"How Much More Real Do You Want?!"

Today was a great day. The only class I went to was PE in the morning and then served food at our Student Council Senior Picnic and after that had the pleasure to be able to visit one of our middle schools and one of our elementary schools today in my district. Observing students that were ecstatic to have graduated yesterday all the way to kindergarteners that can't wait to come to school the next morning within such a short time span presented the opportunity for some sociology.

Our last stop of the day was Walnut Hills Elementary to view students Passion Fair Projects. This building has such a close knit family connection between teachers, students, and administrators. Heck, the principal was the one that gave us visitor badges when we walked in instead of being back in her office. We stopped in and talked with Ali Locker who was in a 1st grade room today and upon even the door handle opening they all turned, stared, and waved. The 5th graders eagerly shared with us their philanthropy-based Passion Projects they've been working on. The idea was designed along Angela Maiers' Genius Hour concept. 5th Graders presented to us and never hesitated on any of the questions we threw out at them. When I was in 5th grade I don't even think we knew what trifold stands were!

"I like to go on vacation but I don't like to see the people without homes. It takes a long time for that to get out of my mind and I just want to fix it." -Student

Topics for these ranged from recycling to littering to animal abuse to
homelessness to special needs students and many more! 

Before that we visited the middle school and talked with Mrs. Reinhold, who was helping kids in the library as they came in from study halls and various classes. Mr. Goerend's students were creating business plans of their own choice to argue that one bakery is needed more than a Javascript coding app that all gets trumped by the necessity for a new sports store on the block. And, the best part, they were all able to answer why they were doing this and how it related to English, and that we got different answers from every group. These students were working in their own spaces, corners, desks, groups, and with the technology that they needed to work. There wasn't an "Okay kids, let's all go to the computer lab and sit in rows and work as individuals on this project that you have to present" feel about it at all.

Walking into 7th grade math students recognized me from Instagram and said hi before they went back to their test. Let me remind you that there is a difference in age of 4 years, 3 grade levels, and 2 school buildings between these students and myself. Wouldn't you have cringed if a high schooler walked into your class in middle school?

Throughout the building the Speech and Drama class was writing plays in groups taking over their room and the hallway while 8th graders were practicing their job interview skills with our district Superintendent, the Executive Director of the Iowa Board of Educational Examiners, and the Director of the Department of Education in the lunchroom. It was hard to think that that morning they had a BMX bike show come as a prize from the Fall fundraiser.

Now, we come to the post-seniors, the one that are so thankful that over 12 years of school are over and they get to enter the "real world" now. Even as a sophomore I'm guilty of this as I opened the post with "what a great day of skipping school". :)

But I question...

• Will these same students in elementary and middle school think the same thing when they become high schoolers?
• Is all the work I just described not a part of the "real world"?
• Where does this gap between love and hate of school happen?
• Where did the fun in learning go?
• Why did learning become separated from the real world as students got closer to entering into it? 

Education has changed so much in the past four years I've followed it from when I entered middle school to today. Not only has it changed within my district but in the state, country, and world; no matter what people may say. The real world is only a stones throw away and our students are already yearning and reaching for it if we haven't already opened up the classroom door and told them to go find it.

You Matter: Own It, Embrace It, Share It

This past week, being only 2.5 days of school, has been one of the most inspiring of the entire school
year. Not because of the constant snow days or double the amount of sleep, but because of the transformed atmosphere within the building. Created by and for students, over 1,500 inspirational messages were masterminded and plastered onto every locker in the school in one day. I spear headed a similar project last year [video below] done with merely 700 signs and two months of prep work at a junior high
building within the district but putting quantities aside, each project has had the same effect. Each project has brightened someones mood, averted a mind from negative thoughts even if just for a second, and I don't think anyone would argue that they dislike the messages seen across campus. This is the most organic, passionate, and selfless work I have witnessed from high school students. Keep on keeping on because everyone should know and share that they truly matter. Trust me, it's an amazing feeling.

