aha moment – Page 5 – Pernille Ripp

A Much Needed Reminder

November 26, 2015 Pernille Ripp

For the month of November, I have seen all of the practiced thankfulness. The posts on social media sharing what we are thankful for, the handwritten notes passed from person to person, the drawings and cards sent home from classrooms. November, it seems, is the month that reminds us just how good many of us have it. And for that, I am truly thankful.

Because we have it better than we think. At least, most of the time. We have it better than we realize. Many of us are surrounded by people who care about us. We have the things that give us a good life. We have jobs that even when they are tough center around the love of learning. We get to work with children. We are lucky, even when we forget it.

As I sit in my heated house, with the lights on, with food in the fridge, and new outfits for the kids, I cannot help but be humbled by all that we have. By all that we take for granted, and not just today, but every day. My kids are safe in our neighborhood, they have access to great schools, they are loved and protected by their family. They are given access to a life that many children around the world, and even here in my very own country, can only hope for.

So I hope this Thanksgiving will be a reminder to be more thankful. To see the good in the bad. To realize that even on our toughest days there is still love around us, there is still happiness. That sometimes the things we get so caught up in really should not be worth our time. That the things that upset us pales in comparison to what others go through.

So I give thanks to the little things. And strengthen my commitment to not remember that we are the fortunate ones. That we live privileged lives. Even on our bad days.

If you like what you read here, consider reading my book Passionate Learners – How to Engage and Empower Your Students. Also, if you are wondering where I will be in the coming year or would like to have me speak, please see this page.

aha moment, being a student, being a teacher, being me, student choice, Student dreams

All The Things I Have Not Done

November 25, 2015 Pernille Ripp

It is time for me to make a confession. It is time for me to come clean. Because it is easy to speak about all of the things we do in our 7th grade classroom, it is easy to share ideas, to give advice, to hopefully help others engage students more. And yet…some of those things that I love the most we are not even doing.

We haven’t started blogging yet. This monumental cornerstone of our classroom has not found its hold. It lurks on the horizon, taunting me, reminding me of its presence, and yet, we are not bloggers. We haven’t had many discussions of how to change education, how to share our voice with the world, how to make a change so that the schools we go to become better with us in them. We have not been geniuses or innovators. Nor have we Skyped much. We have not taken the system apart only to put it back together. And I am ok with that. For now.

Because while we have not done all of those things, we have slowed down instead. We have gotten to know each other, we have read picture books, we have book shopped for half a class. We have written stories for our eyes only, the classroom so quiet I barely dare move. We have talked about what it means to be a reader, a writer, a human being. We have stopped when we needed to instead of forged on. And the ease at which we now operate in our classroom is profound. The conversations that slowing down has allowed me to have with my students are irreplaceable.

So while we are not global students. While we are not innovators. While we are not out there changing the world, I know that it is only a matter of time. That my students will get to experience those things when they fit into our day. When we feel the need to take our voices further than our own four walls. I know it will happen, it just has not happened yet. And I am ok with that.

aha moment, being a teacher, student voice, writing

A Few Ideas for Better Writing Conferences

November 9, 2015November 10, 2015 Pernille Ripp

Thea, our oldest, missed her bus today which meant that I missed my morning prep as I drove her to school. Missing my prep is usually not a big deal, but this morning I was feeling rather sleep deprived (thanks to the amazing book An Ember in the Ashes which I just had to finish last night) and overall rather discombobulated. My very first instinct as I tried to get ready in the 4 minutes before the students showed up was to cancel the writing conferences I had planned with the kids, after all, I was not ready. I had not pre-read all of their drafts, made copious amounts of comments in them, nor had I carefully selected who I would meet with. Surely, I could not lead their conferences. Surely, they could would get anything out of it if I did.

Yet, a tiny voice inside me kept whispering that I had promised them a writing conference and I had to keep that promise. That perhaps this was my chance to not lead their conferences. To not have all of the answers, but instead be ready to listen and support. To let them tell me what they needed rather than vice versa. So I did, and it felt like I held my breath all day, but it worked. It worked! And I could not be happier with the outcome. So what did we do?

