To Keep Things Whole

Pondering the Pace of Innovation

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Fri, 17 May 2013 13:39:00 +0000

In Now You See It!, Cathy Davidson tells of some people who designed a robot in 2006 to take a typical bubble test. The robot was capable of decoding the question, conducting a simple search, and then using algorithms to select the answer. The robot scored significantly higher, 82%correct, than an average human. Given technological advances, now the robot likely could ace any of the tests currently out there. That notion is particularly scary since Davidson's major point is that such test focus on lower-level aptitudes. While this section of the book gave me plenty of ammunition in my tirades against standardized testing, this particular example prompted my thinking about something else: innovation--or at least what sometimes passes, and is even celebrated, for being innovative. As it that's enough in itself.

When I share the robot story with people, they generally have the same initial reaction that I did. They think it's pretty darned cool that someone designed such a robot. And in many ways it is. But when you really take a closer look at this, not to say it's easy, but this really is not particularly complex artificial intelligence.Yes, one might counter, but it's a robot! I mean, it's a robot reading and answering questions! How cool is that? Well, kinda cool. But I'd be really jazzed if it could...

Some of the innovation I read about in schools strikes me the same way. On the surface it looks great. But perhaps we confuse greatness with new and different, with unique. (I'm not going to provide any truly specific examples for two reasons: I don't want to single out anyone, and I hope you will consider cases of your own by this standard.) Whenever we evaluate curriculum and pedagogy, we must consider carefully what students will be asked to do and what criteria we really want to assess. Having students collaborate or blog or complete projects doesn't matter if students can still do so while having to do little more than basic recall and simple, routine tasks. Trivial pursuit remains trivial pursuit, whether played on a board or on a tablet pc.

Consider the following two scenarios. Teacher A is a master of the traditional Socratic method, and the routine seldom varies. Students in her class are challenged to think in ways they never imagined; as one student says, "I leave that class every day with my brain aching." They learn to question, to probe, to provide evidence, to reconsider...you can go down the list of vital critical thinking skills. They have to communicate through carefully crafted essays and eloquent speeches. Teacher B is incredibly creative, always finding exciting ways to engage the students in some fun class activity. The students Tweet as historical characters, create time period electronic archives, and map out elaborate timelines on the washable paint of their rooms. But it all remains superficial, a mess of dates and facts and names. The energy shaping the arc of history remains fuzzy.

Which class would you want your child in?

Obviously they are extreme examples, and In an ideal world we could merge the two. I hope that doesn't weaken the point. Plus I offer extreme examples for another reason, one that leads to perhaps a much tougher question. It's not uncommon for a school to have teachers at both ends of the spectrum. Think about the innovation craze. Think about what kids really need. Which teacher concerns you more?

I'm not some sort of educational Luddite. As I have written many times before, we need to keep reworking our models to provide better, more relevant education. We have an ethical, professional obligation to keep finding better practices. I want teachers experimenting; I want teachers creating a modern educational experience in every way. And I want it all not now, but years ago. But in doing so, I also want them to be quite mindful. That means we have to tap the brakes frequently rather than simply careen along random superhighways of innovation.

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Classic Whateverness

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Wed, 15 May 2013 10:50:00 +0000

When I was in college, a friend and I hosted a show on the campus radio station. We called it "Classic Whateverness...in Full Operation." Our musical tastes diverged wildly, with only occasional overlaps. our format was quite simple: we alternated tunes, each of us picking whatever we felt like at the moment, often in direct response to the other's choice. It probably was the only radio show where one might here The Grateful Dead followed by Spyro Gyra. Sometimes we mixed it up and had to pick random songs from what the other had brought. Thematically it made no real sense. But somehow it worked. Well, for us; I can't speak for anyone who actually may have been listening.

I bring up that memory because I suspect this post is going to take on the feel of Classical Whateverness. Like a scattershooting piece, I'm simply going to comment on a variety of topics as they pop into my head. Some have been bubbling there for a while. Some are just occurring to me as I write. Don't expect much depth, but perhaps I'll stumble into something thought provoking. So here goes.

The Jeff Bliss video in which he lights into teacher at Duncanville High bothers me on many levels, mainly in how quickly so many have made him a heroic figure. Whether his points are right or not--and I tend to agree with--such petulance isn't the route to improvement....Why do we revel in such scenes? I worry about our civility....Is part of that video's appeal that too many have wanted to say that to some teacher? Sad thought....First trophy in over 30 years, first league title in over 40, couple of runner-up spots, return to European football--and Roberto Mancini is sacked by Manchester City. Yikes!...I've become huge fan of Twitter, and I've become fascinated by all the various ways different people use it and the sub-cultures. I may blog about it at some point. In meantime I hope Nick Bilton's book on it comes out soon....One real danger of Twitter is how easily it can become a self-affirming echo chamber....Also need to not correlate higher numbers with better quality....Best parts: easy connections and vetted resources flowing right to you all the time....I always feel a bit guilty when someone follows me and I don't follow back. But part of how I manage Twitter is by controlled following. That and hash tags....Never fail to enjoy post-series handshakes in NH!L, especially after game 7s. Love that teams can compete as intensely as that and then treat each other honorably....Sometimes the pessimistic bit of me frets we may be more than halfway to 22nd century before we can finally stop using the term 21st century education....Does anyone who's never taught realize how incredibly difficult it is? So when I think of the video mentioned above, I know there could be way too many minute-long clips I sure wouldn't want out there....Finally reading Prof. Cathy Davidson's Now You See It. Sure, I'm part of the choir, but it's still an amazing sermon that I think all should hear....When did I stop listening to music regularly? Was it when I had kids?...Had to stop at a Wal-Mart around 1:00 PM Monday on way to an appointment. Saw at least a dozen school-aged children there. It symbolizes for me that, amidst all the educational rhetoric, a large challenge is getting many people to care and/or see value of school....I am all for schools considering new models and practices, but we need to be wary of celebrating every act of innovation as a great effort. The work is too important to just keep throwing up new stuff and seeing what sticks. I want deeply thoughtful and intentional movement forward....Those who favor year-round school have never experienced the truly good tired of May as a great year winds down.

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Blogging Famine

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Tue, 07 May 2013 00:27:00 +0000

I know that I have neglected my blog recently, to the point at which I feel as if I owe it letter of apology. Indeed, I thought of structuring this post that way...but it felt entirely too cutesy. Still, I am surprised that my last new post appeared almost a month ago. It's not been lack of desire or even a shortage of ideas or even laziness. In fact, I have been thinking about blogging a great deal, and this unintentional hiatus has reaffirmed--aye, strengthened--my belief in the value of the medium.

First, I should explain the absence. For a while there I was working on some major projects, none of which were particularly conducive to blogging. They were massive presentations, with numerous moving parts. One was our iPadPalooza, which involved dozens of teachers and students along with key remarks. It was spectacular, and the preparation just about consumed me for a while. That and the normalcy of school life. Plus some things were happening about which I simply never would blog. While social media expert Dana Boyd points out that young people live public lives by default, for a head of school to do that with some of what I experience would be simply wrong. Then, a week ago I had some extensive nose and throat surgery done. The recovery has been awful, and I am just starting to feel myself again.

So no blogging recently, which makes me think about blogging, and now I wish I could have been blogging about some of what I was trying to figure out. It really has felt like a blogging famine. Sure, I could have still written through my ideas, and I have really intricate mind maps full of notes and designs and rainbows. (The one for my thesis back in the 80s completely covered the walls of my apartment bedroom, but I digress.) Yet it simply isn't the same, and I think I have figured out why. It's the vulnerability in revealing the struggle, in showing that sometimes the room looks wonderful but, please, don't open that closet! Plus I believe that holds a certain attraction for many readers. Yes, we marvel at the shiny gadget or scrumptious-looking meal, but we also ponder the creative process. Selfishly, while I know I can put together an elegant essay or killer presentation, I also want people to sense what goes into it, the mental and, yes, physical sweat. So I'm honored and grateful when someone like Peter Gow, one of the most important voices in independent school educations, includes my work in his Education Week column on bloggers to follow (http://blogs.edweek.org/edweek/independent_schools/2013/05/more_independent_school_voices_a.html). Not only that, but comments:

"Deeply reflective and often refreshingly personal, this is a school head's blog about life, learning, and just keeping things, well, whole. Mark isn't afraid to tell us how he is learning; a recent post on experiencing his first Twitter chat (the #isedchat) was refreshingly honest and very relatable."

It's not just the validation, though I admit my ego continues to do a grand jig when I read that. It's that Peter gets what I am trying to explain throughout my work and in this piece about blogging. It's about never forgetting that learning ultimately is about process.

So while I reflect on my own blogging, the question becomes quite obvious, borderline rhetorical. Why wouldn't any teacher have students blog? It's one of the best chances we have to gain any sense of how learning proceeds for them, to raft those intellectual rapids through their ever-changing synapses. If all we assess if how well someone has learned to meet the oft-dictatorial guidelines of a rubric to produce the sort of paper no one ever writes once out of school, we haven't served kids as well as we might. In some ways we've done them a disservice. We would have denied them some key nutrients.

