As the New Year approaches, every teacher intends to excel and every student hopes to get a “good teacher,” but how will either know if they are successful? This depends upon what is meant by “good teaching,” and that in turn depends on what one means by “teaching.”
Too often, of course, teaching is taken to mean telling; that is, explaining things, and perhaps demonstrating them, so as to impart one’s own knowledge and skill to others. This is, indeed, an important aspect of teaching, but it is entirely insufficient as a description of the act. It is hard to succeed at teaching if you can’t explain things clearly, but it is very easy to fail if that is the sum total of your skill and the extent of your understanding of the process.
Teaching is a form of communication and communication, as is often said, occurs in the listener. What is perceived is what has been communicated, not what was said. A good communicator must be not only eloquent but also able to connect with the audience and to express things in ways that its members will understand and to which they can relate. Similarly, a good teacher needs not only to understand the subject matter being taught but also to connect with students so as to elicit within them a similar understanding and appreciation. A good orator can be a poor communicator and a good lecturer can be a poor teacher; in both cases their success depends on audience response, not simply their own skill.
This is what makes teaching an Art as well as a Science. It is student response that determines if you are successful, and that response is beyond your control. So, a teacher is responsible for student learning, but s/he has no direct control over it. Teaching consists of persistent invitation, provocation, scaffolding, reinforcement, redirection and extension to elicit a desired response that is entirely controlled and determined by the student. To make things even more complex, each student is unique and thus will respond differently.
This is why there is no such thing as “best practice.” What is best depends upon the student and the situation. No universals exist. A teacher must select from amongst practices that have been shown to be effective those that seem most likely to succeed in a particular context with particular students, but there is no guarantee they will work as intended. Thus, teaching is an iterative process of trial and error, guided by careful observation of student response (aka formative assessment). The teacher adapts instructional technique depending upon student response until the desired responses are achieved. When that happens, teaching has occurred. Until that happens, no matter how skillful and dedicated the teacher, and no matter how sincere and committed the effort, there can be no claim to have taught. Instruction may have been given, but there is no teaching until there is learning.
And what is the desired response? Ultimately, of course, it is demonstration of learning, but before that occurs there must be engagement—not just diligent compliance with assigned tasks but genuine thinking that arises from an intellectual and emotional commitment to learning. A flame must be lit. When that happens, deep learning inevitably results and “good teaching” can be said to have occurred. Without it, not so much.
In my next blog I will consider what student responses lead to engagement and in the one following that I will look at the professional expertise that teachers bring to bear in order to evoke those responses.
Research in the area of assessment for learning – formative assessment plus the deep involvement of students in the assessment process – is not only broad and deep, it is also overwhelmingly positive in terms of its impact on student learning and achievement.[1]
When teachers use classroom assessment in support of learning, they find out what students know, are able to do, and can articulate. As they consider that evidence in relation to curricular standards and expectations, they plan learning experiences to help students close the gap. Going one step further by involving students in assessment increases their learning.
Assessment for learning is what teachers do during the learning. Teachers involve students in assessment by sharing clear learning destinations, using samples to help students understand quality and development, and involving students in co-constructing criteria and in self and peer assessment. They also involve students in collecting evidence of learning and communicating evidence of that learning to others.
Assessment for learning also contributes to engagement and ownership; it supports students to learn to be self-regulating – that is, to self-monitor their way to success. And yet, in spite of the power of assessment for learning, there continues to be discourse at all levels about whether or not quality classroom assessment – especially assessment for learning – can be successfully implemented. Much work has been done and successes documented classroom by classroom,[2] yet wide-scale successful implementation has not been achieved. Why might this be?
We have heard educators say that in order to achieve quality classroom assessment, various things would have to change: class sizes would need to be smaller, traditional report cards would need to be abolished, curricular expectations would have to be reduced, popular opinion would need to shift. At times, these barriers seem insurmountable. And yet, across this country and elsewhere, quality classroom assessment is firmly in place, even in the most difficult and challenging teaching and learning environments. We believe we are on our way to what Malcolm Gladwell would call “the tipping point.” The current situation in Canada is captured by these words: “At first they said it couldn’t be done, but some were doing it. Then they said it could only be done by a special few, but more were doing it. And then they said, ‘Why would you do it any other way?’”[3]
Over the past 20 years in our work with schools and systems in Canada, the U.S., New Zealand, Norway, Singapore, and elsewhere, we have often demonstrated the process of engaging learners in assessment. This, along with teacher accounts and classroom footage of diverse students of all ages using assessment in the service of learning, helps others understand “the spirit as well as the letter” of assessment for learning in action. The following accounts are examples of this work from a primary classroom, a secondary mathematics course, and the adult learner perspective.
Grade 2: what makes good writing?
It was early October and a class of Grade 2 students were ready to explore what counted in a great piece of writing. Along with their teacher, Sandy, we looked for samples of student writing that would illustrate excellence at this level. We wrote the samples on large pieces of chart paper and began by putting one up on the board and reading it through to the students. We did not ask what the writing was about. Instead we asked, “What makes this a good piece of Grade 2 writing for this time of the year?”
We asked students to talk with a partner and write down one thought. We walked around and listened and when we heard a pair state, “The kid used interesting words,” we invited the class to listen to what their friends were saying. We wrote that idea onto a large strip of paper. We continued to eavesdrop on the conversations until we heard, “We can read the story because it is neat.” Again, the class stopped to hear this idea and we wrote that second idea on another strip of paper. We could now both see and hear that many of the students understood that what we were asking them to think and talk about was from the “balcony view.”
After sharing two other samples, we had several ideas written on strips of paper; they were generated mostly from the students, though a few had been suggested by Sandy. Students were now given a strip of paper with a single response to that initial question. They read their strip over and over to themselves and then took a partner to the samples, which had been placed on the classroom floor. Their job was to show their partner where the idea that was on their strip of paper was evidenced in one of the three samples. We stood close by, to support and encourage. Students traded strips of paper and we repeated this step several times.
It was now time to sort their ideas. We placed all of the strips on the floor and as adults, we found two strips that we thought could be grouped together and put them on the floor at the back of the classroom. We found another two strips that we thought were similar and put them on the floor at the front of the classroom. We did that one more time and placed those two strips underneath the window. However, there were several more strips left and so we modeled what would happen next. We picked up one of the remaining strips and we walked from group to group to group, discussing whether it belonged here or here or here. Once we had made a decision, we placed it with that group and invited the students to do the same with a partner of their choice. The movement, talking, and negotiation provided evidence that the students were engaged and thinking in order to work things out.