Consider...

Consider....

1. Teachers learn to teach the same way.
2. Students perform and learn in different ways naturally.
3. Where did these two get mixed and lost?

Dogs are individuals and different beings. We get it. Then why does our education system not treat our own students like this?! Our work and life are self-paced and "real" but our schools that lead us up to that point are not "real".

All the dogs and your students do have one thing in common: they all had guidance from their instructor. As a teacher, you have the power to change. I urge you to do so because we have a serious epidemic to solve here.

*This video is creative commons licensed, so please, use it to your needs in spreading the word!*

Top 10 Reasons that GPA's Suck

Though not endorsed by David Letterman, grade point averages do suck (really).

10. It shouldn't matter what number you or everyone else is. It's all a part of your own personal growth.

9. Someone who was not great at a required selective course is seen as a bad student even though they are excelling in every other class.

8. Assessments don't always know what I know.

7. Numbers are passionless. People aren't.

6.  Inaccurate until the semester ends. Feedback twice a year doesn't help continuous learning.

5. It should be considered a form of bullying by unfairly comparing students to one another.

4. It's completely irrelevant when left standing by itself. What does it represent: A sneaky cheater, a well behaved studier, or a 5 minute study crammer? It's an assessment taking score, not one of learning.

3. It takes the natural learning out of school. If it truly matters, you will know. A number won't.

2. Where is the data to even back up this number? Stored in more numbers ranging from 0-100%?

1. "It's not the number that matters, but what got you there" -Angela Maiers.

A Kind Word is Never Wasted

Last night I pondered upon this post that absolutely outraged me. After a night of sleeping it off it still bothers me but I am going to view it as a teachable moment.

Why would you post something negative about another person online?* Yes, you did not tag him in your post but that does not make it okay. How many people have now seen this and think differently of you? It's not cool and it never will be. Businesses will not hire you for treating others like that. Do you realize the real influence your voice has in person and online? It is not just your life being affected here either, think of the kid you are making fun of. Your stupidity has a much more serious effect on him. Think of the humiliation he felt when people commented about this event to him in person and now, you have the nerve to post it online and keep the situation going!? Of all people, a school ambassador, representing more than yourself, posted this online to torment someone forever. Is it not bad enough this student is teased and ignored everyday in person? I'm not sure about you but I do not take this lightly. I know how it feels and no one else should have to also.


The next time this situation comes up, view it as a teaching moment with your students. Don't ban or block it, teach them appropriate use. I could not be the bystander in this situation. Make sure they understand the true power of their words and the influential power everyone of us holds so dearly. Our world will get nowhere with the attitude, actions and consequences of bullying one another. Choose to care and choose to matter about yourself and others.

*And No, Facebook is NOT fair game. It's online and will be kept forever.

Cycles in Assessments

In speech we finished up the communication model of a message being sent, received, feedback given, cycle goes on and repeats. Everything is a cycle, right? A day does not go by that we don't communicate or do anything besides a cycle. Life in general is a cycle. Work is a cycle. School is a cycle, even though it shouldn't be. But we can bust out of cycles, right? We can break habits and routines and the society we have to conform into. After talking with Angela Maiers last week I started to question. I don't think on the spot, I need time to ponder most everything. Here's what I came up with:

Is a process and a product different than a cycle?

• I see a definitive difference between the two. A process and a product is thought of as a static unchanging occurrence  They are extremely similar in the fact that you have to put in work during the process to get a product and outcome you like. A cycle is viewed as taking it a step higher and taking that process and product and doing it again. Tweaking and changing it, but in essence doing the same thing again justifying it as a dynamic occurrence. 
• Example: A student taking notes, participating in activities, and studying to get the outcome they would like of passing the assessment. If they are satisfied, is it done and over? Move on. If they did not get what they wanted it could be retaken and reassessed making it a cycle.