Then we certainly won't have kept things whole. And while I trust Peter--and most of you kind enough to read--know what that means, soon I'll explain the blog's title and thus pull back the curtain a tiny bit more.

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Our Great U.S. Cities Tour and Education

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 12:50:00 +0000

A few years ago my wife and I developed a loose strategic plan for our family vacations. We decided that we would, in no particular order, show our children the great cities of the United States. They have been going to New York since they were little because of my family, and we plan to visit again this summer. We’ve visited Boston, New Orleans, San Francisco and, during the past spring break, Washington D.C.

Recently thoughtful people have been having very serious, energizing conversations about the future of school. Without going into specifics and at the risk of oversimplifying, I’ll summarize some of the main points. Constant change, giant unknowns, increased complexity—in such a world, schools have a practical and ethical obligation to re-examine everything about education. We require new literacies to thrive in a changing, unpredictable world. Schools used to be the gateway, the access point to learning. Now learning about anything can occur anywhere, anytime. On-line delivery and MOOCs enable delivery efficiencies that call current models into question, particularly on the university level. However, I still believe that teachers and schools have a vital role to play in education, and those family trips have clarified for me a new way to think of that role.

Before our first trip on this plan, my kids were skeptical. “Boston?” I remember them squawking. “Why would we want to go to Boston?” We did our best to explain, but they didn’t really get it. Once there, though, they fell in love with the city and the entire experience. On subsequent trips they have done quite a bit of the research up front, scoping out possible hotels and restaurants and helping to plan the itinerary. While there, they engaged fully in different activities and often did follow-up reading and research depending on what piqued their curiosity. When we told them at Christmas we would be going to D.C., they were thrilled. My son immediately began exploring places on-line, and my daughter pulled up our congressman’s website so we could plan tours through his office.

Yes, we live in a time of amazing abundance, when we can learn all sorts of things through easy access. And not just information, but skills and concepts. It is really quite remarkable. At the same time, however, that learning can remain superficial and one-dimensional and rather directionless; both the consumption and the contributions can become rather narcissistic. Even in the best circumstances, young people need some guidance through the learning process.

And it’s in providing such guidance that the new role can emerge. I believe one of the most influential ways we can promote the type of learning in this emerging world is to create the right sort of experiences. To immerse students in experiences that don’t tell them they have to learn something, but that make them want to learn something, to believe it’s vitally important they do so. That the learning matters to them.

The richness of the Internet—like the tapestry of those great cities—can allow us to craft those sorts of experiences. (But we must be careful not to over-plan and thus defeat the point.) It’s why I’m so encouraged by the increase in project-based learning, various discovery models, question-centered curricula, and design-thinking. The best, most meaningful education comes when you explore and engage with the world.

Reaction to News a Computer Can Grade Essays

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 16:57:00 +0000

The science section of yesterday’s New York Times had the headline—or at least some variation thereof— I’ve been expecting to see for a while now: New Test for Computers: Grading Essays at College Level. I still gagged a bit.

I’m not skeptical that a computer program with sophisticated enough AI software can grade basic essays. At this point, doing so is perhaps not even that great a challenge.

But why would we ever think this is a good thing? To me this development captures so many of the ills plaguing education, particularly an unrelenting push to standardize as much as possible.

Let’s consider the following example. I know it’s extreme, and it’s not the sort of work the computers would be grading. But bear with me to what I think will be a clear point. Students used to ask me frequently how long a paper had to be. Early in the year, I would bring in two of my favorite novels, Melville’s Moby-Dick and Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, and juxtapose them. They are, I would explain, in many ways the same essential story told in very different ways. The kids grasped the message. I wonder how a computer would deal with either classic work.

That notion leads quite naturally into the same concept expanded. Language is tied to the same neurological expansion that enabled us to develop tools. It encompasses the higher of human capabilities, that amazing cerebral flexibility to merge the abstract and the concrete, to capture thought and imagination in ways that seem almost tangible to us. Not only that, but language also allows us to express ourselves in infinitely, highly individualistic fashion while unifying us as a community.

And at a time when creativity and communication are keys to solving the gigantic issues we face as a society—perhaps as a species—why would we willingly reduce the assessment of a vital human skill to a series of algorithms?

Reflection after My First #isedchat Session

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Sun, 24 Mar 2013 12:03:00 +0000

This past Thursday evening I took part in my first Twitter chat. Well, second actually; but the technically first one was very contained. The more recent one had more people--I remain unclear on just how many--and a few simultaneous threads. I enjoyed the experience, but I'm still figuring out what I think of it.

Overall, the experience reminded me of a great late night bull session in a dorm. It was a #isedchat, which means the participants were independent school people from around the country. So everyone was quite smart, passionate about education, and generally positive and optimistic, holding onto that youthful belief we can change the world for the better. They are committed enough to have been in this chat on a Thursday evening. Ideas and insights streamed into my feed, and I have found myself pondering many of the since then.

And I think that is where my frustration, albeit limited, may come from. Our topic was drive; several people had read an article on how being driven can lead to being disliked. The subject is a fascinating one, with myriad facets and layers. I kept wanting to dig more deeply into certain points, to explore them in ways that the medium simply doesn't allow for. So many comments were popping up in different threads related to the topic that I simply couldn't keep up, and some people seemed more able than I to move between them. (A bit of an aside: full marks to our moderators Bill Ivey, @bivey, and Kim Sivick, @ksivick, for their work in weaving those threads.)

That last notion raises a key point. I am not writing this as an anti-Twitter or anti-chat rant. In fact, I have become quite a fan of Twitter in general, particularly as I have learned how to use it better. Right now, though, I haven't figured out the whole chat deal. For example, in trying so hard to keep up, I often forgot to add the hashtag to my comments so they would appear in the right place. It may also be that a Twitter chat is simply not the best venue for me while being great for others. I also have to become more accepting of the limitations while stressing the benefits.

The experience has rekindled another one of my concerns about online life. Too often people can confuse quantity with quality. I'm not talking about the folks in this chat; I have no doubt they will reflect quite deeply on the topic. But I still find that so much of what I see in random browsing is superficial. I don't care that someone has hundreds of followers if his/her tweets don't provide quality. I try to make sure most of mine do. (And I have to admit I am proud when I gain a follower, disappointed when I lose one.) Similarly, I just don't understand how someone can follow hundreds and filter all the good stuff. I know people manage to do just that.

This raises a unique challenge for educators, one that is part of the shift taking place. We have to help young people--who, as Dana Boyd reminded us at annual convention, live public lives by default--to operate meaningfully in that realm when so many of us are just figuring it out ourselves. In many ways it necessitates that we be the adults, the ones with the aligned moral compasses, while maintaining the exploratory nature of youth. Personally, I find that a wonderful way to live.

That's why I am sure I will return for more Twitter chats, particularly those for #isedchat. Even if I never quite get it, I know I will learn other things from those folks. They prompt me to think, and that's the ultimate benefit.

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The Wheel

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Tue, 19 Mar 2013 12:39:00 +0000

                 The wheel is turning and you can't slow down,
                 You can't let go and you can't hold on,
                 You can't go back and you can't stand still,
                  If the thunder don't get you then the lightning will.
                                                                        --Grateful Dead, "The Wheel"

     The cliched image is that of feeling as if one is caught on a hamster wheel, spinning faster and faster without moving forward. Lately I feel as if I can see the wheel moving forward in the distance, leaving me not stuck in one place but certainly falling further and further behind.
     I can identify numerous reasons for this feeling suddenly hitting me, although all have been building. I am reading How Children Succeed, months after many other school leaders have read and commented on it. Meanwhile, my Amazon wish list continues to lengthen. Twice someone has suggested to me we use a design thinking approach and I agreed, hoping I grasped the basics enough to keep up and learn as we went. Then comes the announcement that Google is going to shut down Reader, the rss aggregator that I have relied on to sort the rush of blog posts I like to scan. Yes, alternatives exist; it's just having to switch that causes the angst. I want to try various apps, I want to follow more people on Twitter, I want to blog about this and that. Meanwhile, we hear the calls for innovation and transformation and revolution.
     I'm not whining about this. (Well, maybe a bit.) Normally, I even thrive on this. I also support loads of changes for education. at the same time, for whatever the reasons I am feeling otherwise right now, it has provided some much needed reflection on leadership. If the torrent of things can overwhelm me at times despite my predilection, then I need to remain especially cognizant of how others may be feeling. I also wonder about some other points. When change occurs at Mach speed, what sticks? Do we maintain our core? How thoughtful are we through the process? Are some talented, dedicated people being swept aside and left behind?
     Educators and schools--everyone, really--must keep evolving. Perhaps now more than ever. Yet we also need careful discernment. The kind that can lead to wisdom. Otherwise, the wheel will keep spinning forward, but we may still feel trapped.

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More Art or More Science?

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 13:12:00 +0000

The first time I can recall engaging in the discussion was in the mid-90s. My wife and I were hosting a book club for about a dozen of our teaching colleagues. The book was The Elements of Teaching. I don't recall much about the book except that it delineated certain qualities and practices that all great teachers have. As great a debate as one could have about that notion, what I remember is a rousing discussion on whether teaching is more art or more science.