Once we had all of the strips placed in one of the three groups, we talked about what would be a good “title” or criterion for each of the groups. Here is what those grade two students came up with:
To finish the lesson, another sample – this time written on a sheet of paper – was given to each student. With a partner, the task was to find one example in that final sample that corresponded to a strip that was under each of the three categories. They needed to underline evidence of that detail from the first group with a green crayon, the second with an orange crayon, and the third with a blue crayon. The students were analyzing, comparing, and contrasting in order to further construct their understanding of what constitutes good writing.
This process of co-constructing criteria, that is uncovering together what quality looks like, is one that is being used with all learners, regardless of age or subject matter. And yet, over and over again, we hear that this type of process makes sense only with younger students. So let’s take a look at an account from secondary school.
Grade 12: pre-calculus
A cluster of outcomes in the Grade 12 pre-calculus curriculum deals with students’ ability to make connections between the concepts studied, other mathematics and the “real world.” This is an area of learning that is typically included in the provincial examination at the end of the semester.
Marty, a high school Mathematics teacher, had noticed that his students were consistently struggling to demonstrate proficiency in this particular area. It was at this time that we were invited into the school to do demonstration lessons. Our work was to highlight several processes that involve students in their own assessment and build their capacity to “figure out” what is expected of them.[4]
Marty shared with me five anonymous examples of student work that demonstrated a high level of quality. The students had done some initial work in this area, but not much instructional time had yet been devoted to a deep understanding of these concepts.
With a partner, students looked at two samples. They knew that their teacher considered these samples to be thorough and complete. Their task was to respond to this question: What is important when we are reflecting and making connections? As we circulated and talked with the students, we realized that they had not listed many ideas.
We, therefore, gave them another two samples. Now they had four examples in which to find common aspects that could help them respond to the question. Many ideas were written down; their lists were getting longer and longer.
In groups of six, students examined their lists and discarded duplicate responses. The ones that remained were written on large strips of paper – one idea per strip. Desks were pushed aside and the 30-plus strips were placed on the floor. Marty reviewed all the strips and added additional ideas that were not yet represented. In truth, he contributed only a few. We were now ready to sort.
We selected two strips that were similar and placed them on the floor in one corner of the room, and repeated this two more times to make three distinct groups. Now the students, working in pairs, sorted the strips into the three groups.
We then divided the class into three large groups. Each group looked through one of the piles of strips and identified a “title” or a “big idea” to best represent the concept that was held in common across all the ideas. This categorization helped us to name the criteria. And so we now had three criteria to answer the original question, “What is important when we are reflecting and making connections?”:
There was one last sample that had been held back and was now shared with students. As they looked through that sample with their partner, their task was to assess it. The students were asked to indicate where they saw evidence of each of the three criteria; one they underlined, one they circled, and one they placed a box around. As they matched the criteria to this fifth sample, they not only deepened their understanding of what was expected of them, but also practiced what it meant to engage in self or peer assessment in relation to criteria.
From then on, whenever students turned in work related to the criteria they had co-constructed, they marked up their paper. Do not misunderstand: They did not assign a grade to their work or provide themselves with evaluative feedback such as a rubric score. Rather, they provided evidence to the teacher that they had considered and incorporated into their work the evidence that was co-constructed that day. Their markup included the underlines, the circles, and the boxes to match their responses to the criteria – the very criteria that placed what was expected of them into a practical and usable framework. It could be referred to time and time again.
In both of these classes, the process engaged students to “figure it out” and to be partners in the assessment process. The samples helped them to better understand what was expected of them; co-constructing criteria allowed the students to describe in specific and descriptive terms a high level of quality; matching criteria to additional samples and their own work gave the opportunity to provide feedback. This type of feedback was not a statement of value or judgment, but was explicitly related to the earlier description of quality.
A leadership perspective
Leaders need to understand what quality assessment looks like, what can be done to support teachers, and how to use assessment in the service of learning in their own work as leaders. We have learned that successful implementation of assessment in support of learning occurs when students, teachers, school leaders, and system leaders are all involved and all engaged in using assessment to support learning – both their own learning and the learning of those around them.[5]
Consider this: Twelve educators formed their own professional learning community to learn more about student engagement. They came to the conversation from across multiple grade levels, disciplines, roles, and schools. They had a sense of what they wanted to learn and talk about, but they were unsure as to how they might get there. We were invited into their circle. After listening to their initial conversations, we posed a question: “So for you, what is important in a professional learning community?”
Much has been written in this regard, but we intended to surface the thinking of each individual, in order to inform the group. Each teacher thought about responses to the question, and using a similar process to the one outlined in the Grade 12 example, we worked to build a deeper sense of understanding and expectation. This time, the teachers wrote their ideas on sticky notes. After only a few minutes, there were well over 40 sticky notes in a pile in the centre of the table. After this initial brainstorming, we looked over the ideas to determine what groups made sense. We sorted according to that thinking and then identified each group, creating the following criteria:
At subsequent meetings, the group used the criteria in one or both of the following ways:
Again, this process included the hallmarks of practice that engaged learners to be partners in the assessment process:
A teacher of Grade 12 English told us: “I am getting work now that I wouldn’t normally get until semester turn-around. This process works. I am saving so much time.”
Next steps
Ask yourself: Could you do this with your learners? If not, why not? In our work we have co-constructed criteria with trustees, parents, students in graduate programs, and our youngest learners who are four years old.
It is transformative on many levels. It does not require smaller classes. It does not require special circumstances. It does not require extra time – in fact, it increases the amount of time available. A teacher of Grade 12 English who co-constructed criteria with his students said to us, “I am getting work now that I wouldn’t normally get until semester turn-around. This process works. I am saving so much time. You were right. I’m not buried in clerical marking anymore.”
To guide your own next steps, whether you are a classroom teacher or a leader, ask yourself the following three questions:
When we use assessment in the service of learning, we provide our learners with a picture of quality. Together we build a common language of assessment. We can then self-monitor our way to success. Instead of telling learners what is important, what needs to be done or what “should” be happening, students, teachers and school leaders can be all involved and all engaged in using assessment to support learning.