Was the process different than the product? Which was more important?

• This is tough. In every instance there is a process and product as a result of it. Quality of the product is dependent on the process. But what if the process is more important? A student can demonstrate their critical thinking skills amazingly but the essay they wrote was not typed or well written. It had grammatical, spelling, and organizational issues. Is it still a good piece? What part matters most: the thought process or the end result? Too often I feel like the end result is being looked at too heavily. As the famous saying goes, it's the thought that counts.

Is there a point where you can stop and call it good enough?

• Even in a cycle there must be a product generated at some point. It may just be revised numerous times. But now the question comes back to the definition of a cycle? No where is it stated that a cycle can stop. If it is not done regularly it is not a cycle. It could be referring to the overarching idea of reassessing work until an end point is reached where all parties, teacher, student, parent, are satisfied. 
• Going back to my example of the student being assessed from question number one, how do you know when you reach this magic end point? Is it when they get an A+ on a multiple choice assessment? They most likely did not reach the highest level of understanding and certainly did not demonstrate it in that form. 

Angela stated plain and simple that "It's not about the number [product] that matters but what got you there [process]". Though this was referencing clout scores and online digital footprints it can be applied in every situation. That is where reflection comes in, to think about your thinking and the process behind where you are.

Summing up this debate with myself we can conclude that:

• cycles have a process and generate a product
• Often the thinking and skills used in the process can be poorly represented or poorly assessed in the product.
• Cycles are more of an overarching term of a repeating revision in the process and product.

Instead of leaving questions unanswered at the end of the post I am trying a new format of answering them during the post. Pretty smart, huh? ;) I would love to discuss and hear what parts of your thinking were pushed farther from my intense questioning whether it be in the comments or on Twitter. Game on.

"45 Lessons Life Taught Me"

My principal, Mrs. Murphy-Tiernan, shared these recently with the staff who felt it was important to pass onto their students. They are 45 life lessons written by Regina Brett, 90 years old, from Cleveland Ohio. Here's how they go....

"To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolled over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

3. Life is too short – enjoy it.

4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and family will.

5. Don't buy stuff you don't need.

6. You don't have to win every argument. Stay true to yourself.

7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.

8. It's OK to get angry with yourself. You can take it.

9. Save for things that matter.

10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.

12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.

13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.

15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye.

16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful. Clutter weighs you down in many ways.

18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.

19. It's never too late to be happy. But it’s all up to you and no one else.

20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.

21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

22. Over prepare, then go with the flow..

23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.

24. The most important sex organ is the brain.

25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.

26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'

27. Always choose life.

28. Forgive but don’t forget.

29.. What other people think of you is none of your business.

30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

33. Believe in miracles.

34. People love you because of who you are, not because of anything you did or didn't do.

35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.

36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.

37. Your children get only one childhood.

38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.

39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.

40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.

41. Envy is a waste of time. Accept what you already have not what you need.

42. The best is yet to come ...

43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.

44. Yield.

45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."

Number 27 Is my personal favorite. It really hits home being a teenager where people tend to question their self worth. Just remember, you matter. 

What are your life morals? What is your legacy? How do you survive the hour/day/week? 

The Importance of a Goldfish

Tonight I volunteered at the Waukee Public Library booth at the first Maple Grove Elementary Parent University. I was the official “Handy Hippo Helper” (how about that for a properly alliterated title) that got the privilege of decorating bookmarks and applying tattoos. Tattoos are temporary but the joy and connections I made cannot be scrubbed away.

I got to work with the kids during story time and helped with assembling their craft for the program. A couple recognized me and dubbed me as “the tattoo guy” and showed me that they were still on their hand where I put them. I offered help and many accepted it. One kid blatantly told the storyteller that he worked better by himself and sat himself away from the others. He didn’t need my help. I admire him for knowing what works for him and adjusting it to work that way.

