More Vivid Verbs: Language of Education

       Shortly after starting Kevin Kelly's The Inevitable: Understanding the 12 Technological Forces That Will Shape Our Future, I tweeted:

Love, love this line from @kevin2kelly _The Inevitable_: "Away from world of fixed nouns toward world of fluid verbs" #isedchat

— Mark Crotty (@crottymark) September 11, 2016

To which Kevin Ruth (Chief Executive of European Council of International Schools) replied:

It's a potent read, Mark! https://t.co/4dywzA7iWn

— Kevin J Ruth (@kevinjruth) September 11, 2016

Potent, indeed.I'm making my way through it more slowly than I do most books, as I find myself drifting into wild speculation based on the not-so-long-ago inconceivable scenarios Kelly lays out. They have brewed a concoction of giddy anticipation and some plain terror.
       The noun-verb metaphor holds together much of the book. It appeals to me greatly, in large part because of my background as an English teacher. I'm particularly sensitive to how language affects how we perceive and act. It is our primary cognitive tool, and I've enjoyed watching students debate whether language drives thought or vice-versa. On a less ethereal level, as a writing teacher I preached, "The verb is the heartbeat of every sentence. Make them vivid!" Often I would tell students they needed to aim for fewer words overall but relatively more verbs.
       Considering how language reflects our thinking about education is nothing new. In The Book of Learning and Forgetting, Frank Smith points out how many of the words we use have their ties back to our schooling model being inspired by the Prussian army's training protocols: "the deployment of resources, the recruitment of teachers and students, advancing or withdrawing students, promotion to higher grades, drills for learners, strategies for teachers, batteries of tests, word attack skills, attainment targets, reinforcement, cohorts, campaigns for achievement in mathematics, and wars against illiteracy." That we use this language so naturally, Smith argues, shows how deeply ingrained such thinking is. This notion has stuck with me since I first read it nearly twenty years ago, and I've often referred to it in various ways. Kelly's line has sparked some more particular consideration, with focus on the idea of nouns and verbs as applied to education.
       Nouns dominate our educational language. When we talk about  a student, we talk about, for example, "a seventh grader" or a "high school junior." Sometimes we individualize a bit and say the student is "a visual learner." Learning (as a gerund) equals the accumulation of lessons and facts, and that learning occurs in a defined space such as a classroom. We use the text to deliver the curriculum, emphasis on the definitive article, as if these are immutable, near-sacred objects. These examples, especially when linked with the many others I could cite, erect a rigid, finite framework.
       The issue is captured perfectly by the practice of grading, even in the best type of assessments such as performance tasks or open prompts or project-based studies. I cite those because they involve students doing something--usually multiple things--as they construct knowledge and skills and understandings. But then we, often per the rubric which clarifies the standards, slap a grade on a piece of work. And what is a grade? A desperate, ultimately futile attempt to capture the quality of a bunch of verbs in a single noun.
       Like grades, words are how we try to express what we really mean. They connote what we deem important. But they are intrinsically limited. Mention a table, and it's quite unlikely any two people see exactly the same object. Become more specific, i.e. desk, and we gain a bit more control over the message. I intentionally used a noun, but the same idea applies to verbs, such as run versus jog versus sprint.  The more precise we can be, the closer we come to accurate expression not only of what we mean but also of what we value.
       Writing chock full of nouns, adjectives, and adverbs without vigorous verbs drags somnolently. It fails to inspire. It deflates. It doesn't probe our human essence. Vigorous writing compels us to play in an imaginarium, a place grounded in reality with innumerable paths meandering into possibilities. There we question and explore and create and hypothesize and analyze and... Thereby we learn. Shouldn't those be the words of education?
       More vivid verbs, please.

Death of the Blog?

