being a teacher, Literacy, Reading, Reading Identity, student choice, Student dreams, student driven, Student Engagement, student voice, Student-centered

How to Create Empowered Readers – A Beginning

The sniffles started almost immediately.  Small choking noises came soon.  Then full out wails, tears, and gasps.  Theadora, our oldest daughter, was a mess as we drove home from Chicago today.  What had caused this sudden crying?  The end of Harry Potter Book seven.  The end of our 9 month journey accompanied by the ever amazing Jim Dale and the audio books of Harry Potter.  I was wistful myself to tell you the truth.  As I tried to console our distraught daughter,  I couldn’t help but feel slightly pleased, after all, isn’t this exactly the type of relationship that we hope our children, our students, have with books?  One that makes you want to cry, or laugh, or scream in frustration?  One that allows you to feel so intimately attached to something not created by yourself?  To feel the gratitude of brilliant writing and a long journey along with an author’s imagination?  To feel the loss of characters and of story as a book series finishes?

Yet, how many of our students have never experienced this type of sadness?  How many of our students have not experienced what is means to complete a series that one has become so invested in that it feels like the loss of a family member once the last page has been read?  How many years has it been for some, if at all, since they truly loved a book?  While we cannot change the past, we do have control over the now, over what happens in our classrooms. Over what happens from the moment they enter to the moment they leave.  And with that power comes an immense responsibility to empower our students, to offer them a chance at an incredible relationship with reading once again or for the very first time.  While it may start with having them choose their own books, this is not the only place students need more control to be empowered and passionate readers.

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Book choice.  This fundamental right to choose what you read is one that is so often taken away from our students because we want to help them develop as readers.   Yet when a child is not a  allowed to choose the very text they are asked to engage with, we give them little room for an emotional attachment.  How many of us adults will willingly invest in something we have been told to read?  So while we can expose and recommend, we must create classrooms where student choice is the norm, not the exception.  Where we help students find that next great book in order for them to become independent book selectors so that they can leave our classrooms knowing that they do not need us.  Not in the same way as they did in the beginning.  Where wild book abandonment is the norm and not something you need permission for.  Where indifference rules when a book is given up because we know that a new book awaits.  If we truly want students to feel in control of their reading identities then giving them the choice over which book to read is the very least we must do.

Book truths.  If we do not know what we are up against, then we can never change their minds.  This has been a mantra of mine since I started asking my students all sorts of things about their education.  So every year, and throughout the year, we continuously discuss how we feel about reading (and writing).  I never dismiss their truths, nor try to correct them.  It is not my job to tell them how they should feel, but it is my job to hopefully create a better experience for them.  I cannot do that well if students do not trust me, trust the community, and trust themselves and also trust the fact that perhaps how they feel about reading right now, if it is negative in any way, is something that can be changed.  (Yes, growth mindset at work here).  So ask them how they really feel and then truly listen, because it is when we listen, we can actually do something about it.

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Student post-it’s cover our whiteboard, our very first discussion of why we like reading or not from Friday.

 

Book Tasks.  Just Friday I was asked how many book summaries we would do this year.  I must have looked perplexed, because another student quickly added, “You know, write a summary every time we finish a book?”  I assured them that while we would work on summarizing, it would not be on every book, nor even books mostly.  Instead we discussed what we want to do when we finish a book; discuss with others, pass it on, perhaps forget all about it.  We must give our students control over what they do with a book once it has been finished.  We must allow them to explore ways to communicate their emotions with a book and certainly still develop as thinkers.  I keep thinking how I want our students to have choices every few weeks as we advance our reading; review, conversations, written ponderings, perhaps a summary, perhaps a video.  The point is, I am not sure at this point what we shall do once we finish a book because it depends on what the students would like to do.  I do not ever want to implement a task that makes a child slow down their reading or stop it altogether just because the task attached to it is horrific in their eyes.  So when we plan our reading tasks make sure that the long-term effects are not unwanted.  Make sure that it actually plays into our bigger picture; students who actually like to read, and does not harm this.