It's an argument I've reconsidered many times since then, and I can make quite a compelling case for either side. Overall, I still tend to lean quite a bit to the art side. That's not surprising, given my heavy humanities background. My primary reasoning is that the best teaching is highly personal, even idiosyncratic, and relational that some of remains mysterious and elusive. At the same time, every teacher can study effective practices, child development, and cognitive science, thus taking a more scientific approach.

Last week, while listening to one of our second teachers present at a PA meeting, a new thought occurred to me--one that, now seems rather obvious in some ways. Before I explain, I want to point out that I think the younger the student, the more artistry. Anyway, she was demonstrating what she can do with an iPad app called Storify. She can pull up all sorts of data on each student' reading, from the amount read in a period of time to annotations to words checked in the dictionary. This teacher is a veteran dedicated to professional development, and she gushed that finally she has the information necessary to truly individualize instruction. She is merging art and science.

Just as technology can empower students in amazing ways, it can also do so for teachers who embrace its possibilities. It's about more than finding resources on-line or building a robust PLN or blogging to deepen one's reflection. Those can matter greatly, of course. But they matter little if the teacher doesn't use them effectively to improve each student's learning, which is a basic professional imperative. I remain on the side of teaching as more art, but many of us would benefit from injecting some more science into the endeavor.

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Need a New Word?

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 13:44:00 +0000

I can't recall exactly or find (no, not even via Google) the John Updike quotation I want. I read it many years ago in a collection of quotations from writers. So please pardon the paraphrasing. Updike compared a word to butter in the refrigerator in how it absorbs various smells and flavored from all the other contents. He reminds us that a word's real power lies in its connotation more than its denotation.

I start with Updike's wonderful metaphor because recently I have been thinking about the word teacher. It's a beautiful word, one which conjures notions of wisdom and sacrifice and love. Despite the problems with our larger educational system, for most teachers hold a revered place. Most of us can recall at least a teacher or two who inspired us in some special, intensely personal fashion. Many romanticize the role and thus the word. I hope that never changes.

Meanwhile, we hear and call for exciting changes in the way schools work. For my point here, the particular model doesn't matter. What does matter is that for meaningful innovation to occur in schools, we have to re-imagine the role of the teacher. In fact, we may even need a new word. After all, new ways of thinking require new words.

As stated above, I don't want to lose the positive aspects of how we think about the word teacher. I have written many times that powerful education is essentially a human, relational endeavor. I don't worry about that changing if we were to change the word we currently use for teachers. But finding the right word may fell foster how we think of the role.

Consider the traditional notion of teacher. Where do you see that person? What is that person doing? My guess is the person is at the front of the room, somehow in total control, perhaps lecturing or modeling. The person is the expert, the one who poses the questions and arbitrates the correctness of the answers, even when the idea may be totally subjective.or the person is drilling students in basic content and skills, perhaps in preparation for some sort of objective, perhaps even standardized, test.

But let's move beyond the worst of the cliches and consider aspects of the word itself. In typical fashion, dictionaries define teacher as one who teaches. Teach means "to impart knowledge of/to or skill in/to; give instruction in/to." It has the same root as token. I wonder if this suggests the idea of a teacher distributing tokens of knowledge. Notice how closely this resembles the description in the previous paragraph. In a modern education, one that empowers students in ways that prepares them for their futures rather than our pasts, is that the image of teacher we want.

Realistically, changing the multi-faceted suggestions of a word is incredibly different. To use Updike's analogy, it would be like trying to restore the original and pristine qualities of butter once it has absorbed things from the other foods. It's why I wonder about all this talk of making failure more acceptable, even desirable...but that is a different post for another time. Meanwhile, I wonder if we need a new word to replace teacher, one which captures how the role needs to change.

Let's consider some of the common replacements:

For some people, educator has become almost a synonym for teacher. Better choice, I think, given its roots in educare, "to lead." But the definition still rankles: "to develop the faculties and powers (of a person) by aching, instruction, or schooling." Also, while I don't really agree, I remember a former colleague who always argued that teachers calling themselves educators sounds pretentious.
Facilitator has become more popular recently, and I like how it suggests the teacher setting up the students for optimal learning. I have some trouble with the word because of its sharing common etymology with facile. We shouldn't really be making things easier, should we?
Coach is another word with almost sacred connotations, particularly how we bestow the term in such respectful ways when we refer to someone in that position. It's up there with doctor and reverend/father. Depending on the sport and style, this might work. But too often a coach can be a control freak, and players are overly scripted in many sports.
Lately I have heard people use the term co-learner. That sounds nice, and teachers should be learning all the time, often with their students. But a teacher also must have a higher degree of knowledge and abilility that the students if he or she is to help them, and this term puts them on too equal a footing for my taste.
I have heard of a few other terms: guide, mentor, friend, supervisor, learning manager. I'm sure there are others. None of these strike the right chords. You can probably figure out why from previous comments.

Since none of these options seem to work well, I have allowed my thinking to put me in a position for which I lack much patience: complaining without a real solution to offer. I will have to keep thinking. I also would appreciate any suggestions. In the meantime, I will try to surround my butter with nothing but delicacies, those which truly nourish young people. Perhaps in time we won't need a new word, for all teachers will be what we need. What each kid needs.

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Early Reflections on #NAISAC13

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Sat, 02 Mar 2013 22:19:00 +0000

I am flying home from the 2013 NAIS Annual Conference. As usual, the best part was interacting with so many other committed folks--friends from the past and new ones for the future. The sessions were mixed, and I guess that also is to be expected. The conference was the last one under the extraordinary leadership of NAIS president Pat Bassett, who during his twelve years has broadened and deepened the conversation about independent school education in vital ways. So, with a nod to Pat, in this early reflection on #naisac13, I am wondering what I experienced that is "made to stick."

Jim Collins gave the opening keynote, and I was disappointed because I have read his work several times and heard him speak twice previously. His remarks contained no new broad strokes. But I reveled in the passionate and intensity of his delivery, a reminder of what we owe to an audience, whether it's a few folks or a few thousand. I also loved the self-deprecating story he told about himself, when he was told to "stop trying to be so interesting and try to be more interested." Powerful, sage advice.
I don't know how to explain just what Sekou Andrews did/does. A former English teacher, he is now a prize-winning slam poet who also is a motivational speaker. He combined humor, drama, imagery, personal experience, idealism, and subtle digs to craft majestically sweeping calls for us to take advantage of our freedom as independent schools.
Alexis Madrigal shared his story of first logging on to the Internet as a way of assuaging his loneliness in a small town where he had no friends and how it also satisfied his apparently insatiable curiosity about everything. He would hear points in school, then research them online that night; he expanded his learning in various directions while creating unique nodes of intersection. In many ways he embodies the way learning really works--and the way schools need to let it happen.
Tererai Trent is one of the most amazing people about whom I ever have heard. It's no wonder Oprah Winfrey calls her "my favorite guest ever." Born in a small African village with no electricity or running water, Tererai showed a thirst for learning but was not allowed to attend school because she is female. But she taught herself with her brother's books. Her father married her off at age eleven, and she had four children by age eighteen. An agent from Heiffer International helped her come to the United States, and Tererai first earned her GED...and eventually her doctorate. With Oprah's help, she has started a series of schools back around her village. Tererai epitomizes belief in the possibilities of education and chasing the dreams filled with one's meaning and purpose.
For years, I have lamented horrific use of PowerPoint slides to display endless text. Alas, it continues. So full marks to Kevin Ruth, who in his session on "Rethinking Leadership" utilized great slides, frequently with very compelling images to drive home his points. I suspect Kevin has studied Presentation Zen. More need to. Similar to what I said about Collins, it's part of honoring your audience, not to mention being more effective with your message.
In his session on difficult conversations, Michael Riera (head of Brentwood School in Los Angeles) used a metaphor I will embrace and utilize as leader of pre-k--8 school. He talked about how with lower school children, parents have the job of manager of their children. The kids need and love that. But in middle school, it becomes the child's job to fire his parents, who desperately want to hold on to the job.
As I have written in several places, for years I have struggled with the issue of meaningful metrics, particularly for middle school students. I have heard the CWRA is working on a middle school version, and that has promise. More immediately, I was thrilled to hear about the Mission Skills Assessment. It takes a triangular approach to measure growth in six areas essential for school and life: teamwork, resilience, creativity, curiosity, ethics, and time management. I plan to contact the Independent School Data Exchange and some of the twenty or so schools using it to learn more.
Duke professor Cathy Davidson gave a sweeping historical panorama of the last time education went through sweeping changes during the Industrial Revolution as part of,showing why revolution needs to happen now. Towards the end she offered five things that can be done now and aren't very hard. Davidson says we should: Rethink liberal arts as the start-up curriculum to develop resilient global citizens. Move from critical thinking to creative contribution. Make sure what we value is what we count. Find creative ways to model in-learning. Take institutional change personally. I have no argument with her list, but I do wonder about the level of difficulty since each marks a gigantic shift. Also, in some ways I prefer--and will use--another of her admonitions: we need to become a "culture of makers."

