Back to the Embryo
If nothing else were to come out of all the current hubbub in teaching - new evaluation model, new standards, new student assessments - one positive outcome is the fact that I am motivated to look at my practices more reflectively and intentionally now, maybe more-so than I have at any time in my career.
The motivation doesn't come from being afraid that I won't score well on the Marzano scale. I'm not opposed to the Marzano scale. In fact, I like that it offers more possibilities than my just being satisfactory or unsatisfactory. And I am willing to trust that whoever observes me will do his/her best to make an accurate assessment of my work in the classroom by looking at the evidence of what is going on in there.
I understand that the Marzano model is based on meta-research - researching the research - on what effective teachers do. I think that research is important for me to know as a professional in the field of education. If it can help me be a better teacher, I am all in. That's the science.
Then there's the art. What I know about the art of teaching comes from years of practice. Well, not the actual practice itself, but reflecting on that practice, which I have done over the years with greater and lesser degrees of deliberateness. I am embarrassed to say, that some years there has been way less deliberateness than there should have been. There were times, especially early in my career - maybe around the 7 or 8 year mark - when I thought I had teaching all figured out.
Now, I know how foolish that sounds.
Like any artist, the reputation of good teachers depends upon good work. And, like any artist, a good teacher can't produce one or two great pieces and rest upon that greatness believing that once a certain status is achieved, it can be maintained without continued and work, and reflection.
Now, I understand this about teaching - that you don't get to good and just stay there; rather, the process of learning about and growing your own pedagogy remains an ongoing one that demands deliberate attention every day.
I recently heard the idea echoed by Philip Seymour Hoffman. In the wake of his death last month, PBS was replaying some of his appearances on Charlie Rose. In a 2012 interview Hoffman said this about acting:
I do the theater because it keeps me "on target."
Acting isn't something like you can paint on a canvas and hold it up and say, "Look how good I am," and it just stays like that.
In the theater, you can have four great days in a row and be thinking, "I've really got this. I am good." And then...A car wreck in the Saturday matinee. And you're back to the embryo of acting.
And you sit as you are eating dinner between shows and you revisit every question you ask yourself and examine everything you do. And that's how you keep getting better. That's how I get better.
That's true of teaching too. At least for me. In the classroom you can have four great lessons in a row and be thinking, "I've really got this. I am innovating." And then your fifth class of the day comes in, and you use the same strategies you've used all day, the same materials, the same lesson plan, but it's a wreck. Maybe you don't even know the wreck has happened until you give a test and you see that despite your best efforts, and theirs, your students don't know what you thought they did. And you're back to the embryo of teaching.
For me, that might mean reviewing something I mistakenly thought all my students would know, like the definition of a novel. When they don't know, the re-examining begins. Figuring out new ways to ask the question, new ways to bring the term into their lexicon. On paper. On screens. On whiteboards. It might mean making sure an essay has a thesis (another thing I know we have gone over). Trying mentor texts, and peer review, and revision revision revision. Whatever the content, if they aren't getting it, I need to go back. I need to reflect. Where do the cars veer off the road? Where does the wreck happen? And why? And how do we clear the wreck and get things moving forward again?
Even in the embryo, the raw materials are there. It's the reflection that allows the embryo to grow into the artist.
The motivation doesn't come from being afraid that I won't score well on the Marzano scale. I'm not opposed to the Marzano scale. In fact, I like that it offers more possibilities than my just being satisfactory or unsatisfactory. And I am willing to trust that whoever observes me will do his/her best to make an accurate assessment of my work in the classroom by looking at the evidence of what is going on in there.
I understand that the Marzano model is based on meta-research - researching the research - on what effective teachers do. I think that research is important for me to know as a professional in the field of education. If it can help me be a better teacher, I am all in. That's the science.
Then there's the art. What I know about the art of teaching comes from years of practice. Well, not the actual practice itself, but reflecting on that practice, which I have done over the years with greater and lesser degrees of deliberateness. I am embarrassed to say, that some years there has been way less deliberateness than there should have been. There were times, especially early in my career - maybe around the 7 or 8 year mark - when I thought I had teaching all figured out.
Now, I know how foolish that sounds.
Like any artist, the reputation of good teachers depends upon good work. And, like any artist, a good teacher can't produce one or two great pieces and rest upon that greatness believing that once a certain status is achieved, it can be maintained without continued and work, and reflection.
Now, I understand this about teaching - that you don't get to good and just stay there; rather, the process of learning about and growing your own pedagogy remains an ongoing one that demands deliberate attention every day.
I recently heard the idea echoed by Philip Seymour Hoffman. In the wake of his death last month, PBS was replaying some of his appearances on Charlie Rose. In a 2012 interview Hoffman said this about acting:
I do the theater because it keeps me "on target."
Acting isn't something like you can paint on a canvas and hold it up and say, "Look how good I am," and it just stays like that.
In the theater, you can have four great days in a row and be thinking, "I've really got this. I am good." And then...A car wreck in the Saturday matinee. And you're back to the embryo of acting.
And you sit as you are eating dinner between shows and you revisit every question you ask yourself and examine everything you do. And that's how you keep getting better. That's how I get better.
That's true of teaching too. At least for me. In the classroom you can have four great lessons in a row and be thinking, "I've really got this. I am innovating." And then your fifth class of the day comes in, and you use the same strategies you've used all day, the same materials, the same lesson plan, but it's a wreck. Maybe you don't even know the wreck has happened until you give a test and you see that despite your best efforts, and theirs, your students don't know what you thought they did. And you're back to the embryo of teaching.
For me, that might mean reviewing something I mistakenly thought all my students would know, like the definition of a novel. When they don't know, the re-examining begins. Figuring out new ways to ask the question, new ways to bring the term into their lexicon. On paper. On screens. On whiteboards. It might mean making sure an essay has a thesis (another thing I know we have gone over). Trying mentor texts, and peer review, and revision revision revision. Whatever the content, if they aren't getting it, I need to go back. I need to reflect. Where do the cars veer off the road? Where does the wreck happen? And why? And how do we clear the wreck and get things moving forward again?
Even in the embryo, the raw materials are there. It's the reflection that allows the embryo to grow into the artist.
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