       This post is longer than usual, and for that I apologize. Perhaps I could have shortened it. In fact, I'm sure I could have. Yet, as should become clear to those of you who endure, the length reflects the theme.
       A few weeks ago, in a post of somewhat random thoughts, I mused about the current state of blogging. I noted that fewer and fewer posts seem to be showing up in my aggregator. Then, in a very unscientific experiment, I kept clicking on the little link at the top of this blog that says "Next blog." I most often--and it wasn't even close--came to blogs that hadn't been updated for many months, sometimes even years. Some announced their own demise. Others simply fizzled out. Saddest of all were the ones on which the final post declared one's sadness at not having blogged for a while, followed by a pledge to resume and keep it up, sort of a digital-literary New Year's resolution by February. Some were quite good. But one point above all depressed me a bit, something about which I've written before:

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.(from "On Blogging During Break")

       I totally understand the challenge of maintaining a blog. I once confided: 

Writing this blog, I feel real pressure to ship at least once per week. As someone pointed out to me, “You create a monster; then you have to feed it.” At first this was easy: I was new to my school, wanted people to learn about me and my ideas, had plenty to say. It was purely rational, grounded in my cerebral cortex. Now, shipping has become harder. I find myself asking questions that, while logical, still drip with juices of the lizard brain. What am I going to say this week? Haven’t I already written about that? Is this worth posting on? What are people thinking about my posts? Have I gone too far in some of my points and overly offended someone? Would anyone notice if I didn’t post for a while? If I stopped posting at all? Why isn’t my mind working the way I want it to? When did I forget how to write?  (from "Taming My Lizard Brain: An Unforeseen Lesson from Blogging")

I compare that to Tweeting, something about which I was once skeptical but now embrace. It's really easy, almost automatic now. It's a wonderful way to share information, to compile quality resources, to engage in quality conversations during chats. It's amazing how well I feel I've come to know some people through Twitter although I've never met them or read anything else by them. That also may explain another trend I've noted in relation to the first. As I've noticed less blogging, I've noticed more Tweeting. And despite my love of the Twitter-sphere, that concerns me.

       In  Thinking, Fast and Slow. Daniel Kahneman contends that our thought patterns operate in two ways--System 1 and System 2. System 1 consists of our automatic, almost instinctual reactions to things. They are often based on prior knowledge, assumptions, things we take for granted. System 2 involves deeper thinking; it is more reflective and analytical. Not surprisingly, Kahneman contends that we operate mainly per System 1. He says that this occurs in large part because we are intellectually lazy. But there are other reasons. Heuristics cause us to see things in certain ways. For example, the way information is presented can "anchor" us and influence how we respond. Other heuristics include availability, emotion, risk, sample size. We also have a poor grasp of statistics. I would add that we are simply busy, we want quick answers, and we haven't really been trained to think deeply. In "Some Thinking About Thinking" I relate this idea to education.

       I think we can use this framework as a way to think about Tweeting and blogging. While exceptions certainly exist, in general I would say that Tweeting equates to System 1 thinking and blogging to System 2 thinking. In anticipation of one argument against this, I acknowledge that good Tweeters will reveal the outcomes on System 2 thinking in many of their Tweets. Yet I'm focused on the process.

       For me the best blog posts have a meditative quality, as if the writer has peeled back his or her scalp and allowed you to see the neurons firing. Such posts echo the origins of the essay, its name derived from the Middle French essayer, which means to examine and to test. Part of the power lies in the struggle to construct that scaffolding, and it's why we hold in awe those who can do it so gracefully that we read the words and they seem so natural, so easy, so much what we want to say...but can't figure out how. They capture humans at their reflective best.

       It also captures the very essence of teaching and learning. Teaching, no matter what subject, boils down to an attempt to capture and to communicate an understanding. Math, for example, is much more than numeracy. Eventually it becomes a tool by which we can understand basic truths about the physical universe. Learning does not occur without at least a bit of reflection, when we take new information and figure how how it fits within existing schemata. Notice I said bit of reflection. Deeper, more powerful learning entails more extensive, more probing reflection. It's why, when I asked an admission director at a top liberal arts college what makes a student essay stand out, she told me a student's ability to truly reflect.

     I fear even the idea of our losing that. I see schools doing cool things with Tweeting and video and other forms of expression. They're wonderful and creative and often worthwhile. Yes, the notion of literacy is much more complex than it used to be. But what has gone by the wayside? I worry it's writing, something which often was not taught often and/or well enough anyway. I've argued for a long time--long before the days most of us had any idea about personal computers and the Internet-- that students need to be writing more in all their classes. And, as I argued in "Do Students Ever Get to Blog in Their Underwear?", it doesn't all need to be your typical academic writing. The important thing is the digging, the connecting; the discovery; as someone forgotten once said, and many have repeated, "I don't really know what I think until I write it." Ponder what I proposed in "Potential of Student Blogs."

