The iPad is a Tool – It’s Not the Entire Toolbox

This is a hammer.

It’s a good tool, but it only does a few things really well. It’s really good at driving nails into things and it’s pretty good at getting them out. That’s about it.

This is a pencil.

It’s also a good tool, and it also only does a few things really well. It’s really good for writing, especially if I want to be able to erase that writing in the future. Sometimes we make mistakes and it’s nice to be able to deal with those mistakes. It’s like the hammer; it does one thing well, and it does a pretty good job of undoing that thing.

This is a Leatherman.

It’s a good tool. The Leatherman does lots of things. It can act as a pair of pliers, a screw driver, a kinfe, a saw, etc. It does lots of stuff really well. But it doesn’t do everything. In fact, it would do a pretty poor job of driving nails. If I have to drive a nail I’ll still go for the hammer. The Leatherman will never totally replace my hammer.

This is an iPad.

It’s also a good tool. The iPad also does lots of things really well. It can take pictures, record video, browse the web, play music and movies, etc. But it doesn’t do everything. Some things are easier, with pencils. Leaving a quick note for a colleague is still easier with a pencil and a post-it note than with an iPad. The iPad will never totally replace my pencil.

The iPad is an additional tool in my toolbox. It’s a great tool, but it wont replace my pencil, and it won’t replace my entire toolbox. Certainly, the iPad is a very versitile tool and it may replace some tools, but it won’t ever be the only one.

If you have to drive a nail into a piece of wood, nothing beats that hammer.

To Do List: Breathe, Play, Grow

For a long time I’ve kept lists posted on my refrigerator door: grocery lists, weekend to-do lists, don’t-forget-to-bring-things-to-school lists. Lately most of those have gone digital; my grocery list lives in Evernote now so that I am never without it. One list, however, remains on the fridge: my “things to do today” list.

The list began about ten years ago. I think the idea was to make sure I had some balance in my life, though honestly I don’t remember. The physical list has had to be rewritten a few times. It hasn’t survived every move. But more importantly, the list has become a part of who I am and how I manage my life. It’s become my day-to-day survival guide.

The list contains three items: breathe, play, grow. Sure, they’re broad and loosely defined, but they are all important. And each day the goal is check off all three items.

  • Breathe: Every day I want to take a moment to breathe, to slow down. I spend my days in a building full of children. It can be exhausting. I need a moment to breathe. And it may only be a few minutes. It’s important to have that time. Every day.
  • Play: Every day I want to do something fun. Part of life means that sometimes I have to do things I don’t want to do. And on some days it seems like I have to do a lot of those things. But it’s important to play, and have fun. Every day.
  • Grow: Every day I want to do something that makes be a stronger person. Challenge myself, learn. A good workout counts for this too. It’s too easy to coast. I don’t want to do that; I want to grow. Every day.

Of course, some activities can check off more than one item on the list. A nice easy run with friends might be both breathing and playing. Drafting a blog post during a hurricane-induced state of emergency might be both breathing and growing.

Or I might even get all three at one time. As an avid runner, an easy 20-mile run can be a chance to breathe, play, and grow. Twenty solo miles gives me time to breathe and reflect, but at the same time I get to do something I love to do, and you can bet my legs are getting stronger.

My list has three things on it: breathe, play, grow. What’s on your list? And how often is it all checked off at the end of the day?

Try Your Best or Try to Win

A couple times a year I toe the line of a marathon. I got hooked on them in college. I suppose in the grand scheme of things the are worse thigns to be addicted to.

My kids know I race. They see me leaving for and coming back from training runs after school. If I get hurt (earlier in the year I spent some time in an air cast) I share that with my students. It’s part of my identity at school: I teach third grade; if people have tech questions they come to me; I run marathons.

Last week I ran the Chicago Marathon. I took a day off to extend the trip and visit family and I shared with the class why I wouldn’t be in school that Friday. The afternoon before I left, I gave them a chance to ask questions. My kids are just outside of Boston, which is like Mecca for modern marathoning, so I believe they should know something about the race.

A funny thing happened. The same question/answer exchange occurred that occurs every time I tell a class I am going to run a marathon. The  conversation goes like this:

Student: Are you going to win?

Me: No.

Student: Are you going to come in second?

Me: No

Student: Are you going to try to win?

Me. No.

Student: Mr. Schersten, you have a bad attitude. You should at least try to win.

Me: No, you don’t understand. Some of these guys don’t have a job. ALL they do is run. I train a lot and I’m pretty fast, but they’re way faster than me. There’s NO way I’m going to win.

Student: Yea, but you’re always supposed to try.

Somewhere my students got the idea that trying to win and trying your best are the same thing. If I try to stick with the lead pack of the Chicago Marathon, I’ll last (maybe) a mile. The winner this year averaged 4:46 per mile (take a moment to let that soak in, 4:46 per mile for 26.2 miles). In Chicago trying my best meant trying not to win. It meant examining my current level of fitness, my strengths and weaknesses, and trying to cover the 26.2 miles as fast as I could (not as fast as the leaders could).

When students (or student-athletes) fail, we often try to console them by saying something like, “it’s okay, you tried your best.” But that seldom works because our students don’t define success that way. They want to win, not just do their best. In fact, one of my students asked me (she was being completely serious), “would you rather cheat and win, or not cheat and come in second?”

Apparently we need to do a better job of defining success for our students. Success is, or should be, about trying your best. It should be about improving. It should be about analyzing a situation and trying to make the best out of it. Of course, in today’s climate of high-stakes testing where scores are scaled; and students, teachers, and schools compete against each other, I guess it’s easy to see where this idea comes from.