I had the students sign up to confer. Rather than me telling them to meet with me, I left it open for those who wanted to meet. This meant that those kids with burning desires to show their work got a chance to do so. In the one class where I didn’t have a lot of students sign up, I walked around and did mini-conferences as they wrote, only interrupting when there was a good moment to ask my questions. At the end of the day, I marked down whom I had conferred with so that I can keep track of who I still need to meet with and will plan accordingly in the days to come.

I asked them what our purpose was for the conference. Using the question, “What would you like me to look for?” really helped students narrow the focus of our conference. Often times, a student will tell me they just want my opinion, but through follow up questions, we were able to narrow it down. Some kids had an immediate idea of what they needed from me, others needed a little more prodding. Typical requests became wanting to see if they had too many details, if their flow was choppy, or other specific needs that were important to them. Because they had to describe what they needed, they had to reflect on their piece and purposefully weigh those needs. Rather than just having me read it for an opinion, they ended up with specific feedback that could support them as they continued writing.

I didn’t write suggestions. I purposefully did not add my thoughts to their document in front of them, nor will I for a while yet. I think with the advent of Google Docs our comments/suggestions/edits have become just another checklist for fixing their writing, rather than supporting them in becoming better writers. As my friend, Jess Lifshitz pointed out, “We need to teach students how to be writers, not just follow our directions to fix their writing.” (paraphrase) I couldn’t agree more.

We kept it short. Because I was only given one purpose, students and I spoke briefly and then they were off to work again. Because I was not editing their work, we quickly got to the point of their needs and they could continue working on their vision for their piece, rather than be tainted by my ideas.

I held my tongue. I have a wide variety of writers in our classroom, many who identify themselves as non-writers. I therefore knew that this very first writing conference would set the tone for the rest of the year and further fuel their relationship with writing for better or for worse. I therefore stopped myself from pointing out all of the things they could work on, all the mistakes that should be fixed, all of the things that should get attention. We will get to it later, right now they just need to write.

I didn’t give them my opinion. And not one asked for it either. Often our opinion is what students strive to hear, to get that seal of approval. Yet, I have seen what an honest opinion can do to a child that is still drafting their story. How even the most carefully wrapped sentence can totally stop a child from writing. Instead, I kept it to the chosen focus. I asked them their opinion, I asked them to speak about their piece. And they did. And I listened, and then they found their own path rather than attempting to walk on mine.

At the end of today, I was excited, not exhausted as I normally would have been. It was not me who had done most of the talking, it was the students. It was not me who had set the purpose, it was the students. Not once had a child asked me if their story was long enough. Not once had a child asked me whether their story was good enough. Instead they had told me how excited they were to write, how they could not wait for me to see the final version, how they might try a new story if this one doesn’t go as planned. Just as I had hoped. Just like it should be. Perhaps being discombobulated on a Monday was not such a bad thing after all.

aha moment, being a teacher, being me, books, Literacy, Passion, students

A Story of A Boy and a Book

November 6, 2015 Pernille Ripp

This originally was posted on The Reader Leader Blog from Scholastic. You should really see the other posts on the blog!

He came to me with anger seeping out of every pore, a cloud of dismay surrounding him. Looking at us with eyes that told the world that he was not afraid, that he knew that we could not make him do whatever it was we intended to ask. That he would fight us with every cell in his body just to stay in control. Yet, for all of his anger, for all of his glances directed my way, he wasn’t one of mine. I didn’t have the pleasure of teaching him. He was in a separate English class, trying to be taught all of those things he had missed because of his anger and outbursts.

He wasn’t afraid of me, nor very angry. I posed no threat since I was not one of the ones asking him to please do, please sit, please stop. So every day I greeted him, smiled when our paths crossed, and told him that all of those books I had in my classroom could be his if only he wanted to read one. That even if he wasn’t mine, those books were still meant for him. Every day, he smiled and went on his way, seeing little need for any of the books I might have to share. As the weeks passed, he grew. He pushed his boundaries as children can do so well, always inching along that very fine line of control and struggle. I watched from afar; after all, he was not mine, so all I could do was smile and nod and remind him of the books that awaited.