Crafts are creative and interpreted differently by everyone. One table represented the drastic differences that arts and crafts have from one another.

“Can I put a goldfish on my snowman?” Erik was asked.

Note that this did not start out as an edible craft though some were persistent on making it one.

“That would be AWESOME!” bellowed Erik right back.

From that point they made a hipster snowman with sunglasses, a spider with many eyes and legs, and numerous gold fish cracker covered snowman.

I noticed one boy was attempting to glue one goldfish to another.

“That won’t work. You need to glue them to the felt.” I discouraged.

I dismissed it and ubiquitously floated to another table group. He found me later and was very excited to prove me wrong and show off his proud work of two goldfish stuck together without being smashed.

At that point I realized how much I was being looked up to for guidance and shunned for the unenthusiasm of his creative work. I was whom they were looking to for help. I was his negative motivator that led him to try again and do what he was trying to achieve. I was the person who would impact these kids’ lives today. I was the image of who they admire to become one day. That last one seems to be pushing it a little but I still remember the event when I was in first grade and the fourth graders wrote a story with us about something with PJ’s. I still have that memory. I recall how my “buddy” was irritated in being forced to work with younger kids. I just hope that wasn’t me tonight. Unlike the temporary tattoos I applied earlier, the guidance and connections I provided will never be washed away.

How do you impact others everyday? How does your unintentional communication represent you? How do you make a difference? Your Story Matters.

A Difference, A Change, A Legacy

A difference. A change. A legacy. Do we think about how these impact others or do we focus on on the betterment of ourselves? Our lives. Everything that happens (or is happening) leaves behind a difference, a change, a legacy. How do we define a legacy? How do we know if we've left a change? And for that matter, if it was a good change? How do we measure our difference?

I find myself just going through the motions of daily life, doing what I'm instructed to do. Not thinking, not reflecting, not becoming enthusiastic by anything that I'm doing. About the change, difference, and legacy I'm leaving. Becoming frustrated with having discussions that are only able to last 15 minutes during advisory when we could spend all day and still not be done. Overwhelming myself with trying to be a perfect person and enjoying the rare people that realize I'm not. I was digging myself a hole until I realized something yesterday.

Nothing is considered important to me until I make it important.

People may say that personal standards, mission statements, and beliefs is what makes you yourself. But only if we make it matter to us. I was chugging along at incredible speed, doing more than I ever thought I would in one year. I would attempt to make it matter by stopping, relaxing, then thinking, "What matters to me? What do I want to do next?" only to continue on to doing what I needed to do next. Even into this summer I was still doing more than I'd expected. I was still chugging along, in the middle of July. What type of kid does that? Yesterday I decided that it was time to stop and be selfish. I was going to use the rest of my summer for me. Reminded by Kristina Peters that it was great to put pen to paper and write. I told myself I was going to write anything I wanted so long as it wasn't social studies notes, english essays, math homework, or science labs. I hadn't written anything since then. I was going to stop going and start writing.

Last night I wrote down this reflection of what I consider my first world problems and that night I slept the best I could ever remember. Not laying awake for hours thinking about what I needed to do, wanted to do, or what I'd done. My plan is to get my sanity back by transforming the #365views project into a daily writing project. Writing something of my own everyday. Whether it's on sticky notes, lined paper, or published on this blog I consider it to all be writing. I'm going to put pen to paper, become enthused, and reflect upon my difference, my change, and my legacy.

The Perpetually Shining Stairwell - A Memoir

The stairs were purple. They had plastic covers with rigid lines along the edge to prevent slipping and sliding falls. The carpet had blue and purple dots in it that turned a dark maroon red when science experiments were clumsily spilled by overexcited. The stairwell was musty and full of moisture until the cooks filled it with the fumes of processed chicken and stale hamburgers. The stucco walls glistened with paint, but had the texture of adobe. The 1930’s graduates on the walls always sent shivers down my spine. Drawing me into a trance, daring me to look at them until you heard the grumpy old lady ask, “Where are you supposed to be right now young man?” and continued walking. The stairwell was always either empty or full, but never anything in between.