But consider what could happen if each student's blog became truly personal, a place for musing and exploring and poking. A place not for trying to build a strong case, but a place for refining a big question while considering various options. A place for students to share with each other in a collaborative "big dig" that spills over into the classroom. A place where the teacher doesn't go looking to see if students have the right answer but a place to be surprised by what they know and are figuring out.
     I hope the assessment would focus on that. Of course, I want more of that to be happening everywhere, not just in blogs. In this case, a powerful blog becomes a multi-faceted symbol of a more modern education. It captures a new dynamic of individual and collective learning. It highlights a more necessary set of skills and attitudes. It marks a shift in the dominant voices of a class. It suggests a way in which each student can play a leading role in his or her own fashion. 

Even if not the sort of collaborative learning suggested by using blogs in this fashion, the larger goals remain paramount. We must help students develop the skills and attitudes integral to sustained, deep thought. Otherwise, too often we're content to skim along the surface. That's not just about individual growth. It's foundational to our growth as cultures and societies and a species. At the risk of being dramatic, evolve or die.

       Of course, all this really points to much more than a consideration of blogging versus Tweeting. It's about purpose. Values. It's about making sure making sure we always protect them. Ultimately, I see education as being about how we become better humans. Writing, whether for oneself or for an audience, is key to that. So when it comes to blogging, to riff off Mark Twain's famous line, I hope reports of its death are exaggerated.

Value in the Numbers?

     Numbers are funny things. On one level they are fairly easy to define as discrete units, usually used to measure something or to indicate an amount. However, like words, they are simply a human invention, albeit an amazing one, that is part of our ongoing quest to capture and somehow make concrete and tangible oft-elusive concepts. A number is simply a symbol. They're inherently limited and limiting. Intellectually, I grasp this notion rather easily, and it's why I thoroughly enjoyed courses I've taught on linguistics and semiotics.As any regular readers know, I've used this understanding and epistemological stance in making my arguments against relying too heavily on standardized testing, school rankings, and most other educational metrics.
     But lately I've been experiencing first-hand the power of numbers. In particular, I've been reminded of how a number can stir feelings of affirmation or rejection. On some level this is rather obvious. We take comfort in acceptance to a college with high rankings; we decide where to eat or what movie to see based on number of stars. Lately--despite my knowing better--I've become a bit of a victim of numbers on social media.
     As my number of Twitter followers grows or my blog reaches a certain milestone of views, I find myself growing excited, particularly as both have gained some momentum.* And it builds: reach 40,000 views on the blog, and begin wondering when you might hit 50,000. After gaining the first 100 followers, I dared to dream of 200. Similarly, I experience a slight twinge when I lose a follower or a post doesn't gain many views. All this happens even though, when I did some Twitter workshops for employees, I tell them not to get caught up on numbers, that quality matters much more than quantity.
     Besides pointing out to me that I'm just as vulnerable to such experiences as anyone else and I need to jump off the high horse I sometimes mount, this experience has reminded me of one point and added depth to another, both related to learning.
     Three paragraphs back I wrote that "despite my knowing better" I fall into this trap. The key word is knowing. Emotions so easily can override the logical process of anything. It's why the best schools have to truly safe spaces. I don't mean that in the context of the tragic shootings of the past fifteen years. I mean psycho-social safety. Kids have to feel safe to be respected as they are, to take risks of all sorts, to feel confident in the growth process and all the messiness that implies.
     The numbers can harm that. I'm talking about grades. In what I described above, the number of followers and views becomes somewhat analogous to a grade. Someone stopped following me? What did I do wrong? I must have failed Tweeting! Teachers tell kids not to focus on the grade but on the feedback. There may be a degree of futility in such exhortations. The number, in its finality and in its symbolism, may simply have too much power. (A letter grade is essentially the same thing in different form.) To compare it to language, connotation can have more impact than denotation. When it comes to grading, a number really does capture a level of affirmation or rejection. And while it's directed at the work being evaluated, naturally it becomes highly personal. Meanwhile, some teachers use the grades as the carrot-and-stick. Then someone understandably can become reluctant to take risks, at least the sort which spur the greatest growth.
     I imagine that eliminating grades solves some, maybe even much, of the problem. Yet I think we're dealing with something intrinsically human--the deep need each of us has to feel valued...and perhaps to feel we are adding value. I hope we never try to reduce either of those to mere numbers.
   