While those are individual points, together they represent a larger, truly encouraging notion. For several years now, the message has been the same about how we are in the 21st century and life is so different and so we have to change and...you know the rest of the chorus. But something felt different this time. I seemed to hear more about how things are changing and not just how they should change. Finally, we seem to be embracing our independence and creating the schools young people really need. There remains pleny of work to be done, but perhaps that is why Pat Bassett feels he can step down now. To use another couple of metaphors from one of his favorite works, there are great people in the rights seats on the bus; and after twelve years the flywheel has built enough momentum that it will keep spinning faster and faster.

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On the Way to #NAISAC13

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Wed, 27 Feb 2013 13:46:00 +0000

I am writing this while on my way to the National Association of Independent Schools Annual Conference in Philadelphia. Because I could not attend last year due to a scheduling conflict, I am particularly excited.

I love the learning that occurs at NAIS, whether in actual sessions or between them. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote that I hope to have my thinking flipped. I still wish for that, but I don't expect it. In reality, how often does that happen? But I know that I will at least have my thinking extended, some pins poked into my mental balloons. That's vital. I chose that descriptor quite thoughtfully, given its etymology. Many times I have said that in a vibrant school, the educators must be the leading learners. The school leaders must model and steer that. Otherwise, a school cannot revitalize itself.

As essential as that is, I love NAIS Annual Conference for a more fundamental, very human reason. Affirmation.

I've always felt very proud of my schools when I attend this conference; I'm sure I will strut a bit taller about St. John's Episcopal over the next few days. In a global sense, I am proud that my school belongs to an organization with so many outstanding member schools which are committed to their missions and to proving outstanding education to thousands of diverse students. While our peer schools var greatly in terms of size and culture, we have that in common. We also tend to do a nice job of balancing rather traditional and timeless human values with more progressive notions. In a more particular sense, I feel gratified that, as I hear many of the ideas presented, while we have plenty of work to do, St. John's does so many things well--things being presented as exemplary practice. More important, I know that we will take on those areas where we can improve.

The affirmation also comes from being surrounded by a few thousand other folks who have chosen to make independent schools their life's work. Especially other heads of school. Ours is a unique position, one certainly totally different than anyone else in our schools. As a former head remarked to me about the conference, "the best part of the experience is that it reminds you that you aren't crazy." True enough, but I also like sharing stories and picking brains. It's also simply a time to re-connect with colleagues from the past, as I have plans for several meals, and to make new friends.

I'm not sure how many ACs I've attended through the years--perhaps twenty. Thye have changed over the years, thanks to visionary leadership by Pat Bassett and his folks. Recently social media has altered the experience, extending it beyond the physical conference. Yet one point remains consistent: Each one has in, some way, proven fulfilling. I fully expect #NAISAC13 to be one of the best.

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Leadership and Forgiveness

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Tue, 26 Feb 2013 20:06:00 +0000

Earlier today the HBR Blog Network ran a post by Rosabeth Moss Kanter titled “Great Leaders Know When to Forgive.” It begins:

Leaders must be firm and foster accountability, but they also must know when to forgive past wrongs in the service of building a brighter future. One of the most courageous acts of leadership is to forgo the temptation to take revenge on those on the other side of an issue or those who opposed the leader's rise to power.

Instead of settling scores, great leaders make gestures of reconciliation that heal wounds and get on with business. This is essential for turnarounds or to prevent mergers from turning into rebellions against acquirers who act like conquering armies.

After going through some compelling examples and citing General Douglas MacArthur’s line that “Revenge is not justice,” the piece included a line that slapped me: “If revenge is not justice, it is not strategy either.” Rather appalled, I found myself wondering, is knowing when to forgive all about strategy?

But then I started thinking about it some more and shrugged off my self-righteousness. I was taking the line out of context, as the article focuses mainly on making mergers succeed after some bitter negotiations. However, I believe it’s an important point to consider in three main ways.

First, let’s remove some of the negative connotations strategy can have in this context, as it implies we are doing something only because it will benefit us. Accept that leadership always involves a degree of that; after all, a leader is moving someone in a direction, towards a vision. I believe forgiveness does have an important strategic aspect in any sort of culture. For example, think about a school making a change in curriculum and the related pedagogy. It’s a messy, often unsettling process for many, and inevitably people are going to make some mistakes. (That can happen in even the best of circumstances.) If the leader wants to build something, she or he must allow that to happen and be understanding. Forget the notion of strategy, and forgiveness relies upon a degree of empathy. It helps to create a culture in which people feel understood and valued, and they can see themselves part of something larger and want to do well, whatever the objectives. Yes, I realize we are back to strategy, but with a focus on the human side without a sense of manipulation.

Second, great leaders not only must know when to forgive, but they also must hope their followers know when…and are willing to. A great leader is going to hold out challenging objectives, some of which entail risk. If the leader is really pushing things, there likely will be some failures, or at least loud hiccups. The leader’s passion also may hurt people, albeit unintentionally, and some difficult decisions may gall people. The messages can hurt. I’ve had supervisors deliver tough messages to me, and I had to move past my anger and forgive to utilize the valuable feedback.

The third is the most important. Forgiving is humane. It’s usually—always?—the right thing to do. After all, we all need to be forgiven at times. Kanter concludes her post with a wonderful commentary on what probably should be the ultimate goal of all strategy:

Those whose main motivation is to settle scores and get payback — to obstruct rather than construct — are on the wrong side of history. Their legacy is not rebuilding, but rubble. From (ahem) members of Congress to leaders in any turnaround situation, it's a lesson worth remembering: Taking revenge can destroy countries, companies, and relationships. Forgiveness can rebuild them.

Contribution, Not Participation--Helping Introverted Kids

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Wed, 13 Feb 2013 05:40:00 +0000

Recently The Atlantic published “Introverted Kids Need to Learn to Speak Up at School.” The author is Jessica Lahey, a teacher from New Hampshire who also writes about education and parenting for The New York Times. I don’t question that Ms. Lahey wants the best for her students. She writes,

Thankfully, there's more information on introverts out there than ever before. I tapped into my amazing personal learning network of educators and gathered a towering pile of books on my nightstand, topped by Susan Cain's book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking. In her book, Cain champions the often-overlooked talents and gifts of introverts, and offers parents and educators strategies for communication and evaluation. This year, I drew on this advice and made a number of changes to my classroom in order to improve learning opportunities for my introverted students.

Bravo! We want all teachers engaging in such growth activities. Unfortunately, I think she also missed the point because she has done all this research but explains,

In the end, I have decided to retain my class participation requirement. As a teacher, it is my job to teach grammar, vocabulary, and literature, but I must also teach my students how to succeed in the world we live in -- a world where most people won't stop talking. If anything, I feel even more strongly that my introverted students must learn how to self-advocate by communicating with parents, educators, and the world at large.

Her premise is valid, but I can’t support with her decision because I can’t believe it’s going to help those students. It also smacks of teacher power and even hypocrisy, something for which George Couros took her to task in his post “Do unto students…” I want to look at why it’s simply bad educational practice.
            Before I begin, I have to acknowledge that I write from the viewpoint of a raring introvert (one of my favorite oxymorons). On my Meyers-Briggs profile, I am pretty much evenly split on all the categories—except for introversion-extroversion, where I am totally to the former. But I’ve learned to engage in what Cain labels fake extroversion when necessary, which I believe is similar to Lahey’s point. Her tactics, however, would not have worked on me.
            I recall one of my former advisees, who was extremely introverted. She was a bright, engaged, insightful young woman; she wrote beautifully and had much to offer in many ways. Every set of report card comments chided her for being too quiet and not participating. Usually she simply nodded when I would talk with her and during parent-student-teacher conferences. Until the end of junior year. Then, during a conference, she finally broke down. As the tears flowed, she talked about how for years teachers’ efforts had led her to withdraw even more because she so strongly felt their disapproval of her natural persona. None of their carrots or whips were going to overturn that.
            That’s where my basic problem with Lahey’s approach lies. Much like a physician, a teacher must strive to do no harm. If Lahey had really taken the points of Cain’s book to heart, she would have realized her methods would not work. Instead, she has to make students feel safe and valued. Instead, an introvert in her class would feel trapped by the teacher’s expectations. I can imagine the anxiety building before each class, leading to paralysis rather than the desired action.
            I must admit, earlier in my career I included a participation grade. It seemed very natural, and many of my teachers had done so. I suppose I did so also because I knew how much I eventually gained from becoming more participatory, which finally happened towards the end of college. I had visions of helping the quiet students make that same discovery. My measure was the usual—times speaking, quality of comments. Surely it was nothing scientific. Later I loosened on my notion of participation, putting quality over quantity and even taking into apparent engagement, i.e. physical reaction to points. Less precise, but I felt more comfortable.
            During my last few years in the classroom, I no longer had a participation grade. Instead, I had a contribution grade. Here is the thinking. In my class I tried to create as collaborative an environment as possible, with multiple ways for people to engage and share their understanding. At different times I’ve utilized full class discussions, small group work, various types of projects, presentations, blog posting and commenting, tweeting, discussion threads, index cards with opening questions submitted by the students. In other words, each student should have been able to find some way in which to make a contribution to the class. Ideally, that could happen in a comfortable way that encouraged taking the risk to jump in in some other ways.
            That’s really my larger point. I’m focusing on introverts here because I was prompted by the article and because of my personal bias. Yet I could be writing about extroversion…or just about any other way in which we categorize and assess. One key trait of a great school is that, rather than force too much conformity, it recognizes and honors and nurtures each student’s unique qualities. Then the student grows in confidence and becomes not someone else, but an even better version of him- or herself.