* * * *

Open House Night should be old news by now-- we do it every year. Believe it or not, it was enjoyable to go to school for about the first month. Students got to talk about everything you did that summer, meet your friends from last year again, and show off your new shoes and sparkling school supplies. While everyone else was doing that, I was in the stairwell looking at pictures. Anyone may have thought, “That’s Ian, observant little guy,” acting like they knew what they were talking about. Teachers were constantly trying to find where to put me. I’d get moved from group to group or get special projects to work on when, all I really wanted was to fit in with everyone else. That’s when I heard the thump, creek, thump, creek up the stairs. It sounded like a ghost creeping its way back upstairs to the closet where the rumor mill said it lived. Once a week it would come out from its dormant sleep and scare some lonesome soul in the bathroom, hallway, or stairs. It especially liked to possess lights in the stairwell. From the platform below you could hear a deep, gurgling voice bellow, “I hobbled all the way through the building, looking for one...” The hanging light above me flickered and I scuttered over to stand under the other light. The voice continued, “...only to figure out that I needed to go up to the 3rd floor...” My heart skipped a beat and I about peed my pants; this was the ghost.

I looked at the pictures on the wall trying to act like I didn’t hear whatever this thing was. It must have been obvious that I had heard it talking, because this overweight man apologized to me as he waddled past. The puny kid next to him was shaking, scared to death while he fiddled with his crutches. They continued their journey to the third floor.

* * * *

It was one of the only things I’d ever lost. Normally, I never lost anything. I needed to admit that I did though, as this was an extremely important piece of paper.

I feebly walked up to her desk and managed to stutter. “I...I... lost my paper. Do you...um.... have another?”

“What paper was it?” she questioned intently.

“The...umm...science...rubric,” I stammered.

“Stay after school for a sec and I’ll run and grab it off the printer,” she cheerfully announced.

Now everyone knows that I lost something, there goes that record, I thought as I walked back to my desk. The day went by and the bell sang its song to let everyone else out of the building. I put away my pencil, eraser, folder, and book and sauntered my way to the hall, but made the mistake of peering down the stairs before getting my backpack. There was a howling from the floors below that echoed its way up the stairs. “Why don’t we get a brand new building?” I murmured to myself. Then a creak, bang, and a howl, the exact noises that ghosts make. I forgot about my grouching and ran to snatch my backpack off of its hook, not even caring to close the locker door behind me. In the room I started to organize the crayon bin, putting them all point forward in neat, little 12x6 rows in the tub. I was still panting, watching the doorway and wondering if the stairwell had swallowed her. It’s known to do that from time to time. I was really getting worried as I finished sharpening the colored pencils when she came back in, saw me, and burst out laughing. “Here’s your printing, bud!” She choked on the words while still having a laugh attack. For the rest of the year, and to this day, I stay after school to help everyone. What a great thing that pain stricken, old printer caused.

* * * *

Being the lonesome kid that was shy and afraid of the world was not an admirable thing to be for a social life. All the boys were busy acting like two-year-olds, yelling and screaming over one missed shot during basketball at recess. All the girls were checking their hair, constantly putting on lipstick and gossipping about the way everyone tied their shoes. I was in my own little world, not consumed by sports and rambunctiousness nor appearance and judging people. My priority list was to be sophisticated, not stand out too much, and get out of elementary. It was arduous fitting in with a group, so I went with the girls because they had some time in between beauty checks where they played tag or just talked. Sara, Chandler, and Brandy were the three most accepting of them. We’d all swing in a row, playing marriage until one of us slowed down and divorced our swing partner. Sara and Chandler stayed after school and checked papers with Mrs. Netten while I reorganized the room. They skipped Live Y’ers to help after school, and I don’t think they missed it too much. The daycare group ate a snack, took attendance, and then let you play games in the cafeteria until your parents came. I always wanted to be a Live Y’ers kid. I don’t want to point fingers, but Brandy was the one that usually caused all the drama. She was the one that started the childish “I’m not your friend anymore” battles with Chandler, because Chandler played with Sara and me at recess instead of her.