First published in Education Canada, June 2013
EN BREF – De vastes recherches portant sur l’évaluation pour l’apprentissage effectuée en classe – contexte dans lequel les élèves sont très engagés dans le processus de l’évaluation formative – démontrent des résultats nettement positifs sur le plan de son impact sur l’apprentissage et la réussite des élèves.
Qu’il s’agisse de la deuxième année, de la dernière année du secondaire ou d’un groupe d’éducateurs, nous savons que lorsque nous mettons l’évaluation au service de l’apprentissage, nous transmettons aux apprenants une image de qualité. Nous bâtissons ensemble un langage commun d’évaluation. Les apprenants peuvent ensuite s’auto-encadrer en vue de réussir. Au lieu de dire aux apprenants ce qui est important ou ce qui « devrait » se passer, nous avons appris qu’une évaluation de qualité en classe qui soutient l’apprentissage se produit lorsque les élèves, le personnel enseignant, la direction d’école et les dirigeants scolaires se consacrent tous activement à utiliser l’évaluation pour appuyer leurs propres apprentissages – et les apprentissages de leur entourage.
Teaching at a school for unmarried mothers had its challenges. Back in the 1980s, I taught at Terra, an inner-city Edmonton school. Four teachers and four social workers served 15 young women aged 12 to 19 years. All were pregnant or had given birth within the past year. While their babies stayed in the nursery downstairs, the young women pursued their education.
As you can imagine, our students were inevitably distracted from their studies by their circumstances. Many had learning disabilities or post-traumatic stress disorder. All faced major social, emotional, financial and academic challenges. Attendance was sporadic, despite a small cash incentive.
As part of the Social Studies lesson one day, I asked the students to write an essay about what it means to be Canadian. We discussed the topic, watched a short video, and read some articles about the subject. They started to write a rough draft during class and were to complete it for homework.
At the beginning of the next class, I asked to see the rough drafts. One student had written a couple of sentences. The others showed me only blank paper. Understandably, these very young women had difficulty completing homework when they were also responsible for raising a child. So, together in class, we developed a rough outline for an essay. Then they began working in pairs to write them.
I moved from desk to desk, helping, prompting, asking questions. Two young women were talking together intently, but they stopped as I neared their table. “Are you staying on topic?” I asked somewhat sternly. The teenagers sighed and tried to get back to the task. As one girl pulled out her Social Studies notes, a few sheets of paper slipped out and fell to the floor.
Single-spaced writing covered all four pages. Paragraphs, sentences, punctuation . . . a complete essay appeared to be all there. But in an instant, it was gone again. The owner blushingly buried the pages in her binder with a mumbled, “That’s not school work.”
My curiosity got the best of me, so I invited Belinda [1] to stay after class and chat for a few minutes. “You didn’t write a single line for the homework assignment,” I said. “But it looks like you are capable of writing a complete essay. May I ask what you were writing about?”
Belinda looked up at me with large blue eyes full of pain. “I was writing to the father of my baby,” she explained.
I did most of the listening, as Belinda and I had a long talk. She loved her boyfriend despite his vicious temper. She was heartbroken when he abandoned her with no thought of their unborn child. Now that the baby was a few months old, Belinda wanted her little boy to know his dad. What could she say that would soften his heart? In her letter, she had poured out her soul.
As I listened to Belinda’s story, a fundamental principle of student engagement began to sink in. Simply put, even struggling students can and will write about a topic that is of vital interest to them. They will meet real-life challenges with all the energy and academic rigor they can muster. My real role as a teacher was to find a way to tap into that passion; in this way, their writing would become authentic.
I realized that my challenge in teaching Social Studies to these young women was to inspire them to become vitally interested in the topic of “being Canadian,” so they could write from the heart. Then and there I resolved to tackle every assignment from the perspective of WIIFM – What’s In It For Me? I would design my assignments from the perspective of the students’ needs and interests.
For this essay, I invited the students to identify and explore sub-topics related to being Canadian. They came up with a long list, including: preserving ethnic identities, the importance of language, support for those in need, and the meaning of family in Canada. From the list, each learner chose a topic to write about. Though it took us longer, each student was ultimately successful in writing an essay that was meaningful to her. I glowed when I saw the pride they felt in their accomplishments.
The young mothers at Terra often felt like failures, and I’m not sure they know that I learned from them every day – much more, I’m sure, than they learned from me. How many more students like Belinda are sitting idly in our classrooms today, with the ability to write at length and with passion – if only we would ask what matters to them?
First published in Education Canada, June 2013
[1] Not her real name
When you have a student body that is high energy, very tactile and physical, with equally vigorous and energetic personalities, you’d better be prepared to keep up! As a Language Arts teacher at Northmount School, an independent, all-boys elementary school in North York, Ontario, I set my sites in early 2012 on enhancing the Language Arts program with something that would capture my students’ imaginations – something with an inventive element.
Some of our boys are voracious readers, taking up to seven library books out at a time – but there are others who would not be reading independently were it not mandated by the Language Arts curriculum. My students are typically not interested in the nuances of relationships or ad nauseam descriptions as found in many of the novels touted to be excellent for junior and middle school readers (Tuck Everlasting, Little Women); instead they revel in stories about action. Role-playing games, Choose Your Own Adventure books, Warhammer, and other stylized activities and books reign supreme.
Into this amalgam came the idea of a comic book club. Having been a collector since I was nine years old, I wondered if the same zeal and enjoyment for these books might still exist with today’s children. Out of a population of 93 Grade 3 to Grade 8 students, a third joined the Comic Book Club. Clearly, I had struck a vein of potential gold!
In our Language Arts program, students learn the skills of inference, prediction, summarization, making connections, and character construction and motivation, which allow them to discover the world behind the book. Fascinatingly, I discovered that many of our comic book readers were already using this skill set.
As we, in the Comic Book Club, exchanged our various Spiderman, X-Men, Superman, and Avengers books, I observed that even some very reluctant readers remained absolutely silent and thoroughly focused. I asked a number of these students questions regarding plot, character, mood, theme, and complex vocabulary, while also employing terms like antagonist and protagonist. The responses exceeded my expectations. Recently, I interviewed Joe Kilmartin of the Comic Book Lounge and Gallery. When I shared my observations of my students, he commented: “With the world becoming very media/visually literate, someone who is learning English could use the comic book, engaging a sense of prediction and revision at the same time, by following sequential design, yet being able to flip back and restore the immediate visual hit again and again.”