Hopes for 2013 NAIS Annual Conference

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Tue, 05 Feb 2013 15:47:00 +0000

The Online Community for the 2013 NAIS Annual Conference asked for responses to this question for an opening discussion: What do you want to see and or hear at this year’s Annual Conference?

I don’t know.

I hope that response doesn’t make me seem thoughtless or sarcastic or both. I honestly don’t know…at least not in any specific way. There’s no particular message I want to hear, no program that I want to learn about.

Instead, what I want to see and hear is, quite literally, what I don’t know. I hope for something that jabs me with that jolt of realization, of insight, the sort of “Aha!” that kickstarts my mind into overdrive. I don’t need another workshop on flipped instruction; I need my sense of order and possibility flipped and jumbled in a way that forces me to do some reconstructing. But at the same time, I want to see and hear points that affirm and re-affirm why independent schools are so important, that our missions are more than generic verbiage and actually drive us to make the world better (or at least our own little corners of it).

Learning to Fly: The Greatest Time to be an Educator

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 13:51:00 +0000

Note: This post works as a follw-up to previous post, "The Real Enemy of Great."

Earlier this month, St. John’s had Jonathan Martin lead an in-service on 21^st Century Education for us. It was awesome—“best in-service ever,” several teachers praised. Jonathan packed his presentation with loads of theory and concrete information, and teachers left with clear steps for moving forward. The day made me miss being in the classroom as a teacher. What has resonated with me since then is a question Jonathan asked: When was a time when you suddenly knew things would never be the same?

While I can think of many pivotal moments during my career in education, four stand out as “Aha!” sort of experiences.

· The first came in the mid-90s. I was teaching 9^th grade English, and students were doing research on a small section of Genesis or Exodus. The idea was to dig as deeply into it as possible, from various angles. Our library had limited resources, and my knowledge was finite. I convinced the tech director to give each student an e-mail address. Then I contacted various seminaries and religious studies departments around the nation to see if anyone would be willing to serve as a “telementor.” Suddenly my students were collaborating with experts on some very serious scholarship. I wasn’t obsolete, but my role was certainly different as I became much more of a guide and partner in the learning process.

· Around 2005 or so, I was teaching a self-developed course called The Ways We Know, a hybrid of neuroscience, cognition, and epistemology. Needless to say, there was no pre-existing textbook, and I wanted a wide variety of resources. The course book became a page in a content management system with a bunch of links to myriads materials. So much for my notion of the textbook.

· About that same time, I was teaching a junior poetry course. For the final project, I wanted the students to do something that would incorporate all the facets of the course. The typical analytical essay just wasn’t going to work. Instead, the students created electronic poetry museums which had multiple facets, including the usual written elements along with created and downloaded multi-media elements. An added bonus was how much time the students spent exploring each other’s museums. Authentic assessment became my ideal.

· The final one occurred in the spring of 2010. The chairman of the arts department came to see me about an email he had received from someone in Bhutan. The person was an education student and was inquiring about something she had traced to our school via an article in some education journal published in Asia. But the information was vague, and we had no idea what she was referring to. We apologized for not being able to help, but the person politely tried us again. We involved the educational technology director, who did some searching and “got a Google”— a single hit for the entered search terms. It turns out the article had contained a reference to a website some of my students had created in a junior English class several years earlier. Yes, we are closely connected in unforeseen ways, and students can make important contributions.

At the end of each anecdote I comment very briefly on its significance, and each point matters. More important is the composite. Together, they show just about every traditional aspect of the teacher-student relationship beyond the basic human connection being upset to some degree.

At the same time, however—and this where the crucial idea really starts—these epiphanies did not alter my essential philosophy. Powerful relationships, finding relevance and purpose, learning how learn, creativity, collaboration, student as worker—all these ideas and others have fueled my practices from the first time I stepped into a classroom. After all, I’m the guy who put everything aside for a month in 1988 when a bunch of eighth graders wanted to rewrite their own version of Romeo and Juliet and then videotape the performance (still one of my greatest experiences as a teacher; how I wish it had been digitalized before the tape was ruined). Two simple truths often held me back. The first was, as a young teacher, having to reconcile my beliefs and wishes with so much of what my experience as a student and the larger culture were telling me a teacher should do—the very traditional view of the role. Working through that was difficult, full of inevitable pitfalls only deepened by the mistakes most young teachers make. The second was more practical. It was too hard and even impossible to do some of what I would have liked. For example, recall the story above about creating the on-line repository of resources for a course. Back in the 80s, I wanted to create a reader for one of my classes. Dealing with the publishers, the copyright issues, the fees, and the sheer time involved were simply overwhelming; and I abandoned the project. Twenty years later, I could create just what I wanted, with multimedia, rather easily. I’ve written many times that technology must function as a tool that allows us to achieve our objectives in the bet fashion. Tablet, laptop, phone—the device doesn’t matter. The power lies in the what and the how, driven by the why. As suggested above, that why becomes much more achievable. It’s really quite amazing and empowering.

Sometimes I think we forget that. We have become so accustomed to rapid technological change that we fail to consider its impact. Take a minute and ask yourself: What am I glad I can do now that I couldn’t do x number of years ago? Even more importantly, what can students do? Think about what happened in the examples outlines above. In just about a decade, my students went from passive consumers to active creators and even contributors on a global scale. Imagine, then, what the future may hold. And we must prepare young people not for our pasts or even our presents, but for their futures.

Even beyond that, this empowerment feeds the educators our children need in other key ways. As Dan Pink’s work in Drive shows us, true motivation and fulfillment come from autonomy, mastery, and purpose. In the right environment, teachers have more and more opportunities to sense those feelings. While doing so, to borrow Seth Godin’s metaphor about important work, thoughtful and brave educators can become true artists. We can build upon the great work done before our time. However, we have an obligation to break molds, to imagine and design and create, to take small steps into the adjacent possible or flying leaps into the skies of what could be.

The Real Enemy of Great

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 14:08:00 +0000

The opening line of Jim Collins’ best-selling Good to Great declares, “Good is the enemy of great” (1). There is no telling how many times over the few years immediately after the book’s release I heard that line in a presentation or read it in some sort of piece. I don’t disagree with the notion; and I won’t argue with the many examples, the piles of data, and the behaviors that Collins presents. Ultimately, though, I’m not sure Collins identifies the real enemy. The closest he comes is when he writes, “That good is the enemy of great is not just a business problem. It is a human problem” (16).

Agreed. But Collins doesn’t dig any further into the issue; in fairness, that is not really his point, as his real work lies in delineating the process for improvement. He does focus on qualities needed to make this happen, whether at Level 5 Leadership or in the various seats on the bus. Certainly important. However, the question of the real human problem lingers.

Complacency, blind spots, limited abilities, narrow bandwith, practical constraints—I’m sure you could add to the list, and all are realities. But I think there is something more insidious at work.

Cynicism.

Hiding behind a cloak of cool, this jaded posture is quick to launch spears of negativity at new ideas, at the unfamiliar, at the original. It’s often the spawn of ego and fear, so it lashes out at any threat. And what’s required to become great—the risk, the uncertainty, the personal investment, the vision—threatens many.

Sadly, reasons abound to have become cynical. People we’ve chosen as role models and leaders seem to let us down almost daily, i.e. cheating athletes and dogmatic, uncompromising politicians. So now cynicism seems to fuel much of what passes for humor. After all, do we laugh or cry?

I cry. Mainly because of the effect on the target of the barbs, and those are the people who can move us toward becoming great. Instead, they begin to feel those tugs of doubts, to heed those cries of the lizard brain, to suffer bouts of paralysis. It also can erode the belief of those who support the move.

More dangerously than anything else, cynicism carpet bombs the realms of possibility. Ideas are reduced to rubble; dreams, burned to crispy cinders. Unless we can construct ever-taller towers, how can we become great?

Sometimes the move towards great is relatively easy, when we take small steps into the adjacent possible. The real gut-wrenching occurs when we leap into a place realized primarily in our imaginations. That calls for courage and faith.

I am sure this concept holds true for most areas, but I think it’s particularly true for education. At its essence, education depends on a steadfast, unshakable belief in the possibility of each child. It’s not just the adults who must have this belief. The child must internalize it.

We also must embrace the possibilities of education—not what it can achieve, but what it can become. I know that I couldn’t do my work without grasping that ideal. That is particularly true now. This is my thirtieth year in independent schools; and, as I plan to explain in my next post, I think this is an amazingly exciting time to be an educator. Maybe the most exciting. An era to accomplish truly great things. It’s certainly no time to be cynical. It is time to conquer the enemy.

Sleep and Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 18:13:00 +0000

I was a bit surprised to realize that I had not posted on my blog for a month. I say “a bit” because it wasn’t a total shock. The week before break is always crammed full as I wrap up certain things, and the week back is a whirlwind. Plus I think during the break I detached from school more than I have before. I did a few essential things, but spent very little time checking email (and even less responding), scanning Twitter (and none Tweeting), or perusing blogs (and not even jotting down ideas for my own). I didn’t do much thinking about school at all.