————-

I ended finishing 207th in a field of 34,500. My students’ reaction: “we’ll that’s not too bad” and “that’s pretty good.” Sure it wasn’t my fastest race, but I wrestled with some injury this training cycle and that’s still the 99.4th percentile. But I didn’t win, so it’s somehow just “pretty good.”

Making Back to School Night More Meaningful

Success For EveryoneOver the past couple of years I’ve tried to change my back to school night. Historically it has been a night where I tell parents everything we are going to do in the upcoming year in third grade. I’d march through a curriculum summary and parents would leave with a packet of information that pretty much mirrored what I had said.

In recent years, as I worked toward my administrative license I began thinking about changing this. I began to see that I was, in essence, running the torturous staff meeting that I really wanted to avoid as a principal. You know the meeting, where you find yourself thinking “if you don’t need my input, and you can put it in an email, please do; don’t make me sit here for this.” Parents, sorry.

Last I officially changed the name from Curriculum NIght to Stakeholders Meeting. The official goal of the meeting was changed. It became to “have everyone walk away with a clear idea of how you can help your child through the experience we call ‘third grade’.”I talked less and listened more.

This year, I still wanted it to be different, so I took it an extra step. Before back to school night I sent an email to the parents of my third graders:

Parents,

Over the past few years I’ve been trying to make Curriculum Night more meaningful for parents. I’ve been trying not to make it a torturous information dump full of things that I could put in an email or you could read on the classroom website. It’s the only time of the year when I get all of you in one place at one time and I’d rather not just talk at you (and frankly, if I were in your position I wouldn’t want to be just talked to either).

So, the plan for Monday night is more of a structured conversation where we can figure out how we can support each other as we try to collectively support 24 students navigating third grade. This means I don’t plan on going through the five core subjects and talking about what topics we’re planning to cover in the next 9 months. Don’t worry, all that information is on the classroom website, dallin.benschersten.com (note, there’s no “www” in that URL). In fact, if you read it beforehand and have questions, Monday will be a great venue for that!

So, if you get a chance to peruse the academics section of the classroom website this weekend, that would be great (or you can do it later, it’ll still be there). And I’ll see you all on Monday evening (6:30pm) where we’ll figure out how to make third grade the best experience it can be, for everyone.

Have a great weekend.

-Ben

I stripped down my Keynote presentation to just conversational areas, no bulleted lists. I threw in some hand-drawn graphics (because trying something totally new and going in with little to no agenda wasn’t stressful enough, I wanted to showcase my not-so-artistic drawing abilities*).

And so I took a leap.

Thinking back, it went well. There was lots of discussion.I was able to talk even less and listen even more. A few parents approached me in the days following thanking me for the evening.

More importantly, on a suggestion from a parent, I changed something (which was really the point of the new format). I want my kids to be able to, without me, do some Internet searches for those Googlable questions that arise during the day. Alan November advocates a “researcher” job like this for students. The catch is pitching the idea to the parents of 8-year-olds. The suggestion from a parent was a robust Google Custom Search: pull together all the kid-friendly domains I could find and create an engine for that. It was a great idea; I’m working on it.

As I continue to reflect, I really liked the format. It was respectful of the parents, their time, and their ideas. Being able to take in their ideas allowed me to send the message that we’re in this together. Once a year I get all the parents in the same room at the same time; I can’t imagine a better message to send.

——-

*Somehow the iOS app Paper makes my crude drawings look far more artistic than they really are.

Teachers as Soldiers?

Like many educators, I recently had that back-to-school inservice day where the district gathers in the high school auditorium to listen to the superintendent and other district leaders talk about the upcoming year. While sitting in the stiff wooden auditorium chairs I heard that familiar metaphor where teachers are compared to “soldiers in the trenches.” As soon as I heard it, it got me thinking: Am I really a soldier in a trench? Is war really the right metaphor to describe what I do?

soldiers in trench

My first thought was that I certainly hope my classroom is not a warzone? I don’t want to spend my days battling anyone or anything (and I certainly don’t want it to be a war). The last thing I want is for my students to think school is a battle; that doesn’t seem like a good way to instill the idea of lifelong learning. I want everyone (children and adults) in my room to want to be there, and I want everyone to leave each day thinking they have gained something.

And school’s these days don’t operate in the top-down fashion that comes to mind when I think of trench warfare. We (should) live in an educational world of collaboration. Administrators (officers?) make decisions collaboratively and trust teachers to make decisions and plan their days (missions?).

And I do more than just teach content (fight? That’s what teaching is in this metaphor, right?). I’m not just a soldier.

  • I lead.
  • I follow.
  • I collaborate.
  • I gather and evaluate intelligence.
  • I plan and make last-minute changes.
  • I counsel others.
  • I bandage wounds.
    the list goes on…

I do it all. We all do.

Teachers are not soldiers in the trenches, and we are not at war. If schools are something we can compare to warzones, then something profound needs to change about our schools. Immediately.

We need a new metaphor. Artists? Designers? Magicians? Miracle workers?

But if we must stay with the military metaphor, we’re not soldiers in the trenches, we’re so much more. We do so much more. We’re more like military jack-of-all-trades… secret agents. James Bond, maybe? If we’re going to stick with the military metaphor, I’d rather be compared to James Bond than to a soldier in the trenches. How about you?

photo credit: drakegoodman via photo pin cc