of understanding within them. Our classroom environment needs to be safe enough to invite errors, so I sometimes need to wrangle the wide-open commentary that a discussion promotes when students get so comfortable that they react openly to all remarks. If I don’t do this, it stops reluctant participants before they are willing to start.

Relationships are a cornerstone to a functional classroom. As a classroom teacher, I see my students “live, in-person” on a daily basis. Some students plop their personality on their desk for everyone to see while others protect it. Likewise, teachers either project or hide themselves. I have to admit that I tread pretty carefully in this territory because I saw many high school classmates become alienated when teachers built relationships with a select few who were already openly invested in the various arenas of our school. Students who need our attention most rarely invite it. However, in teaching high school sophomores, I know that students might enter or exit with “ABC Conversations” (“C your way out of it, teacher”) because life doesn’t revolve around us, and helicopter teachers can produce ill effects akin to helicopter parents. Respecting students’ judgment enough to care without meddling is crucial when working with adolescents. I make a concerted effort to see the strengths of students in terms of their work, participation, and their interactions with others. In doing this, relationships develop. I suppose that, in a sense, it mimics how friendships start – people see your “best” side and accept the rest. Whenever I can, I communicate these strengths, but I try to do so with sensitivity. Public praise isn’t always the right card to play. Using our class Twitter account, @cardinaltry, to offer the #ThingsILikedThisWeek has been a public celebration of the weekly accomplishments as well as a way to convey some of the funny things that occur in class. Doing this has built the positive habit of mind to be a “gold miner” and look for indications that we are enjoying our journey together.

I dared to recognize some of the positives, and I’ll know that my friend’s assessment is accurate if – nah. That isn’t worth the worry. Within the confines of my classroom, I have the opportunity to enjoy 150 young people each day. It has been a pleasure to observe so much growth this year and to smile when my students express satisfaction with their experiences. We will continue wondering, taking risks, and relating to each other.

 

 

 

 

My Time to Shine

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  • What matters enough to high school sophomores that it would sustain self-directed interest over the course of a school year?
  • How could our examination of American History define and deepen that understanding?
Spotlight - pixabay.com

Spotlight – pixabay.com

“My Time to Shine” is what I’m going to call my interpretation of Genius Hour, or 20-time, in American History 10. With ALL due respect to the phenomenal minds and hearts who have developed this and helped it take flight, I needed to take the step of branding it in a way that I think will frame our mission. Yes, I want my students to apply their genius – again, I totally respect that as being at the core of why this is worth implementing. However, I want to emphasize student ownership of this time. I believe that “my” – meaning them, not me – will resonate with my students. As an aside, I think it’s hard to say that phrase without doing a little shoulder shimmy and maybe even cracking a smile.

While I get a little nervous about boldly categorizing my students, I have noticed a few traits about sophomores that seem to be among their trademarks. They are bastions of social justice. Where the boundaries fall is not universal; however, perceived injustices stir their emotions. An example of this occurs when we study the internment camps used in the United States during World War II. Each year, it seems, about half of the students get rankled when they hear about the way our government put Japanese Americans into “protective custody.” Hearing that they were plucked away from their homes and jobs draws a few more into the fray, but what really delivers the punch is when they find out that Americans of German and Italian descent were not part of this executive order. “That’s not fair,” is a call to action.

Identity, while certainly part of the whole adolescent experience, during the sophomore year is a chameleon tied to accomplishments at this age. “I am…” and “I can…” are inseparable. It seems like school activities begin to have a more pronounced effect on sophomores’ mirror visions.  They see themselves as soccer players, speech participants, mathletes, tracksters, or kids who don’t do activities. If my students are to feel like “My Time to Shine” is a highlight (pun intended) of their year, I need to help them bridge their existence with new skills so that who they are morphs into something closer to what they can become. I will examine the layers of skill development more in a future post.

How can history be the vehicle for this growth? First of all, one of the early activities that my students will complete in their Learning Clubs (as described by Angela Maiers and Amy Sandvold in The Passion-Driven Classroom) will be interaction with someone who “does history” for a living. I’m in the process of contacting candidates for this. My plan calls for the Learning Clubs to develop a series of questions to ask the professor or historical society director to find out what historians actually do. Getting a sense of the “verbs” of these occupations will help generate some ideas for the students’ projects.

Ultimately, the passions – in what I’m sure will have audible arrivals (Is that too much to ask?) – will be found at the intersection of the verbs of historians, societal ideals, and student identities. Thus, I’m proposing that my students’ passion projects answer the following: What historical presence from our nation’s past (event, individual, group, era, etc.) shapes you, and how will you redirect your knowledge of this into something meaningful?

When my students are in the spotlight with their “big answer” then, they will provide us with insights about who they are in the context of our country’s history and why it matters. Fundamentally, they will show that history matters – more importantly, they will see that people count – and MOST importantly, they will show themselves that they have opportunities to project their light for others because they can use their gifts to help past occurrences become productive.

 

 

Leaving the Parking Lot

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Cross-Country SkiingThe picture accompanying this post is from one of the first times that my husband and I brought our sons cross-country skiing. At left is our youngest son, Carson, trying to keep his balance and stay in the groomed tracks as we left the parking lot. Both he and his older brother, Grant (not pictured), attacked this “sport” with an adventurous attitude. I recall Carson announcing his number of falls from that first time with the word only – and it might have been described differently by a lesser (or older) soul.