So what did I do? I spent more time with my wife and children. I exercised more than usual. I played with our delightful new kitten. I had a Christmas day snowball fight with my son (yes, in Dallas—second time in the past few years). I read purely for pleasure. I watched plenty of soccer matches. We saw Les Mis and Lincoln. My wife and I had marathon viewing sessions of Lost. I slept more and better than usual; I even napped a couple times. Often I simply was.

This near-total hiatus was not planned or in any way intentional. Perhaps that is why it happened; it’s the whole “best laid plans” notion. In fact, I had some things that I had planned to accomplish, but I simply let them go as, in some ways, time got away from me in the best sense. It was almost a new form of flow, feeling transcendent while not being too caught up in anything.

I think it also happened because my body and mind were screaming, “Give us a break!” Not from any particular item, but from a series of stressors over several months. And before you jump to conclusions, remember that extreme positives also stress the system, just in a different way. For me, such situations manifest themselves in less and worse sleep. I’d compare my situation to a sleep study cited in Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman’s NurtureShock. Adults’ sleep was shortened to six hours per night. After two weeks they reported they were doing fine. Yet on a battery of tests, they proved as cognitively impaired as someone who had stayed awake for 24 straight hours (44). I know that for a while I simply was not functioning at my best.

Of course, most of us know from experience that lack of sleep means poorer functioning…even if we like to claim it doesn’t. The reason is simple. As John Medina explains in Brain Rules,

The bottom line is that sleep loss means mind loss. Sleep loss cripples thinking, in just about every way you can measure thinking. Sleep loss hurts attention, executive function, immediate memory, working memory, mood, quantitative skills, logical reasoning ability, general math knowledge. Eventually, sleep loss affects manual dexterity, including fine motor control (except, perhaps, for pinball) and even gross motor movements, such as the ability to walk on a treadmill.

When you look at all the data combined, a consistency emerges: Sleep is rather intimately involved in learning. (163)

Two questions are thus begged. How, beyond the obvious, is it involved in learning? What are the implications for our hard-working, highly-scheduled children?

According to NurtureShock, sleep loss weakens the body’s ability to extract glucose from the blood stream. This is the body’s essential energy stream. Without it, the brain suffers, particularly the prefrontal cortex, which is responsible for executive functions such as orchestrating thoughts to fulfill a goal, predicting outcomes, and perceiving consequences. A tired brain also more easily becomes stuck on wrong answers, even known wrong answers, without being able to develop another solution. Furthermore, sleep is when the brain shifts portions of the day’s learning to more efficient storage regions of the brain. This occurs particularly during stage 2 non-REM sleep, a slow-wave period without dreams. In short, “[t]he more you learned during the day, the more you need to sleep that night” (34).

As for children, they spend about 40% of their sleep time in that slow wave stage, or about ten times what adults spend. Meanwhile, a young person’s brain is very much a work in progress until around age 21, with much of that taking place during sleep. Some scientists even theorize that sleep loss in children can cause permanent damage in brain structure. It may also be tied to ADHD and obesity.

Yet children simply do not enjoy enough sleep. NurtureShock contains some concerning statistics. Half of all adolescents average less than seven hours of sleep per night, and children of all ages get an hour less sleep each night than they did thirty years ago. Not surprisingly, 60% of high school students report extreme daytime sleepiness. Yet 90% of American parents believe their child gets enough sleep. I wonder how these numbers compare to the statistics in independent schools such as mine, with such a focus on achievement.

Many points contribute to this sleep loss. Overscheduling of activities, heavy homework load, lax discipline, technology in the bedroom, ignorance regarding the issue—plenty of blame can be doled out proportionally depending on the particular situation. Culturally, we also seem to take pride in claiming we don’t need much sleep.

Ironically, often we sacrifice sleep—or that of our children—for the sake of chasing dreams. At some point we all must ask, in seeking that proper balance, “At what cost?” My recent awakening in response to that question has left me in better shape to not only go after those dreams, but to fulfill them. Isn’t that what we want for our children?

Best Buy, Amazon, and Independent Schools

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Tue, 11 Dec 2012 14:17:00 +0000

Recently Best Buy has been determining how to respond to a growing phenomenon: shoppers who visit its stores to try a product, then whip out a smartphone and order from the vendor offering the lowest price. Usually that means Amazon. This morning I saw a headline on the HBR blog about why Best Buy should not try to beat Amazon at the price game, because it can’t. I didn’t read the article, so I don’t know what alternatives may have been proposed.

Whatever they were, an article from a few days ago said that Best Buy is considering creating more high-end retail centers. I guess they would be like Apple stores but with a wider array of products. I’m not sure that is the answer, either. Too much brand affiliation for Best Buy to shift. I suspect not many people go to Best Buy to spend even more money on electronics.

If I were Best Buy, I’d focus on trying to provide what Amazon and other on-line retailers—not even the fabled Zappos—can deliver: outstanding face-to-face, genuinely caring service. As much as people want to save a few bucks, they also groove on human interaction. And I think they will spend their dollars where they feel that sense of connection. It’s naturally more personal when the interaction is not virtual.

There’s an important reminder for independent schools in there. A couple of years ago, videos on Khan Academy were the rage; now everyone seems to be talking about MOOCs. In various ways, on-line learning is becoming more common. I advocate leveraging technology to enhance learning, but we must do so thoughtfully and in ways that keep us true to who we are and what makes us great. That’s why I like the possibilities opened by the flipped classroom. It allows for more frequent and individualized teacher-student interaction.

After all, great independent schools are not Best Buy or Amazon. In Retail Superstars: Inside the 25 Best Independent Stores in America, George Whalin writes, “They all share an extraordinary passion for their businesses and an obsessive commitment to serving customers” (Kindle edition, Loc 77). He adds,

When asked whether their companies had been built based on a business plan or set of guidelines, they invariably answered no, their growth was guided by what customers wanted and expected from their stores, what the marketplace dictated, and how they could best serve their customers. (Page 3)

I like to think of us as the all-too-rare owner-operated stores where they know the customers’ names and preferences, take the time to help them make the best buying decision, build that sense of loyalty and trust, and really make a positive difference in their lives. That’s about more than price point. It’s about both value and values.

Expectations, Ideas, and Hope

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Thu, 06 Dec 2012 23:04:00 +0000

Expectations, no matter how powerfully felt, are only ideas garnished with hope.

--Unattributed[i]

The above quotation (I assume it’s a quotation; see the endnote) appeared in my Twitter feed yesterday. Normally I don’t pay that much attention to quotations presented in isolation as truths. One reason is the lack of context. It is too easy to interpret a quotation in ways that may be far from its actual meaning. But I have found myself thinking about this one.

I may be wrong, but the quotation seems filled with futility and even cynicism. The words no matter and only connote disappointment; garnish may add a decorative effect to food, but no real flavor or nutritional value. Thus, expectations and ideas and hope seem worthless.

But aren’t those some of the most valuable things we have? They excite us; they inspire us. They prompt us to imagine; they encourage us to strive. The most effective leaders cause these feelings to surge through us while motivating us to become better than we may have thought possible. Certainly they rest within the heart of education.

Cynicism is easy. The world provides plenty of reasons to become that way, and such an outlook can become an easy excuse. We must have the resilience and courage—and help young people to develop them—to believe in expectations and ideas and hope. After all, where we would be without them?

[i] I say unattributed because the tweet did not provide a source, a situation which annoys me. I tried to find the source via Google, but all I could find were a couple of other people who had tweeted it. So some people are not giving credit where it’s due. Plus I would simply like to know.

Real Innovation...or School as We Know It?

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Tue, 27 Nov 2012 14:03:00 +0000

Recently I sent out the following Tweet:

Of course, innovation is one of the hot words in education currently. It has followed right in the footsteps of creativity. (I can’t recall what the word was before that.)

I know that aside suggests a degree of cynicism, but I don’t mean it that way. In fact, if you read this blog with any regularity, you know that I believe in the immense power of education and that education would benefit from some fundamental changes. But my referring to the series of hot words is a way of introducing my theme. We go through a series of words, trends, reforms, latest-greatest…yet it remains school as we know it. So no cynicism, but some skepticism.

Let’s go back a few years, when schools were first developing 1:1 laptop programs. The move, we were told, would prove transformative. Was it? Perhaps in pockets. A school here and there really shifted. But at most of the places I studied or visited, except for a few classes, it looked like school as usual. In most classes the only difference I could discern was that the kids had replaced traditional binders with expensive machines.

Still, I remain hopeful. Thus, I have been following with great interest Grant Lichtman’s blog The Learning Pond. For the past 14 years Grant has filled many roles in association with The Francis Parker School in San Diego, one of the largest independent schools in America. Over the past several weeks he has undertaken a remarkable journey. As the header on the blog reads:

What does the future of K-12 education look like? What programs are leading the way? How are educational organizations changing in order to promote real innovation? Join me as I visit 60+ schools across America this fall to learn and report on how leading educators are implementing significant change to meet 21^st Century challenges.