One day, he didn’t just smile, but instead asked in all earnestness, “When can I be your student? When can I come to your class?” It wasn’t because he didn’t like the class he was in, or the teacher who taught him, but the books were calling, as they often do to so many kids that feel lost. I smiled and shrugged, repeated that the books were there for him whether he was mine or not. For weeks this played out until one day, he entered our classroom and I held my breath; after all, now he was mine, now I was one of the ones that would ask him to stop, to sit, to do. And I was scared of what would happen.

He sat quietly that first day in class. Bent his head and wrote ever so slowly, picking out his words with care, wanting so much to fit in and not just be known as that kid with anger issues. As the other students cleared out, he lifted his head, looked at the clock and asked, “Is it now? Can I pick my book now?” And he walked to the shelf of the book he had eyed and grabbed it, holding on to it as if I would ask him to put it down. “What do I do now?” he asked. “You read it,” I said, “And then you bring it back.” “That’s it?” “That’s it.”

So he left that morning, clutching Amulet: Book 1 to his chest as if it were a safety blanket. And I figured that the minute he left our classroom, that book would be forgotten; his day would develop, and soon our conversation would be a distant memory as his ingrained behaviors clouded his judgment once again. So I wasn’t surprised when at lunch he walked up to me and handed me back the book. “Did you not like it?” I asked, already running a possibility of other titles in my head that I could offer him. “I am done,” he said. “Done? But I thought you were so excited to read it?” I asked, my voice laced with confusion. “I did…I loved it…Can I have the next one please? I promise to bring it back.” He had read it already. He had fallen in love with a book. He was ready for the next one. For one moment in that day, he was just a kid who loved a book, just a kid like all the other kids, asking for the next book in a series that had spoken to him. So we walked into our classroom, found the next book and he left, clutching it to his chest once more, ready to wrestle anyone who would try to take it away.

We fall in love with books when they speak to us. When within their pages, we find a piece of ourselves we didn’t know we were missing. We clutch these books to our chests long after we have stopped reading them as a way to shield us from a world that we sometimes do not understand. Books become absorbed into our identity and allow us to risk, to love, to care about something even when we feel the most vulnerable. Even when we feel the world is not for us, we can find safety within the pages of a book. That is why my classroom is filled with books–so that every child has a chance to find a piece of armor, so that every child has a chance to find a vessel that will hold his dreams and protect them when they need to be. My students may not understand each other’s pasts, each other’s behaviors, but they understand books, and so when a child falls in love with a book and it becomes part of him, it builds a bridge for others to understand that child better. For others to be let in.

Books provide us with the magic that we dream of as teachers. Books, whether fiction or non, chapter or picture, give us the building blocks that we need to connect with our hardest students. To connect with those that we sometimes feel at a loss to reach. That boy didn’t stop being angry. He didn’t stop feeling that the world was out to get him, but he did start believing that somewhere in the world was a place for him to fit in. That he too could be a reader, that he too could belong. That his anger would not be the only thing that defined him, even when it spoke the loudest. That boy knew he had a home with us whenever he needed it. He still does, even though he is no longer around. My door is always open, the books always calling out for anyone who needs to belong, if even for a moment. I will never forget that boy and his book.

aha moment, assessment, assumptions, being a teacher, being me, conferences, connect, Passion, student voice

How Can I Make This Better For You?

November 4, 2015 Pernille Ripp

For the past three days my students have read. They have sat wherever they wanted, immersed in the book of their choice. They have book shopped. They have reflected, but mostly just read. Whispered about their books. Handed those in they have finished. And waited for me to call their name, knowing that soon it would be their turn.