Book Selection.  While choice is of utmost importance, so is the way books are selected.  Too often we schedule in book shopping time for when it is convenient to us, forgetting that all students need books at different times.  Selecting a book is a also something that must be taught, even in middle school, because many students still have a hard time finding a book.  We therefore discuss how to bookshop, which yes, includes, judging a book by its cover, and then we take the time it takes.  If we really want students to wander among great books then we must give them time for that wandering and we must embrace the social aspect that comes along with it.  After all it is this book loving community that should sustain student reading after they have left our classrooms.

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How many students would say the exact same thing?

Book Access.  While I cannot continue to purchase books at the rate I have been due to a change in our household, I know that one of the biggest reasons many of our students end up identifying as readers is because of the sheer volume of books they have access to both in our classroom library and in our school library.  Kids need books at their finger tips at all times.  Much like they must have time to book shop when they need it, they also need to be able to book shop right in our classrooms.  When a child is obviously lost, we or other classmates can jump in.  When a child is only pretending to bookshop we can offer guidance.  We cannot control how many books our students go home to, but we can make sure that whenever they are in our classrooms; the books are plentiful.

Book Time.  Providing students time to read in our classes is one of the biggest ways we can signal to students that reading really matters.  After all, it is what we give our time to that must be the most important.  So whether it is only 10 minutes, like I provide every day, our a longer amount of time; time for reading in class is essential.  Otherwise, how will we ever know that they are truly reading because anyone can forge a reading log.  The time for reading should be just that, not time for tasks or post-its.  Not time for partner discussions or writing.  Reading, in all its glorious quiet.  In all its glorious discovery.

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While the above areas may seem so commonsense, perhaps it is their commonsense-ness that makes us forget to implement them all.  It seems so obvious and yet… how many of us have told a child what to read (I have!).  How many of us have asked students to create task upon task after they finished a book (I have!).  How many of us have asked students to bookshop at a certain time and for a certain amount of time and wondered why they came up empty-handed (I have!).  The point is really that we have the choice to empower our students.  That we have the choice to show our students that their reading identity and developing it is a major part of our curriculum even if the standard does not cover it.  Even if the test does not measure it.  Because we know that at the end of the day we are not just teaching students that should be college and career ready, but instead are teaching human beings that should grow as human beings in our classrooms.  I may not be able to change every child’s mind when it comes to books and reading, but I will go in there every day trying, because my hope will always that they too will someday cry when they realize that a series has ended.

I am currently working on a new literacy book.  While the task is daunting and intimidating, it is incredible to once again get to share the phenomenal words of my students as they push me to be a better teacher.  The book, which I am still writing, is tentatively Passionate Readers and will be published in the summer of 2017 by Routledge.  So until then 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.

administration, being a teacher, new year, principal

A Letter from My Principal for the New School Year

If you have ever spoken to me about the amazing district I work for, Oregon School District in Wisconsin, chances are you will have heard tales of how amazing our principal, Shannon Anderson, is.  Shannon is a huge reason to why I am a seventh grade teacher, she is the reason many of us love our school, and she is also the type of principal that I wish every single educator could have.  The following blog is her welcome back letter to us, it moved me, I hope it will move you, and I am so grateful that she allowed me to share it here.

Twenty-two years ago I was a first year teacher at Verona Area High School. There was more than one occasion that first year when I paused during class in a moment of panic and thought to myself, “Why in the world did someone actually entrust me with this classroom full of students? I have no idea what I am doing!” I was teaching five different classes in four different classrooms. I was planning lessons the night before, I was afraid of parents, and I had crazy grading practices (Why not give extra credit for bringing in boxes of Kleenex? I needed Kleenex boxes!). I look back on that first year of teaching and cringe.

That same year Jacklyn Keller was a ninth grade student in my Art Foundations class. She drew with confidence and grace. I remember her maturity and inquisitive nature. Jacklyn took several classes with me while in high school, and she never ceased to amaze me with her artistic skills and insightful observations about art-making and life in general.  Sometimes when I stop to pause and reflect on my former life as a high school teacher, Jacklyn is one of the students that brings a smile to my face.