The students played out scenarios in their minds and with their peers, engaging the higher-capacity thinking skills of analysis, synthesis, prediction and evaluation. But there was still a missing piece in this tremendous literacy experience.
The design of a comic book was the natural end goal of this literacy initiative. Students had only been expanding on the written word and the worlds fashioned by other authors; it was time they struck out and constructed their own fantastic realms.
Comic books had fueled their imaginations and provided a basis for writing to commence. Now I needed a program that would suit both reluctant and prolific writers. The popular Internet-based programs Bit Strips and Go Animate were good starting points. They structured the students’ mindset in regards to how sequential thinking and writing looked in a more dynamic form than their comic books, but they lacked the much-needed organizational infrastructure that powers graphic novels and comics. I searched the Internet for a program that would fill this missing gap, and I found it in Dr. Michael Bitz’s Comic Book Project/Comics Go Global initiative. Created in 2001 in partnership with Columbia University and Dark Horse Comics, the program, designed as a means to bring creativity back into children’s lives, recently became its own entity within the Centre for Educational Pathways in New York City. It can be found all through the U.S., in the United Kingdom, New Zealand, Australia, and now at Northmount School, its first school in Canada!
The Comic Book Project/Comics Go Global was truly that missing piece of best practice. Each student is given a character guide that narrows the creation process, and character creation is accomplished by the use of t-charts and other diagrams. Elements of graphic organizers are used to structure and storyboard the narrative, while blocking out each of the scenes. Participants are guided by the efforts of the organizing teacher and through satellite conferences with Dr. Bitz and other global participants who edit, guide, and share their work. Students then receive a 12-page booklet, closely resembling a comic book but with a blank cover and rectangles of varying sizes on the inside pages. The students’ stories unfold through these pages. The final edit of each student’s creation will be published on the Comic Book Project’s website. This publishing component, along with the global conferencing with other students, comprises the “Comics Go Global” side of the program.
This program was a masterful addition to the series we were already using, Six Plus One Writing Traits and Spectrum Writing. Essentially, participants learn sequential planning, thinking, and writing in a cloak of imagination and inspiration. The process of scaffolding writing ideas, using vocabulary lists (comic books have a high incidence of complex words), and graphic organizers found within the aforementioned programs and in Comics Go Global proved to be invaluable. While Internet-based programs perhaps provided a spark of novelty, this program tapped into the three pillars of boys’ enthusiasm for writing and reading: relevancy, duration, and exposure. Weekly conferences via Skype to New York and with our partner class in Indiana created a constant resurgence in passion for the project. Whenever technology can be incorporated into the writing process, it accelerates the desire of students to participate. Excitement reached a fever pitch when both Global Television and the Space Channel came to cover the Comic Book Project and our Skype sessions, and broadcast our project across Canada! Ultimately, the students’ comic books will be published online for the whole world to see. Truly the three pillars of boys’ enthusiasm were satisfied, as were many curricular tenets of media literacy.
In many respects, the Comic Book Project is a summative of sorts. It combines all of the strands, proficiencies and competencies of our Language Arts program, in a format that allows students to be the architects of their own worlds. What makes it truly unique is the thought and scaffolding behind the narrative of the comic book. While the videoconferences were the crescendo of the week’s work, the story talk and idea sharing amongst the participants were truly the idea factories in motion. I witnessed collaborative efforts, peer-to-peer critique without negative emotion or reaction, and the genuine application of higher-order thinking skills – not in some teacher-led discussion and response sequence, but rather occurring in independent and unsupported student application and learning. There was also a lot of fun taking place – the smiles and sound effects said it all. Our boys really got into their stories and began proposing the typical “what-if” scenarios and humorous accounts. They enjoyed designing their first comic book cover, using exemplars from the comic book club and their own collections to guide their way. A great deal of time was spent on the covers, as they also established their antagonists and protagonists there. Once through to the main body of the book, they stopped and worked on graphic organizers, so their stories would, as Mark D., in Grade 3, said, “Be really action packed and most of all, be understandable to the whole world!” After this, the panels, rich in text, imagery, and quality of vocabulary and story, began to be unveiled. It was an awesome sight when the prolific writer consulted with the reluctant reader on how to make his book shine, and truly spectacular when the voracious reader informed the reluctant writer that he had enjoyed his work. Yes, there is still very much a sense of wonder and magic in the pages of comic books – and now its readers have learned to cast their own spells.
First published in Education Canada, June 2013
Northmount School will become the national hub for the Canadian project launch and Mr. Von Vulte will be its national representative. Beginning in September 2013, independent schools and school boards across Canada will be offered an opportunity to become involved in Comics Go Global and the Comic Book Project in Canada. Mr. Von Vulte will be conducting the Skype sessions from Toronto. For more information, contact him at: manfred.vonvulte@northmount.com
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CC photo by: horizontal integration
From my earliest years, I’ve always been known as someone who loved comedy. On days when the bookmobile came to our elementary school, I remember gravitating towards joke and riddle books before the more sought after “chapter books” that my peers were reading. In 1966, the year I was in grade two, our family received our first record player for Christmas, along with two LP’s: a Perry Como Christmas album and Bill Cosby’s “Why is There Air?”. The latter was my first experience with stand-up comedy and I remember listening to that album until it wore out. Someone was speaking my language.
By the time I entered grade eight, my love of laughter and comedy was pretty well-established and pretty well-known. In fact, my classmates—and my teacher—were all aware of the fact that, if Hurley really started to laugh, there would be no way that any work was going to get done until I stopped. The fact I could find humour in the smallest details of life actually turned into a strategy that other kids—and my teacher— would use to get out of having to do work. Get him laughing and we might miss Math!
On Sunday nights, I used to sleep with the radio under my pillow so that I could listen to the “Sunday Night Funnies” on a local rock station. An hour of stand-up comedy just before having to return to school on a Monday morning was just what the doctor ordered. To this day, my favourite radio station is a 24/7 comedy station that has started to broadcast locally. In fact, it was during yesterday’s four hour feast of stand-up during a long drive to supervise a teacher candidate that I began to think about the role that the intentional use of comedy could play in the life of our schools. What might happen if both the study and experience of comedy and laughter became part of the culture of our classrooms?