I seem to experience phases with educational ideas. After I have gathered some information on the projected outcomes and processes, if I’m still enthused, there is usually a moment with an audible gulp as I realize that it’s time to leave the parking lot and head into the cluster of trees.  It is palpable when I reach this stage, but it is such an adrenaline rush because I know that after I wobble through the uncertainty, fall down, get up, wobble, fall down, get up,…I look back at the path and realize that I’ve learned.

In the midst of sustaining what I believe are mostly sound practices in the tenth grade American History course I teach, I’m excited to groom some new tracks for my students as well as leading them into a place where they can initiate their own paths. As I participate in the 20-time Academy MOOC https://www.schoology.com/course/47601673/materials, I’m trying to articulate these plans. My project pitch, which gives a preview of the planning and learning I need to do in the next week or so, is found here: http://prezi.com/ewxwivgredab/?utm_campaign=share&utm_medium=copy&rc=ex0share.

I have been struggling with how to establish some kind of a boundary relating to my content area of history. While I would love for my students to ski along and make the world a better place with their work, I don’t see that as being compatible with their exploration of American History. What is the “catch” for my students’ 20-time work going to be? I can afford to fall down a few times in the implementation process, but it’s crucial to find my stride within a set of tracks on this aspect of our project.

As I set off into the unknown with the equivalent of a park map showing potential outcomes and processes, I need to expect that I will fall…and that I will hoist myself upward again with the combination of experiences, knowledge, and resources. I need to conjure up the courage to leave the parking lot.  Implementing a plan that helps my students exercise their minds, define themselves within history, and develop as people is too great of a reward to sit still and wave at other people who choose to risk.

After Carson fell only a few times that day, he proudly shared about seeing deer in the woods and feeling like he had done pretty well for someone who was new to cross-country skiing. Processes and outcomes draw our attention as well as leaving us fulfilled – or better off for having learned – once we apply our efforts.  We just need to be willing to leave the parking lot.

80-20 for 40

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water-103817_1280 In southern Minnesota, outdoor pools are open for approximately 80 days each calendar year. When the weather cooperates on those days, kids flock to the swimming pool for socializing, refreshment, and release – occasionally a swim enters the equation too.  For kids who live near these oases, those 80 days can define a summer. Memories of those days seep into chilly, snow-laden days and help remind even the heartiest of Minnesotans why a permanent move to dreamy places like Omaha, Des Moines, and Nashville might not be worth the trouble. (We’re a species all our own.)

The 80/365, or 20% ratio, leads me to consider how to make genius hour, or 20% time, meaningful without losing the emphasis on the other 80% of my time with students. 80-20 has meant something different in leadership and administrative circles. For me, it now means that I am going to strive to dedicate a day each week for students to “go to the pool” in a sense. I will need to be an active lifeguard there. Licorice rope wrappers cannot be allowed to encircle the beach chairs, candy bar chunks can’t be left to melt on the pool deck, and paper plates won’t be suctioned to the chain-link fence. I accept that challenge.

One thought I have had already – and it is maybe too limiting for true “genius hour” work – is that I’ll suggest that my students solve historical problems or conduct historical investigations. Primary document work, which prepares students for Advanced Placement History, and helps meet Common Core Literacy demands will be essential in student research. Framing ideas in the classic “Political/Economic/Geographic/Social” wedges may be part of our conversations as well. This may be a symptom of my timidity for the deep water of an unbounded genius hour, but I would see trying to “sell” this to our whole tenth-grade team as a necessity for something that completely embraces the concept.

No matter how much I dedicate to learning how to implement this practice, sacrificing the quality of “the other 80%” is not an option. It amplifies the importance of what we do with those days because of the skills and context that we will build. In The Passion Driven Classroom, Angela Maiers and Amy Sandvold emphasize the supporting elements relating to routine, “When a class has a predictable structure and can manage routines with confidence, the class has more flexibility to accommodate spontaneous and passionate endeavors.” Just as routines have supported my classroom in the past, they will offer a concrete bed for new activities.

I don’t know if it’s entirely necessary to defend standards-based learning (including grading, formative assessments, and summative assessments) as my “other 80%”, but it seems like the coexistence of passion and standards is an educational dilemma.  I hear it in my colleagues’ words and see it in conflicted students who budget time in curious ways. Educators can find ways to be passionate and allow students to be geniuses without wholesale abandonment of standards.

My “compliant side” surgically assigns unit goals (standards) throughout the year and ensures that both teaching and assessment occur on each one. When a student shows evidence of competence in a standard, the grade reflects that; when a student isn’t there yet, then the grade communicates that more learning needs to happen. The curriculum map also ensures that the course doesn’t “live and die with me” as its conveyor. In addition, it avoids what used to be an epidemic in history classes: American Revolution – check, Civil War – check, Spanish-American War – check, uh-oh, it’s May and time to speed-teach, “Then there were two world wars sandwiching economic trouble, the Cold War had a couple of actual fights, the Civil Rights Movement had successes and failures, and here we are.” In examining the U.S. from Pre-Columbian times to the early 2000s, we buried the accelerator a few times last year. Instructional decisions on what to emphasize and bundle are prevalent at all time increments from the class period to the semester. In these choices, our own passions show as well, which needs to be articulated to the students so they know we aren’t giving them sanitized history.

My responsibility is to help my students excel in the 80-20 world for my course over a period of 40 weeks. Just as the emotional investment won’t disappear during our non-genius hour days, curriculum relating to our standards will be an undercurrent to our 20 time. As educators, we can reconcile these factors without demeaning either of them. We are fortunate to have the tools to inject some poolside fun into those December days.