Several weeks ago, I was attending Literacy by the Lakes, a three-day conference for Wisconsin teachers sponsored by the University of Wisconsin-Madison. On the first day, I noticed a woman sitting in front of me that looked like Jacklyn. I tried to read her name tag every time she passed me, but I could not read it. Finally, I gathered up the courage to ask her if she ever attended school in Verona. Before the words were even out of my mouth, she exclaimed, “Ms. Roper, it is you! You were my favorite teacher in high school!” (Yes, Ms. Roper was my maiden name.) I was stunned for a minute. I was stunned because it was indeed Jacklyn. I was stunned because she actually remembered me. But I was even more stunned that I was her favorite teacher from high school. Sure, I remember having a good relationship with her when she was in high school, but I never thought I was her favorite.

Jacklyn, a former high school teacher, is now a elementary school librarian in Madison. During our short conversation, it was clear to me that she is passionate about the learners she serves and committed to making learning engaging and successful. As we ended our conversation, I was a bit overwhelmed with the sense of pride I felt. Jacklyn was no longer the amazing teenager I remembered; she is now a passionate and successful educator.

During the 2016-17 school year, you will touch the lives of hundreds of students like Jacklyn. The relationships you develop with them will likely last longer in their memories than the curriculum or lessons you teach them. Some students will let you know how much you mean to them, and some will not. In fact, in many cases you will likely never know the impact you will have on their lives. I think that is one of the most amazing things about dedicating your life to education: you can make a difference every single day and not even realize it. Something you do or say can change students’ thinking. You can inspire them to take risks. You can encourage them when they are ready to to give up. You can help them to see something within themselves they cannot yet see. You can expose them to new possibilities. You can help them turn mistakes into opportunities. But most importantly, you can show them you love and care for them.

Looking back, I acknowledge the fact that I did not have much of clue about curriculum, assessment, best practices, engaging lessons, or communication with parents that first year of teaching. However, my brief reunion with Jacklyn reminded me of Maya Angelou’s words: “At the end of the day people won’t remember what you said or did, they will remember how you made them feel.” Even though I had a lot to learn about teaching as a first year teacher, I was able to develop some positive relationships with my students that made a difference.

As we prepare to welcome students back into our learning spaces (at OMS), I want to thank you in advance for the impact you will have on their lives. You will make a difference every single day!

Be the change, being a teacher, being me

Perhaps This Will Be the Year

May we never be the reason that a child hates school...

Perhaps I will have bad days this year.  Perhaps I will have a lot.

Perhaps I will not reach them all, nor even know when I am not.

Perhaps this will be the year that I will think of in years to come when I tell the stories of all of the things I should not have done.  Of all the mistakes.  Of all the failures.

Perhaps this will be the year of tears, of doubt and anger as I drive home eager to leave it behind.

Perhaps this will be the year where I rethink everything, much like I have in the past, but not because I want to but because nothing works.

Perhaps this is the year where all of my school nightmares actually do come true and I will have no control, nor any desire to keep on teaching.

Or…

Perhaps this will be the year where more of our crazy ideas will actually work.

Where those dreams I had on long summer nights actually happen just like that.

Where every child feels seen.

Where every child feels heard.

Where every child feels they matter.

And this teacher feels the importance of their work.

Perhaps this will be the year that I go home eager to share the stories of the wonderful students I teach and all that they can do, much like I have in the past.

Perhaps this will be the year that I don’t want to end, because this is the year, this is the year…

Perhaps this will be the year that I will always try to duplicate, to pine for when things get tough.

Perhaps this is my year.  The year I have always hoped to have.  Perhaps I will finally be enough.

I just don’t know until it starts and then until it ends.

I just don’t know until they come and we begin.

But I do know that I can choose what year I think I am going to have.  I can choose the perhaps to remember.

I can realize that I can be the difference between a child loving school or hating it and never forgetting that immense responsibility.

Perhaps this will be the year where I cry but also laugh, but I know for a fact that this will be the year where I tried.

Because we always have a choice.

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.

 

 

 

being a teacher, first day, first week, Student dreams

No Matter

What matters most will always be how they feel when they are with us.

Am I good enough?  Will I be enough?  Will this be a great year?  These thoughts have haunted me this summer.  Perhaps it is because I will start my third year as a teacher of seventh graders.  Perhaps it is because I have eight and a half years under my belt and I have seen what great teaching can look like.  This summer as I have traveled across the country working with fellow educators, I have seen what great teaching can be.