Brain science is now beginning to affirm what the folks at Reader’s Digest have sensed for many years: Laughter is a great form of medicine. We are, for example, learning that laughter can help reduce stress, boost our immune systems and help people connect. Emerging studies looking at brain activity during periods of laughter are indicating that some of the things that we find funny actually cause us to use a large portion of our brain. This could be owing to the fact that jokes, riddles and other forms of comedy are structured so that deeper cognitive connections need to be made in order to find something funny.
Consider your favourite comedy bit. We are drawn into some sort of connection with the scenario being described, it resonates with us, we’re following along and BAM—there’s a comedic turn that totally surprises us and we begin laughing. It’s more complicated than that, I’m sure, but you get the point. Good comedy is well-crafted with much of the same narrative structure as an engaging story. We are hooked by the familiarity and delighted by the twist that comes in the punchline.
Now I’m not suggesting that schools install “Now Appearing” marquees on the front lawn. Nor am I suggesting that we add Comedy to our list of curriculum responsibilities. But I am suggesting that we start to take seriously the importance of laughter and the power of comedy in the lives of our students and our teachers.
On a very basic level, more opportunities to laugh can only help to relieve the stress that often builds up in our learning environments. In my own classroom, I used to put on classic comedy tracks at various points in the day, just to lighten things up a little. I wonder what might happen if we allowed students to listen to appropriate comedy just before provincial assessment periods or final exams.
Many teachers find the use of humour in the presentation of lessons to be a wonderful tool for engagement. Hooking people with a joke or a story is a well-used strategy for public speakers.
Socially, the experience of sharing of a humourous experience together can bind groups together. People that hang out at comedy clubs know this. In fact, there may be some room here for exploring the effect that the intentional use of humour and comedy can affect social tensions that can lead to things like bullying. You may have stories of that student that surprised everyone at the annual talent show by getting up and performing a 5 minute comedy sketch that she had written.
On a deeper level, looking at the structure of comedy—the way that jokes are constructed, the way that comic stories are written—can prove to be a wonderful tool for literacy development. Comedy as text that students learn to read and write could be effective on so many levels.
As you can see, I’m just starting to explore the idea, but I think that it has more legs than we might first imagine. On so many levels, I can see the use of laughter, humour and comedy becoming much more than something that is relegated to the schoolyard.
What is your experience of laughter and comedy in your life as a student, an educator or a parent? Could we be missing an important way to connect with our students and our colleagues? What ideas do you have for integrating comedy and laughter into the life of your school? A comedy festival? A lunch hour comedy club? A comedy writing workshop?
So, these three strings walk into a classroom…
It’s not uncommon to hear those advocating for deep and resounding change in education to introduce their position by reminding us that our current way of designing, organizing and “doing” school is based on principles inspired by the industrial revolution: a time when mass production, factory-based assembly lines and a whole culture of efficiency began to replace home-based, hand-crafted and time-intensive approaches to the creation of goods. Our attempts to create a new vision for schools, and for the type of education that occurs there, are constantly bumping up against the deeply rooted assumptions and beliefs that are part of this industrial-age thinking.
But there’s another equally stubborn set of assumptions that runs alongside this industrial mindset—a set of assumptions that is currently being challenged by some of the work being done on student engagement.
Isn’t it just a little ironic that so many initiatives are emerging that seek to raise the voices of students when, in fact, schools were designed to do just the opposite.
Consider for a moment how the very familiar proverb, children should be seen and not heard has had a profound influence on the practice of schooling. From the assumption that a quiet classroom is a well-run classroom to the image of groups of students walking silently through the halls. From the requirement that students raise their hands in order to speak, to the expectation that tests and evaluations, in order to be legitimate, must be completed in silence. From the familiar warning, “Shh…the teacher’s coming!” to the admonition, “Boys and Girls, please keep your voices down!”
Isn’t it just a little ironic that so many initiatives are emerging that seek to raise the voices of students when, in fact, schools were designed to do just the opposite. Take a good look at the physical structure of school buildings, the way that students are gathered into physical spaces, the rules governing movement from place to place, the way that curriculum and programs are designed and delivered, and you’re likely to realize that there isn’t a great deal of room for the honest and authentic voices of our students. These very familiar and recognizable aspects of the school experience may have been fine for a time when the authority of the teacher was central, but they quickly become curiosities when we attempt to make room for other voices.
Yet we know that deep levels engagement are intimately connected with real and meaningful opportunities for student participation through both voice and choice. And at both local and regional levels, the valiant and innovative energies of educators are starting to capture some imaginations and inspire further action. Some are looking to redesign traditional school spaces in order to encourage and facilitate more conversation, dialogue and collaboration among students. (For some great resources on thinking about this on an “elemental” level, see the DesignShare Project: The Language of School Design).
Many educators are beginning to work with colleagues to redesign school timetables, curriculum relationships and pedagogical approaches to create more open spaces for student voice. (See this year’s Ken Spencer Award Recipient project descriptions.
On February 28th, Clarence Fisher (@glassbead), Heather Durnin (@hdurnin) and Andy Forgrave (@aforgrave) had the courage and ingenuity to begin the Hive105, and internet-based radio station that has as a mission and vision to provide students with a motivating opportunity to develop comfort sharing their voices
And on May 13, 2013, Canadian educator Darren Kuropatwa (@dkuropatwa) tweeted from a student led unconference held at the Winnipeg Technical College.
All of this is hopeful, inspirational forward-thinking and inspirational. It really is! It is, however, just the beginning. Despite what we know about school design I would venture to suggest that most new schools are still erected using the same basic architectural blueprint that has been used for the many years, without being informed by current learning research or serious consultation with educators, students and the community. (I would be very happy to be proven wrong on this. Despite what we know about the effect that powerful conversation can have on learning, schools that I visit are still pretty quiet places—still a definite division between indoor and outdoor voices!
I’m thinking that the way many of us think about school is still very much influenced by the snippet of wisdom: children should be seen and not heard.
So two different items to place before you.
First, tell us about the initiatives in which you’ve participated (or ones that you know of) that have aimed to raise the voices of our students in meaningful and effective ways.
Second, what would you change about your school design (physical, or otherwise) that would help you to raise the voices of your students on a more authentic level.
In collecting instances of people working on the edges of school design, and imagining how that energy can become part of the way that we think about our own environments, we may be able to begin to challenge some of those assumptions that still hold us firmly grounded in our traditional practices and approaches.