Walking up the stairwell from recess one day Brandy was taking off her gloves and holding onto the handrail at the same time when she managed to “hurt herself” and needed a band-aid. Mrs. Netten understood that in third grade culture, band-aids were a sign of honor and awe. Mrs. Netten never refused a kid a Band-aid, even if they were just trying to spruce up the most boring of days.

* * * *

The worn out scraping of shoes down the stairwell. Exuberant screams from children playing “Ghostbusters” in the gym. The repetitive marching back up the seven stairs to be re-connected with the rest of the school building. Gray brick walls. Red carpet spotted with darker shades from water infested ceiling tiles taking over the building. I couldn't stand it anymore.

He drove me crazy. It was February and he had figured out all the things that made me tick: unstraight stacking, mismatched colors, incorrect answers, and making me look stupid. I swear if he does it one more time I will freak. People say that all too often and it never happens, but at that moment he did it one more time. He did it. He stepped on me one more time. This fell under the category of making me look stupid. I couldn’t believe that he really did it. I was supposed to be the respectful line-leader, but I freaked. I yelled at him with all the rage filling my little 3rd grade body. “I’m tired of this! Stop it now!” That six seconds, those six words, seemed like an eternity. He just stared at me, looking straight into my eyes. Everyone was staring straight through him watching me, enticed by this kid who never said a word but had just flipped out. Great, I thought. Just great. I really just did that, and now everyone thinks that I’m stupid, mentally unstable, and have anger issues. These things happened all the time -- we were the lower class elementary. But this incident was an exception. It was me who did it. Everyone walked so silently and solemnly back up the stairwell. I was trying my best to act normal when I noticed that he had snuck to the back of the line. He gave up his assistant line-leader spot, I thought. Something is definitely wrong. That’s when it hit me square in the head, as if the ghost had flown out of the pictures and bumped into me floating down the stairs. Our guidance counselor had always recited to us, “Bullying hurts people. Your actions aren’t only impacting you. Hurting people on the inside is much worse than on the outside.” Guidance counselors couldn’t teach me, I had to. This incident snapped me out of my little world. Ianville was burning down rapidly inside my head. Other people really do have feelings and those feelings matter just as much as mine. Other people are bullied and teased. It’s not just me. I did something so significant to him that he gave up his line-leader spot and nobody asked what was wrong, not even Brandy.

* * * *

The assembly gave everyone a joyful ending to the school year. It was hotter inside than it was outside with 800 kids packed into a so-called gym that has no air conditioning. I never really understood how a kid hadn’t died of a heat-stroke in there. The floor echoed in the small gray gym as the rest of the kids filed in. Mrs. Cronk, our music teacher, led us in singing while Mr. Nemitz, the principal, strode to the center of the gym, surrounded by kindergarten kids trying to give him high-fives. “It has been a great year here at Waukee Elementary and we have lots to be thankful for; the students, the staff, the learning that’s still happening. Most importantly at this point in time is our wonderful, movie-making, computer teacher, Mrs. Doud!” Mr. Nemitz boomed over the raspy speakers dangling on the wall. Mrs. Doud started the slide show and music and the crowd went nuts when they turned off all the lights. There were pictures of kids posing, playing, and presenting from all year long. I sighed, relieved that no one had managed to snap a picture of me. I thought of the three friends I made, the mistakes I learned from and the lessons that changed my life. People laughed and giggled as they looked around at their friends when they saw a picture of them. Instead of staring into the past, I peered into the future. Going back to that stairwell after third grade, the sun shone brightly through two windows into a previously perpetually darkened stairwell.