I have spent hours at home reading, learning, listening.  Taking notes and finding ideas.  I have run through scenarios, plotted possible courses.  This week I have spent many hours in our classroom, moving furniture, fixing borders, shelving books, and dreaming.  Dreaming of this year.  Dreaming of what we can accomplish.  Dreaming of the type of teacher I used to be, of the one I want to be.

So no matter how panicked I feel…

No matter the fears…

No matter the dreams, the ideas, the hopes and the wishes…

No matter the furniture, the planning, or even the bulletin boards…

What matters will never be found before school starts.

What matters will never be dreamt in my head.  Concocted with colleagues or pinned for in a book.

What matters will never just be those ideas we came up with, that new thing we are going to try, or even the lessons we spent the most time on.

What matters will always be the kids.

And until they show up all we can do is dream.  Is hope.  Is wish.  Is rest so that when they do arrive we know that all of that sleep lost and all of that time spent planning was worth it.

My friend, Jed Dearbury, says “Love first, teach second,” and he is so right.  Because at the end of the day what matters most is not how much we got done or even how well prepared we were.  What matters is how they feel when they are in our classroom and how we feel as their teachers.  I am waiting for those kids to show up next week so that I finally can feel like a real teacher again.

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.

 

being a teacher, building community, first day, first week, new year

Have You Asked Parents Yet?

 

Give them a chance to tell you about their child...their stories deserve to be heard.

I have 30 more emails to go tonight.  30 more individual responses as a way to reach out.  30 more individual responses as a way to say thank you.  30 more individual responses as a way to plant a seed.  Why so many emails to go?  My team and I teach more than 150 students and every year we ask the parents/guardians to take a beginning of the year survey.  We ask a few simple questions to start to get to know our students more.  To get to know the families more.  To start the relationship that we hope to have with them all year, and every single person that takes the survey deserves to get an email in response.

If you teach younger students, this may be nothing new for you, after all, the parent survey seems to be a pillar of beginning of the year.  Yet, I don’t hear of it often at the middle and high school level. I don’t see many middle or high school teachers discuss their beginning of the year surveys.  Which is such a shame because the information that we get with our few questions is invaluable.  This is how we know that a child may have lost a parent.  This is how we know if a child has had a tough school experience, if they love to read, if they cannot sit still.  If all they hope for is a day full of PE or if they really hope that this is the year that their teachers will like them.  This is how we know if those at home may not like school much and would therefore prefer to not be contacted.

What we have found the last few years is that this small beginning of the year survey is a chance for those at home to know that we value their knowledge of their child.  That we value their commitment to school.  That we value who their child is and the journey they are on, as well as take the role we play very seriously.  We ask them how involved they would like to be to help us gauge their feelings about middle school.  We ask them how they would like to be contacted so those who do not want an email can be called instead. We ask what their goals for their learner is so that we can help them achieve that, not calling it a weakness, but instead having them help us become better teachers.

I know that we often want students to become more independent and not so reliant on those at home, yet a survey is still in place.  What those at home know about their child is worth sharing.  What those at home know about what their learner still needs or strives for is worth hearing.

So if you haven’t done a beginning of the year parent/guardian survey do it now, even if the year has already started.  Ask a few questions, send it out electronically and then hand paper copies to those who do not fill it out.  Send a few reminders and then send a thank you email.  Plant the seed of goodwill that will hopefully carry you throughout the year as you try to create a learning experience that works for every child and every parent/guardian.  Trust me, you will be glad you did.

To see our current parent/guardian survey, go here.  In the past we have also used the standard “What are your hopes and dreams for 7th grade?” but found that this survey gave us more information.

PS:  I think I blog about this every year, but it is because I am blown away every year by the knowledge we receive.

being a teacher

Just An Immigrant

Eighteen years ago, almost to the day, I stood in a small office in the Logan International Airport, Boston, Massachusetts clutching a sealed envelope to my chest as I tried to slow my galloping heart.  In the envelope was a copy of my chest x-rays, not seen by anyone until the official in front of me would open them up.  My pile of papers had been handed over and he riffled through them, tossing those aside that seemed unimportant.  I am not sure I took a breath at all.  I knew that if he found a mistake, if something seemed out of sorts, if something was missing, or a box was not checked, that was it.  No questions, no explanations, I would be back on a plane to Denmark and all of the time, money, and hoping would have been for nothing.  Standing there as an eighteen year old, I remember feeling so little, so scared, and so unsure of myself.  My fate was in the hands of a stranger and all I could do was smile.