As the Rehtaeh Parsons tragedy moves slowly, sadly and inevitably off the front page of the country’s newspapers, there can be little doubt that her death has had an impact beyond the massive hole it has left in the hearts of those who knew and loved her. In the fervor that immediately followed her death, politicals from Prime Ministers to Premiers took to the soap box to decry the incident. Thumping their chests soundly, they railed that more needed to be done. More by government, more by the police, and, of course, more by the schools. As a result, promises have been made, consultants have been hired, and policy will be written.
And all that effort won’t make one damn bit of difference.
This is not an issue that can be fixed by policy, or by governments, or even by schools. No, this issue can only be fixed by the kids themselves. This very sentiment was echoed last week in Toronto where experts gathered at a conference hosted by the Promoting Relationships and Eliminating Violence Network (PREVnet). According to a Canadian Press article on May 8th, the focus of the conference, the 7th of its kind to be held, was on developing tools and strategies to combat bullying. And whether it was Rehtaeh Parsons or Amanda Todd, British Columbia or Nova Scotia, speakers were of the opinion that the focus needs not be on the policies. The focus, rather, needs to be on helping kids deal with the issue and step up to confront bullying when they see it happen.
Well, last weekend, quietly and out of the limelight, I saw that exact mode of thinking validated when I attended the 41st Nova Scotia High School Drama Festival, at Dalhousie University in Halifax.
For those who may not know, this festival brings high school students and their drama teachers from all across the province to a three-day gathering to celebrate all things dramatic. During the day the kids take workshops in everything from lighting to make-up, stage combat to musical theatre. In the evenings, they have a chance to perform dramatic pieces they have written for an appreciative audience of peers. And every year it is a celebration of all the things that make drama great for kids, characterized by a buzz of positive energy that can, at times, make your hair stand on end.
This year, however, was different. This year was…well…subdued.
Oh there was excitement of course, particularly on the first day when the kids arrived in the early hours of Thursday morning to start attending classes and workshops. But as the evening rolled around it became clear that, for many of our students, the tragedy of Rehtaeh Parsons was still very raw. For show after show after show dealt with the topic of bullying and its horrific effects.
These are truly rare moments for educators, for the student production gives us a glimpse of how the world appears through the students’ eyes. It is a world that can be harsh, a world where words like “policy” have little impact, and a world where the fumbling attempts of adult interventions are often greeted with tolerant disdain. “I know you want to help, teacher, but you just don’t understand”.
You could see the kids struggling through their emotions, wrestling with their own behaviours as well as the way they have been treated by others. Trying to craft pieces on stage that would provide some hope, some glimmer of an answer as to how to stop this sort of thing from happening again. Shows performed without cameras flashing or media paparazzi looking for some kind of an angle. Shows performed without fear of recrimination or judgment. Performed in front of the most trusted of adults, and the most trusted of peers.
And it was a thing of beauty.
You see, in many cases, drama classes and clubs are filled with the outsiders, kids on the periphery. The geeks. The bullied. And they understand the pain that can be caused by an errant word or an inopportune comment. But drama also draws in the cool kids. The jocks. The beauty queens. And as their shows played out on stage, one thing became very apparent.
All the kids get it.
They don’t need a policy. They don’t need procedure. They understand the power of bullying. They have bullied. They have been bullied.
And they struggle with what to do about it.
By the final day of the festival, the kids were back to their normal “love of life” form, and the Dalhousie Arts center was abuzz with time-honoured shouts of “Kumquat!” and “I lost!”. It almost seemed as if they had, collectively, healed somewhat. None of them, I am sure, actually believed they had stomped out bullying, nor had they forgotten Rehtaeh’s death. But surrounded by caring teachers and accepting peers, they were able to, at least for a weekend, address the issue head on in a form that they have come to trust.
And I am humbled to have been a part of it.
I have a bucket list, but it’s not the one derived from the movie of the same name. No, my bucket list is a compilation of all the household chores that I’m unable to complete in a cursory manner. The things on my bucket list, generally speaking, require a bucket—as well as warm soapy water, scouring pads and a lot of elbow grease. Like many of you, these are things that, while not necessarily appealing at the moment, end up leaving us with a feeling of deep satisfaction and pride.
Late last week, inspired by weather that far exceeded my expectations and accompanied by a brand new bucket, a selection of cleaning supplies, my iPad and an afternoon beverage, I headed to the backyard to tackle one of the dirtiest jobs on my list. I know, I really should have done this late last fall, but I assured myself that I would continue to cook outside during the winter months!
I purchased a new grill last year, justifying the extra cost by making a firm (!) commitment to its maintenance and care, so this was an important task. After watching a YouTube video produced by the manufacturer, I began the task of dismantling the appliance, piece by piece, and laying it carefully out on the patio. As expected, I was initially overwhelmed by the enormity of the task ahead of me.
But as I examined the various pieces of cast iron and stainless steel that lay before me, it suddenly struck me that this wasn’t just a cleaning job but a project in restoration.
The layers of grease that had collected in the various nooks and crannies could not simply be wiped away with a damp cloth or dissolved with some caustic chemical. They needed to be loosened and scraped away—layer by layer, bit by bit. The igniter tubes could not just be dusted off. The particles of residue that can clog the fine openings in each tube required some very careful brushwork, with the appropriate tool, and in the proper direction. The stainless steel coverings and shelves couldn’t be quickly wiped down. Instead, the degreaser that I used needed some time to work before being shone back to their original lustre.
Whether we’re talking about an outdoor grill, a piece of antique furniture, a system or a human life, restoration is something that takes time, attentiveness and effort. It’s not for those in a hurry, or those without a belief that something worthwhile lies in wait beneath the accumulated layers of stuff. In a culture that, increasingly, appears to favour quantity over quality, fast over slow, information over knowledge and disposablity over longevity, it is difficult to begin a conversation about restoration.
But it’s an idea that has lingered with me throughout this past week, and its an idea that I would like to dedicate some time to in the weeks to come.
What if we were to shift some of our discourse about school reformation—even transformation—to one of restoration? Instead of adding more and more layers to our systems of education, what would it look like if we started to strip away some of what has built up over the decades? What might we discover if we took the time to look at what lies beneath the surface? What might we learn about our core values and purpose if we adopted a restorative perspective towards education? What might we discover about the people who enter our schools everyday?
What if we were to add restoration of our systems of education to our bucket list?