*Humorous reality check: when I shared my excitement and some number with my teen daughter, she said, "That's it? Dad, I thought you were talking about a million."

Reflection after Hearing Paul Tough, author of How Children Succeed, and Thinking about Failure

     This past Tuesday I was fortunate to hear Paul Tough, New York Times Magazine reporter/editor and author of How Children Succeed: Grit, Character, and the Hidden Power of Character, speak at the Independent Schools Association of the Southwest heads of school conference. (Even cooler: I got to meet and introduce him!) He is a an excellent speaker, and I appreciated how he boiled the book down into 45 packed minutes of presentations (sans PowerPoint or Prezi, a nice change) without notes before taking questions.
     Because I've read the book and had reviewed my notes, his talk didn't provide much new information--except for one great point. Of course, I find it great because it helped me figure out how to articulate an idea I have been struggling to express properly.
     For those of you who may not have read the book, here is the basic premise. We have the traditional view that success comes from intelligence and basic cognitive skills. However, research and anecdote shows that success depends more on other non-cognitive skills such as perseverance, curiosity, conscientiousness, optimism, and self-control--qualities related more to character. Tough delineates the link between childhood adversity/stress--with a particular focus on poverty--and later life success. Ideally, one would have both the necessary cognitive and non-cognitive skills.
     Tough's point which really jumped out at me is that he believes in our society we have "an adversity gap." By this he means we have too many children who suffer tremendous adversity every day of their lives--poverty, homelessness, abuse and other ills--and those who experience almost none. Extremes, yes; but I began thinking about all the talk about allowing kids to experience failure in schools that is tied to calls for innovation.
     I have no problem with the philosophy underlying this notion. However, I believe, as Tough's term "adversity gap" suggests, that we need to figure out the sweet spot. To invoke Aristotle, we have to determine the virtue that lies at the middle of two vices. As is often the case, we jump to extremes and invokes points such as Edison's about not really failing 10,000 times or Ideo's "fail fast, fail often." Yet those are adults, who have established their identities and formed their characters. So much of the educational conversation these days focuses on failure and the need for it. Yet one thought keeps nagging at me: Do we really want children to experience failure very often?
     Part of my concern comes from the word failure. It's a loaded, powerful word, full of psychological barbs. Some argue that we need to soften the word, and that strikes me as a rather quixotic notion. Plus I believe we should keep the word for true failures that deserve it.
     I keep coming back to Vygotsky's notion of the Zone of Proximal Development, which allows students to work at levels which allow them to experience the right degree of success but also struggle until an adult intercedes at right moment. It strikes me that's what we want. For students to stumble, trip, fall, then get back up. When this happens while a toddler is learning to walk, we don't call it a failure. I'm not sure why we would with any form of learning.

Reaction to News a Computer Can Grade Essays

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?

Need a New Word?

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 teaching, 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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Better than Best

As a former English teacher who used to teach a linguistics course, I think about the implications of language more than most people. I am not a grammar fiend, but words matter to me greatly and I try to be careful about which ones I use. So I am a bit disappointed that in the past week I have used one of my most-disliked terms...twice. (I blame fatigue.)

The term? Best practices.

My issue with this term is not that is a current buzzword. In fact, I find buzzwords a bit comforting, as they can help create a sense of commonality and direction. Language is a unifier, after all. When people choose to play "buzzword bingo" rather than engage in the real purpose of a meeting, it smacks of cynicism.

My first concern with the term is more ethereal, more philosophical. I don't believe there is such a thing as a best practice. Different situations necessitate varied responses; what is "best" simply depends on...well, many things. In that sense, the concern also is a practical one and why all strategy really comes down to execution.

Being couched in the superlative, the term also suggests that we have found the ultimate. But isn't the goal--and a mindset we want to instill in young people--to never stop finding better practices?