“What are you doing here?” or something similar is all I remember being asked.  I must have answered correctly, in my perfect English, because he finally stamped my passport and handed it back to me.  “Welcome to the United States of America…”

I am immigrant from Denmark.  If you would have told me twenty years ago that I was to be a part of the American story I would have been perplexed at the notion.  Leave my home behind?  For good?  I would not have been able to imagine such a future because being Danish was such a part of me.  Of my future.  Even if I was not sure what that future held.

Yet, when my mother received a job offer too hard to refuse, I was excited, hopeful that I too could come with my family.  We spent months doing paperwork, traveling to and from an embassy that was more than five hours away.  We had the means to do the travel by train, missing work and school as needed.  Everything was checked and double-checked, every answer scrutinized.  We had to be sponsored by my stepfather, an American citizen, even though my mother had a university professorship waiting for her with a guaranteed income.  We needed health examinations, vaccinations, yes, even chest x-rays for tuberculosis.  We had to promise our allegiance and know that even if all our paperwork was in order, once we stood in the immigration official’s office in the airport, by ourselves, it was still down to that individual officer to grant us the right to stay or send us on the next flight home.  Nothing can prepare you for that feeling of lost control.  When people speak of “legal” immigration as if it is just an application to fill out, I laugh, if you have not tried to immigrate to this country, you probably don’t know just how hard it is.

Yet, now, eighteen years later, I am not treated like an immigrant.  In fact, I never have been.  It is as if once I left the airport office then my Danishness faded away and people assumed that I was an American much like them.  Blame my white privilege skin color that never make people pause over my heritage or race.  Blame my stereotypical Scandinavian appearance and you will quickly see why my story is not viewed as part of the immigration tale of this great nation.  And yet,  I am not an American citizen, not yet anyway, my Danishness runs deep as I was shaped by a culture that may look similar but is so different in so many subtle ways.

I was raised in a country whose notion of  racism is not based as much on appearance but more on religion.  I was raised on a notion of adulthood by the time we reach 15.  Of personal responsibility, but also being part of a social contract.  I was raised to be outspoken, not afraid of hurting others but only hurting them when I chose to be silent.  I was raised on the notion that religion is a private matter even if we have a state church and that it is not my job to tell you what to believe, nor how to believe it.  I was raised believing in equality and love for all.  That we need great education for all children so that we can become a greater nation.  That we are only as strong as our weakest link and so we have a societal duty to lift others up when they need it.  I was raised in a country that told me to be strong in my role as a woman, as a mother, as a feminist, to know that I too could rule a nation, where I did not have to hope for the future to look female leadership.

While my name has certainly given people pause, it is rare, if at all, that anyone assumes that I am one of those immigrants that shape this nation.  That my family was fortunate enough, rich enough, to work our way to legal immigration.  That my family had enough resources, not as we pursued a better life but one that would look very similar to the one we left behind. We knew there were opportunities in America, we are grateful for them, which is why we came.  Yet when someone speaks of immigrants.  Of how this country has enough of them.  Of how we must close our borders or slow the flood to a trickle, I cannot help but wonder if they mean people like me or just people that do not look so darn American?  If when we speak of vetting harder, or scrutinizing applications better, whether that would ever be applicable to someone like me?

So when we look at the names of our students.  As we look at their appearance, at the history that is visible on their skin, are we really seeing all of them?  Are we really getting their full story or only the story we choose to see?  How often do we pain a picture of what an immigrant looks like and have little understanding of what it really means?

Eighteen years ago my dreams were in the hands of a nameless man, he held them as if  I was just another appointment on his calendar, because I was.  He had no care for whether I was approved or not.   I walked into the office as a Dane and left as someone who belongs to two nations and yet at times feels lost in both.  I left as someone who searches for their roots, knowing that they no longer fit into where they came from but are not sure that they fit completely into where they are.  I have been changed.  For the good and for the bad.  I have become American, even as I have clung to my Danishness yet still seen it slipping away.  I have loved this new nation, yet at times, not been sure that this new nation loves me.  After all I am just an immigrant, and my dreams remain at times in the hands of strangers.