I have sat at a table and spoken to them all, one by one, taken the time it takes. “How is English going…How can I be a better teacher for you….What is not working…” Armed with the survey they have takes as we finished our very first quarter, they have told me their truths. They have looked at me and then gladly told me everything I have needed to change. And I am so grateful. Think of the guts that it takes to look at your teacher to tell them that something is not working for you. Think of what that says about the community we have.

So for the past 3 days, I have listened. I have nodded and taken notes. I have asked for further explanation, and I have also asked for help. How can we make it better? How can we find more time? How can we make it easier? More engaging? More of what they need? How can we…

We read books to become better teachers. We ask colleagues for help. We meet with administrators. We reach out to parents. We connect and we ask and we ponder together. Yet, how often do we ask the very kids that we teach? How often do we stop what we are doing simply to conference with them? Not about their work but to uncover how things are going? What they need? How we can change? How often do we stop so we can learn from them? Not often enough, but that can change. It starts with us. And it starts with a simple question; how can I make this better for you?

aha moment, being a teacher, being me, PLN, principals, trust

How to Do PD Right – Yes, It’s Possible

November 2, 2015 Pernille Ripp

Last week, I had two full days of professional development, or PD as we like to call it. I shared my excitement on Facebook about the two days and, of course, was met with disbelief. Excitement? Really? Since when has PD actually been something to look forward to? And so I realized that I might be in the minority when it comes to excitement for PD, that I might be a lone voice among the educational community and yet, in my district I am not. Because my district, Oregon School District, has figured out how to do PD right.

They operate under a few simple things; trust, communication, and choice. Tenets that far too many districts kind of believe in when it comes to PD but then really don’t when it comes to setting the agenda. Yet, my district not only believes it, they live it, and it is apparent every time we are given time to learn as professionals. Our two days consisted of many different things, all meant to fulfill the needs we not only have as a community, but also as individual learners.

We started with curriculum time. Just that. No set curriculum to go through. No agenda. We were not even told who we had to meet with. Instead we given the true gift of time to meet with those we felt we needed to meet with. And so we did, and we planned, and we even book shopped as we prepared for book clubs. They trusted us to use our time in the best way possible, in the way that we would see as most beneficial, and so we did.

Then we were given small group work time. We have 4 separate professional learning communities happening in our school, so each group met to check in and then as a group we decided what we needed to do. My group had decided it needed time to read the books our school had ordered for us (on our request of course). So we did, we met after and we discussed what we found. Not in order to fill out a sheet, or to check off a box, but because we wanted to learn from each other.

The afternoon was filled with whole school learning as a coach came in to teach us how to coach each other and students. 2 hours were spent trying to make our community stronger and more cohesive. While confusion may have arisen from things we did, it still started a lot of conversation. It still gave us tools we could use. It still gave us a chance to learn from each other.

We ended the first day with work time for whatever we needed. Again, no need to check in. No need to report somewhere. Just work, get it done, whatever “it” is.

The second day had two components to it. The first part of the day being an Edcamp style set-up where we could choose to go to whichever sessions our colleagues were holding, the second being time to work on Educator Effectiveness, our state evaluation system. The morning was fantastic, there were so many sessions, it was hard to pick. And the best part was the variety of the sessions; from discussion of curriculum, to brainstorming, to hands-on projects. From the advanced to the basic, there was room for all. That afternoon we ended our two days with time to do all of the things that our government is asking us to do. Whether it was to meet with our evaluator, meet with a colleague, simply fill out the many online forms, or contemplate how to reach our goals, we were given the time. We were given the tools. We were given the support to be the very best educators we can be.

I wrote about trusting staff in my book Empowered Schools, Empowered Students. I wrote about what it could do for an entire district if professional development started to mean something again. I wrote about how a district could actually use these days to honor the talent, the curiosity, and the need of its educators by trusting them. By listening to them. By offering choice. When I wrote that book, I had no idea that I would get to work for a district that lives out this vision every day. I am so grateful that my dream is not just, but actually a part of the tapestry of where I get to teach. PD can be done right, after all.