I’m incredibly jealous, as I often have imagined taking such a trip (but without all the driving). The chance to visit so many excellent schools and to meet with so many top educators would be stunning. As great a job as Grant does at sharing his experience—and, Grant, thank you for that!—I wish I could see all this for myself. First, I think of all I could learn and bring back to my own school.

But, more than anything, I want some assurance that my hopes remain true possibilities. In at least some cases, even emerging realities. As I read his entries, I find myself asking pointed questions. For example, I will see that a school has implemented a new program or created a new position; and I wonder how it truly has changed the learning experience, if at all. Changing curricula does not guarantee anything; it may just emphasize different content. Adding an administrator does not ensure a pedagogical shift. I want to observe the classes. I want to talk with teachers. I want even more to talk with the students.

Even though I lack the tangible, first-hand evidence, Grant has deepened my hope, primarily for two reasons. I find it truly heartening that he found over 60 schools he judged worth visiting. Also, what he found showed enough variety that suggests the innovation is becoming part of each school’s culture, that each is remaking parts of itself in line with its mission and culture and not just grabbing onto the current flavor. Consequently, Grant has given me another hope: that when he finishes the journey, he can summarize the lessons learned in a way that enables to see what these schools have in common. How did they become transformative? Each entry has some of that, but I think we all would benefit from a synopsis from the person who has made the actual journey, because it strikes me that we’re talking about changing the DNA of many schools and educators. Then I hope we would see even more real innovation and not just school as we know it.

On Blogging during Break

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Tue, 20 Nov 2012 01:48:00 +0000

The first day of Thanksgiving break, and I woke up with an idea for a blog post racing through my head. As usual, it didn't crystallize completely at that time; instead, as I was running around through the day, I found myself mentally drafting as bits developed. At several points I wanted to begin writing, but either I was doing something else or I resisted the temptation. But now early evening has arrived, and I can begin composing. However, I am not expounding on that initial idea. Instead, I am reflecting on the anecdote.

You may be reaching some conclusions about what this scenario says about my work habits, mainly that I don't know how to turn it off. Perhaps. My wife says I don't know how to simply be. Again, perhaps. As usual, the truth lies somewhere in between. She is right in that, unless I am watching a soccer game, I tend to keep busy, often with tasks. But, while my mind seldom shuts down, I do not put in ridiculously long hours that often.

The real point of the post has to do with my relationship with blogging. Even before I came to St. John's, I had toyed with the idea of starting a blog. But I was sort of like the shy boy who gazes longingly at the beautiful girl, fantasizing about their relationship but never gathering the courage to ask her out. Basically, I couldn't imagine an audience. Then when I came to St. John's, the Director of Communications encouraged me to start one as a way parents could begin to know me better. I don't know how well the blog achieved that goal, but two years later the audience has grown. Now I feel as if I wooed the girl and convinced her to marry me. As in any marriage, effort is required to keep it going, full of both pain and reward. The pain comes from difficulty of the writing itself--each facet of the process, the self-doubt, the public nature of it. It's very different than turning in a paper for a class or submitting a manuscript for possible publication. The blog is all you, all the time, responsible for every aspect of it.

I find it incredibly disappointing when a blog dies, abandoned by its creator, no longer lovingly nourished through regular cerebral feelings. You can see it coming. The posts become less frequent, the content less stimulating, as if the author has begun to bore him- or herself. Though the author owes me nothing--and, I hate to admit, I did not encourage through comments or Tweets--I still feel somehow betrayed. When reading a book or article, you know it will end, even wonder how it will, appreciate the fabulous wrap up. But a blog seems to carry an inherent pledge of infinite development.

Therein lies another motivation. I see that infinite development as indicative of the blogger's own growth. I will use first person, but I suspect this point is axiomatic. For this blog to flourish, I must provide stimulation not only for readers, but also myself. In fact, I doubt I could do the former without the latter. So the blog becomes another motivation, another impetus to keep discovering more and to figure out how it fits into this incredibly complex pursuit of education.

Thus, the rewards. Yes, a larger audience and burgeoning view count is nice. The reflection is wonderful. But perhaps more than anything, blogging puts me in the position of student, with the pressure of having to deliver something that passes muster. As a head of school, I don't have as much contact with students as I used to, and it's critical that I keep in mind their experience.

Yes, it's Thanksgiving break. No one expects a post. I don't have to publish one. I just want to.

Posted with Blogsy

Evaluating Evaluation

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Thu, 08 Nov 2012 21:47:00 +0000

Last week at the Independent Schools Association of the Southwest (ISAS) Heads of School meeting, two sessions provided an interesting juxtaposition. On Monday Tim Fish from the McDonogh School (MD) presented an overview of the Folio faculty evaluation system developed there and now being used by a growing group of schools. Tuesday morning we watched the film The Finland Phenomenon and had a Skype session with Tony Wagner. Actually, the juxtaposition was more than interesting. It was almost jarring, and I am just starting to reconcile the issue.

Folio is a highly systematized system of evaluation which stresses professional growth. Cornerstones of the process include personal reflection, ongoing goals, classroom observation, and multi-dimensional feedback, all occurring annually. A key is informed and honest conversation. The software helps make it more manageable. I very much like what I heard in the presentation. The new system I put in place at St. John’s has many similar features, but without the nice technology packaging.

Then we watched The Finland Phenomenon. To summarize: for the past few years Finland has led the world in multiple measures of academic excellence, and we need to learn from them. While the film made many compelling points, a comment in the Skype session afterwards is what struck me. Wagner told us that Finland has no formal teacher evaluation system. Instead, teachers are greatly trusted.

I imagined myself reporting to my board of trustees that I had decided to eliminate our evaluation system. They are wonderfully supportive, but that would have been pushing my luck way too far. Besides, it’s not something I would do, as I believe an effective evaluation and growth program is essential to school improvement.

Before I go anywhere else, I must say I understand the myriad problems with many evaluation systems. First and foremost, the entire process evokes dread for most people. Having once suffered as the target of a poorly done evaluation, I know the scars it can leave. I went into the next one fearfully; and while it went fine, I suspect that lessened the experience. Another issue is that in many places the process is little more than a checklist completed after a cursory observation; there is no reflection and subsequent planning for improvement. Consequently, it honors neither the teacher’s individual qualities nor the institution’s higher ideals. Finally, when done right, the process is extremely intensive and time consuming.

So what makes for an effective system? The highest of standards must be articulated and shared; and everyone must strive to meet them, with the desire to improve being the default mindset. Tied to that notion, rather than being used punitively, the system must function in a way that fosters reflection and growth. This necessitates trust and optimism. In many ways, it should resemble a wonderful classroom.

In an ideal situation, the level of collaboration would have colleagues making this occur organically, and poor performers would not survive, mainly because their peers would not stand for it. But teachers are accustomed to working in professional isolation, the lords of their classroom fiefdoms. So we’re talking about shifting engrained school culture. And that is where Finland has a distinct advantage. Besides the cultural homogeneity, a teacher cannot take over a classroom without having undergone master’s degree level preparation, much of which involves classroom observation and analysis, a process that continues throughout one’s career. While the evaluation system may not be formal, in reality it is intense and continuous…and very welcome.

This calls to mind Jim Collins’ admonition in Good to Great (passé, but apropos): “First who…then what.” More than any system or lack thereof, what matters most is having the right people. If you really want to fulfill your mission, they should serve as the true embodiment of your mission. Those will be your best teachers—the ones kids want to grow up to be just like.

Not Voting=Educational Failure

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 17:42:00 +0000

This morning my daughter ranted with the sort of indignation only a fifteen-year-old can muster. The target of her disgust? People who do not seize the opportunity to vote. While I share her thoughts, I also asked if she would want uninformed people voting. Naturally, that made her question why anyone would remain that way given the privilege we have to live in a place with such a system.

As I drove to my polling place early so I would be towards the front of the line, I made a mental note to look up how many people have voted in the last few presidential elections. But the radio hosts did my work for me and announced that in the last four elections, the average turnout was around 55% of all age-eligible citizens. Higher than expected, but still disappointing. The natural question arises: Why?

Many reasons exist. One host said he doesn’t vote because in Texas the result is so clear that his vote doesn’t matter, citing the electoral college system. Others feel one vote does not really make a difference. Many have grown cynical about politics and government in general; like me, you probably heard people darkly joke that one good thing about Superstorm Sandy was the break from political campaigning. Some are simply apathetic. The natural question remains hanging: Why?

I consider this an educational failure—not one of curriculum or pedagogy, but one of mission and philosophy. If a school has not prepared its students to engage fully in their role as citizens, that is a failure. In fact, I would argue that wise voting captures many of the fundamental skills schools should be developing, particularly in this modern era. A student must learn to slog through tons of information, much of it conflicting and even false; discern a reasoned conclusion; and then perform a relevant act with a real world connection.

While I have felt to some degree all the reasons not to vote cited two paragraphs above, they don’t hold much weight for me. My belief is someone has no right to complain unless he or she helps to find a solution. I also see deciding not to vote as an act of ingratitude, even entitlement, that disrespects all those who have made doing so possible, from the Founding Fathers on up.