“Sir, why are we learning this?”
“Miss, when am I ever going to use this?”
All of us will likely recall asking similar questions ourselves at some point along our journey through school. Those of us who are teachers, especially those involved with students older than, say, TEN, will likely have memories of that uncomfortable silence that hangs between, “I don’t know what to tell you” and “I should know what to tell you”. As a grade eight teacher, when all else failed, there was always an easy—but less than satisfying—default position. “You’ll need to know this for high school,” I would say, a little bit of an edge to my voice.
It is always a little discomforting when the context for learning is expressed as preparation for the next stage of learning. While there is no denying the fact that there are many aspects of learning that, necessarily, build on accumulated skills and knowledge, when it comes to creating a context for learning, the storage for future reference argument is never that inspiring.
The parochial roots of our education systems are showing and they are holding us back from taking seriously the renewed conversations about widened contexts for learning that we so desperately need to be having. Oh, we’ve done a fine job of imagining what transformed schools could look like if we opened up the doors of the schoolhouse to new technologies. We’ve dreamed of learning spaces that both reflect and encourage a focus on skills like collaboration, creativity and communication. We’ve talked about forging new types of relationships between schools and the wider communities that surround them. This is all important stuff but, to borrow from Simon Sinek’s now famous TED Talk , it is the stuff of the what and not the why.
Yet, when we talk about creating a context for learning that is, at once, compelling and inspiring for all involved, we need to hold the why firmly in front of us. Perhaps the best way to reconnect with the why of schooling is by looking closely at the curriculum structures that currently form the foundations of modern schooling. Instead of asking how we can make history more interesting, science more relevant and mathematics more accessible, let’s start to take a deeper look at why these disciplines are important to our sense of quality education in the first place. Curriculum reform movements, including the ones that are happening across the country, and south of the border, all seem to begin with questions about what is important to know and be able to do at various stages of the educational process. But what might happen if our energies were first spent on coming to a clearer understanding of the purpose behind studying particular disciplines and what that study can do to nurture our vision of the educated person?
Why is it so important that we learn history? What is it that science can do for our individual and collective consciousness? What is it about mathematics that contributes to our image of a civil society? Why continue to study the great literature of both the past and present? These are questions that are often glossed over when we talk about new approaches to curriculum and pedagogy.
But they are the very questions that will help us to engage in deeper, albeit more philosophical, conversations about deeper and richer contexts for learning.
In his brief, yet powerful, essay, The Reform of Thinking and Education in the Twenty-First Century, philosopher/sociologist Edgar Morin suggests four foundational aims of education:
1) A brain well-formed rather than a brain well-filled
2) Learning about the human condition
3) Learning how to live
4) Citizenship training
In Morin’s view, curriculum needs to placed in the service of our aims, and not the other way around. And he starts to provide some engaging thinking around how our thinking about existing curriculum approaches might begin to change.
For example, when science is seen as a way of helping us place human existence within the cosmic story, a powerful and compelling context is created. When the study of history takes on a similar narrative purpose by helping learners to better understand the creation of communities, nations and cultures, then the discrete facts that we associate with the discipline take on a a richer and more meaningful purpose.
But, Morin argues, education is also about the subjectivity that can be realized and understood through the study of literature, poetry, art and media. These are the places where the human condition is brought home and placed in the context of personal and interpersonal relationship. It is here where the art of living is explored and connections among individuals and cultures are made manifest. And what’s more exciting, possibilities for connections between traditional disciplines become much more apparent and realistic
In a sense, curriculum is the place where the dance between the objective and subjective, between the global and personal contexts, takes place—an important and necessary dynamic! For me, the exciting part of this type of thinking is that it brings us face-to-face with the why of our work as educators. It doesn’t in any way discount the importance of learning content but it forces us to make our intentions very clear around how it fits into the wider context of our work.
How might our response to the why are we learning this questions change if these types of these deeply-rooted conversations began to take place at all levels of our education systems, throughout our communities, and in the public square?
Every year at this time, right when the cherry blossoms are reminding us that the grey days of winter are almost gone, my Grade 8 students go crazy. They start taking a really long time to settle down into the silent reading period that starts most of our classes. They can’t help but talk to a buddy across the room. They squirm around in their desks and look to their groups for conversation, until I remind them to open their books and start reading. And then I remind them again. And again.
A couple week ago I realized that I had turned into a nag: I do Not. Like. Nagging.
CEA has a long track record for celebrating the incredible potential within Canadian research communities to contribute new perspectives on engaged leadership, engaged teaching and engaged learning. With the Whitworth and Pat Clifford Awards, CEA recognizes the work of innovative researchers from across the country for their scholarly contributions, their promise, and their commitment to breaking new ground, challenging existing ideas and revisiting commonly held assumptions in educational policy, practice or theory in Canada. It is my privilege to serve as Chair of the CEA Awards Selection Committee and to announce the 2013 call for submissions for our two awards that recognize researchers.
The Whitworth Award For Educational Research
CEA’s Whitworth Award, first presented in 1967 and held by 49 researchers thus far, recognizes the impact of innovative and experienced Canadian researchers who have made a sustained and substantive contribution to educational research and practice over a period of time. The Whitworth Award was last presented in 2010 to Dr. Philip C. Abrami, Professor, Research Chair, and Director of the Centre for the Study of Learning and Performance (CSLP) at Concordia University, for his sustained contribution to improving educational research and practice in schools. Canadian researchers who have made sustained, substantive and significant contributions to research, education and leadership over time in Canada are encouraged to apply for this award. The Whitworth Award is formal recognition of a researcher’s scholarly work and contributions, it provides additional networking opportunities with CEA, and comes with an invitation to submit a feature article about their program of research to Education Canada magazine.
The Pat Clifford Award for Early Career Research in Education
The Pat Clifford Award, first presented in 2009 and held by five researchers thus far, recognizes the high quality work achieved by emerging researchers in Canada. The CEA Awards Selection Committee seeks applicants who demonstrate early career research and teaching promise, scholarly contributions and achievements, and commitment to charting new territory in education policy, practice or theory in Canada. As a classroom teacher and faculty researcher, Dr. Pat Clifford blurred the boundaries between pedagogy and research. Pat strongly believed that teaching was at the heart of research, and that research was at the heart of teaching. The Pat Clifford Award is an enduring commitment to sponsoring and mobilizing the work of new researchers whose ideas and scholarship will change education. In 2012, the CEA recognized the research contributions of Dr. Michelle Hogue, Assistant Professor and Coordinator of the First Nations Transition Program at the University of Lethbridge. New researchers are encouraged to apply for this award, for the formal recognition and promotion of your scholarly work, for the networking opportunities and mobilization strategies with CEA, to maximize the impact of your work in practice, and for the invitation to submit a feature article about your research to Education Canada magazine. If you are in the process of completing a Masters or PhD OR have completed a Masters or PhD in the last 2 years, then you may qualify for this award.