At least people feel they should vote. On Jimmy Kimmel’s show yesterday (when no polls were open) he sent a crew out on Hollywood Boulevard to ask people if they had voted that day. Everyone said either they had or they were on their way. And I just saw that #ivoted is the top trending hashtag on Twitter today. Both are scant consolation.

Ultimately, in the partnership between school and family, a primary goal—perhaps the primary goal—must be helping young people become the type of adults we need to improve the world. And as I once saw on a plaque, “It’s easier to build kids the right way than it is to repair adults.”

I’m proud that my daughter cares so passionately about this topic. She keeps herself quite informed on the issues, and she can cite factual evidence to support her opinions. From the time our children were young, her mother and I have engaged them in political discussions. I’m grateful they have teachers who take time from the regular curriculum to study the election and that their school encourages active engagement in the larger world. It’s why studies show independent school graduates are twice more likely than students from other schools to become involved in political and civic causes. These strike me as strong markers of success.

I hope my daughter has a chance to vote before she departs for college. I can imagine the glow of her smile.

New Reading Plan--Courting Serendipity

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 14:55:00 +0000

Last February I posted “On Reading,” in which I reflected on my love of reading and how it fuels me. I was prompted to write it because I took a respite from my usual reading regime and read a book strictly because I wanted to. Currently, almost everything I read is somehow tied to work. In some ways that is okay. I am fortunate to be a person whose natural interests and passions align almost perfectly with my career. There is, however, a problem: my mind thus seldom takes a break. While the reading re-energizes, it also can deplete me over time. I also feel the need to keep up with many, many different sources of information to help move my school forward. The question becomes, as my former board president used to encourage me, “How do I meter myself?”

To do that I’m going to try a new reading regimen. I call it “One and One.” I am going to alternate my reading choices, at least when it comes to books. (Blogs and articles will remain as they are now.) First I will read one that I feel is a must-dofor school. Then I will read a title that I simply want to read. For example, two days ago I completed Steven Johnson’s incredible Future Perfect, which I believe has enormous implications for the increasingly connected lives that our students will be leading. Last week I began Dave Eggers’ stirring Zeitoun about a Syrian immigrant in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina. My daughter and wife both urged me to read it because of all my Louisiana connections, but I had left it far down the list. “Someday, when I have time,” I figured. I’m loving it.

I’ve been pondering this new plan for a while, and I feel good about it. Still, the tension exists between professional obligation and personal maintenance/fulfillment. A degree of guilt also lingers, I suppose. I became convinced to implement it upon reading a post on the Fast Company blog titled “How to Hack an ‘A-Ha!’ Moment.” Consider the following long excerpt:

Because we can't beat the brain's hardwiring, we've got to train it by routinely introducing new information, people, settings, sensations, and experiences in order to expand our databank of memories. In this way, we create more flexible and varied mental models that our brains can use to fill in the blanks of the future. With a richer store of memories, we are able to imagine a vast range of possibilities, appreciate the web of factors affecting a given issue, and make more of the associative links that prompt consideration of different scenarios. This is your best defense against--and preparation for--unforeseen events and opportunities that will likely impact your business.

Whether you're looking for the next big idea or a fresh perspective, solving an innovation challenge, or hunting for an emerging technology, market, or business model to invest in, it is absolutely essential that you begin by immersing yourself in new material. New research, new disciplines, new sources, new experiences, new inputs, new approaches. It's this simple: To have an authentically new idea, you must begin with new inputs. If you don't, you can--truly--do no better than produce another version of what you already know.

The big payoff is what happens when new information collides with established memories. As your brain tries to make sense of the incoming data, it looks around for what's familiar, linking the new to the old. And suddenly your perspective changes: That's the moment of "Aha! I've never seen it that way before!" Indeed you haven't. Without the new input and the new synaptic connections it stimulates, there's no physical way that you could have seen it that way before.

Suddenly I had not only permission to enact my new plan, but a legitimate rationale. While so much of the reading I was doing certainly extended my thinking, it was not necessarily providing the sort of collision described above. Theoretically, as I cast a wider net, that new input will increase the chances of really unique and thus more powerful moments of serendipity occurring. For example, reading Zeitoun, I am having some new insights regarding leadership, or at least a new way of helping to explain it. This notion has me thinking even more about how the Baran Web referenced in Future Perfect works not just as a social network but as a form of enlarged understanding. Aha moment, indeed!

             All this, of course, led me to think about curriculum and learning and objectives. In the above passage, think of how the memories work: they function like a complex framework into which we fit new learning of any sort. In a sense, then, our objective should be to create a Baran Web as tightly woven with as many nodes as possible. This increases the chance of connectivity and relevance in the learning process. Thus, the goals of a program should focus on larger understandings and the abilities necessary to both extend and deepen them. It's highly personal.

This cannot happen willy-nilly, based strictly on student interests. Were that the case, some of our current eighth graders might study nothing other than baseball. Consider a recent example in which a father argued his high school son should not have to study chemistry because he has no interest in the subject. I won't argue that everyone needs to take chemistry; in fact, I've advocated for an integrated science approach as best for some students. However, I contend very strongly that all students should develop a strong grasp of basic scientific principles, some of them right from chemistry.

If we accept that premise, then we need to rethink the traditional practice of organizing curricula by content and even the departmental structure. Compared to how learning really works for all but academic specialists, both these are artifices, based more on convenience than any actuality. They are, however, so firmly entrenched culturally that we have difficulty conceiving of it working any other way. So, to apply the notion from the long excerpt, we must continue to introduce and consider loads of new input. Perhaps then we will have the crucial "Aha!" moment.

Certainly I hope my new “One and One” reading plan leads to several such epiphanies. So I would appreciate any and all suggestions drawn from the hither and yon of your learning.

Power of Positive Feedback

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Crotty) — Mon, 15 Oct 2012 21:17:00 +0000

Last week my seventh-grade son had a very exciting volleyball match, and his team won after having lost to these opponents twice previously. The two schools are fierce rivals. As I left the gym, I saw another father and his son , who was from the other team. The dad was chewing him out about a series of mistakes the boy and his teammates had made. Once he finished ripping into the boy, dad snarled, “Let’s go so that I can get you to tennis.” An important bit of background is that all these boys just took up the sport this year.

Having coached for over thirty years and having two children who have played sports, I have seen more scenes like this than I can remember. Unfortunately, as a coach I’ve sometimes lapsed into similar behavior. I don’t think I’ve done it as a parent, at least not too badly. (Maybe that is selective memory…) Something about athletics seems to bring out some of the more unsavory aspects in people. Maybe it’s our innate competitiveness; perhaps it’s because it’s so public. Of course, simplified psychology suggests we dream of our kids fulfilling our own thwarted athletic fantasies. It suggests a value system. I don’t know. I have wondered if the same sort of thing happens in the art world. You do hear stories about the archetypal stage mom, so I expect it does. With my sophomore daughter becoming involved in theater, I guess I’ll find out.

I started thinking about classrooms and the desire to have students take risks. Let’s consider an English class. Perhaps the teacher has encouraged students to use more sophisticated diction or to craft more elaborate sentence structures. When a student does so, he or she may make mistakes. At that moment, the feedback is crucial. Does the teacher praise the attempt and give credit for that, or does the teacher take off points because it’s wrong? Most students’ response to either approach is obvious. I wonder which one occurs more often. Both must happen to some degree, and striking the right balance for any individual is tricky.

In the example just cited, at least the feedback often is private. In athletics and arts, students perform in public. I recall a response I once gave to someone complaining about coaches being too serious about their sports and demanding too much practice time. I asked her to imagine if her students had to take their tests in front of their peers and families, with people yelling at them, a running grade being kept on a scoreboard.

Contrast any instance of negative feedback to the following anecdote. Last week I published a post titled “Heed the Dodo” in which I linked recent works by Howard Rheingold and Will Richardson. These men are true leaders in their fields. Rheingold, who has taught at Stanford and UC-Berkeley, explores the relationship between technology and human intelligence. Richardson is one of the most important voices in the education debate and the desperate need for reform. As usual, after putting up a post, I tweeted an announcement. Then, something inspired me to tweet Rheingold and Richardson about the post. After all, I follow both of them. I didn’t know what to expect. One time I tried replying to a tweet by Tom Peters and heard nothing. But within a couple of hours both Rheingold and Richardson replied with some very nice words. Even more, they re-tweeted my original message to their combined 70,000 or so followers.

Now, bear in mind that I am 51 years old, and I have been fairly successful in my field. But when this happened, I did a literal and metaphorical jig while letting out a whoop of joy. I bragged about it at dinner that night. A few days later, it still makes me smile. In time the nice memory will linger, but the emotions will fade.

Four points strike me as significant reminders from this. One, these gentlemen could have simply ignored my tweet or dismissed my reaching out. Instead, they responded with a generous spirit and simple act of kindness. Two, little things matter, particularly in how they can make one feel. Indeed, how you make someone feel may matter more than any particular action. Three, this is particularly important when working with young people, who are developing the cognitive strength to put things into perspective. Four, the closer the source, the more impactful the feedback.

My son’s volleyball team plays that other school again soon. After the game, win or lose, as I always do, I’ll wrap my arm around my boy, give him a high five, and tell him I’m proud of him.