Please note that the deadline for submissions for both awards is Thursday May 30, 2013 by 5:00pm EDT.
When we think about the idea of social literacy, what comes to mind? Thinking specifically about what is happening in schools, social literacy can be thought of as good citizenship, character development, communication skills, interaction skills, and more. Its development is necessary in the growth of the whole child – beyond the academics – and has an impact on how students can learn and do well, in school and in the world.
Now let’s think of that one child who sits on the side of the school playground, alone, while the others in Grade 3 engage in an enthusiastic debate about the rules of the game they have just invented. The “rules” seem foreign to this student and despite trying, the student does not understand the game, what to say, or what to do. For students who have trouble with social skills, including those with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), engaging in such activities with same-aged peers is difficult. Their social skills may not develop naturally just by watching others and, instead, individualized teaching is often needed.
Autism Spectrum Disorder and the Canadian context
Awareness of ASD has come into the public eye in the last 20 years, attracting attention due to its seemingly rapid growth rate in North America. In the U.S. alone, about one in 88 children are diagnosed with ASD. This is an increase of 78 percent in the last five years, and current research indicates that the numbers are similar in Canada.[1]
Research has demonstrated that social responsibility and personal independence are both important predictors of long-term success for children with ASD, the same as for any other student.[2] But because children with ASD do have built-in difficulties in social skills, ignoring this area of instruction can leave them with a great disadvantage over time. Ideally, social skills teaching should be assessment-based, individualized, and intensive.[3] Even better: social skills teaching should happen in the inclusive classroom for authentic practice with their peers. For example, an adult might teach a child to say, “Hello. My name is Kaleb.” But the truth of the matter is that children rarely use these formal greetings, and might say, “Whuzzup?” or just glance at one another and share a smile. Which is the more “real” social skill? Teaching children to offer a formal greeting may, in fact, isolate them more from their peers.
Depending on the practices and policies in each province or territory, a need for social skills will often be discussed in the Identification, Placement and Review Committee (IPRC), and/or recorded on a student’s Individual Education Plan (IEP). The school team supporting that student works together to develop goals, objectives, and strategies to meet these needs. Finding a starting place, though, is often difficult. We may know that Jasmine has trouble with social skills. But her teacher might wonder what kind of social teaching and learning is most important. Does she know how to enter a play situation? Does she know what it means when someone rolls their eyes at her? Knowing exactly which social skill to target first can be a challenge, and finding the next developmental social skill can be equally difficult!
Social literacy & assessment tools
Using assessment helps us not only with teaching academics in classrooms, but also with knowing what social skills to teach in the school, the home, and the community. Teachers are aware of the importance of using assessment for individual planning when writing IEPs for students with exceptional needs. However, they may be unfamiliar with the tools available to develop social literacy goals. There are a number of social skills assessment tools available, ranging in price from quite inexpensive to more costly. Although many of these books and manuals may refer specifically to ASD, it is important to remember that these assessment tools are often helpful for students who just struggle socially and may not have a diagnosis or a “label.”
Building Social Relationships,[4] by Scott Bellini, is a complete look at social skills for ages six to 17. It is usually used as a planning tool and also to track the development of new skills. Built into this book is the Autism Social Skills Profile, which can be completed by educators or parents. It includes 49 questions that parents or teachers are asked to rate on a scale of one to four, and it can be completed quite quickly, usually in ten to 20 minutes. It is easily available through online booksellers for approximately $30.
A second potential assessment choice is Social Skills Solutions,[5] by McKinnon and Krempa. This is also easily accessible online for about $20. It is organized by the use of three checklists: one for each of three developmental levels, which become more detailed and complex. Level 1 assesses basic responding skills, Level 2 examines the “when” and “why” of social responses, and Level 3 looks at the generalization of social skills. Three different settings are also examined, assessing the student’s ability to demonstrate the skill in a one-on-one situation, a group setting, or a natural, inclusive setting. Users can begin by scanning to find a starting spot which appears to be at the student’s level, and begin ranking the student, adjusting the levels as appropriate.
From assessment to social literacy support
Social skill assessments, like the ones above, provide two major ways to help build programs for social literacy. First, they provide a social skill baseline for an individual child or adolescent. Second, they will help to formulate the next steps towards social literacy. Often the skills the student has not acquired, as identified in the assessment, will be the teaching focus to meet individual needs. Each of these next steps can be recorded as an individual course in social skills for an IEP, keeping in mind that most of these alternative-type courses focus on three to five expectations for what can realistically be accomplished in one term of instruction.
Let’s say that based on a social skills assessment, we now know that Tony needs to start with learning to stop when his peer says, “Stop.” But how do we write this down into a plan on Tony’s IEP so that we can later see if his skills have changed?
One way to write effective goals is to use a SMART acronym. The SMART acronym may differ slightly from source to source, but typically S is specific, M is measurable, A is attainable, R is reasonable, and T is time-limited, that is, with an identified time-frame.[6] SMART goals make objectives easier to measure when it comes to updating the IEP.
Examples of SMART goals that work towards social literacy for an individual student, based on the results of a social skills assessment, might be:
Social literacy and teaching tools
Beyond developing appropriate SMART goals, it is often helpful to have lists which provide parents and teachers with the types of social literacy that are commonly expected of children. For example, these may include knowing how to initiate or maintain a conversation or how to show an interest in what is being said by another person. Further examples can be accessed through the Assessing Achievement in Alternate Areas: A Place for Ideas, Resources, and Sharing site, found online at www.thea4ideaplace.com/social-skills-overview. This site also provides informal assessment tools related not only to social skills, but to other areas of the alternative curriculum, such as community skills, personal care, and more.
Many social skills teaching opportunities can be incorporated into pre-existing activities in the classroom with peers.
There are many activities and resources available to teachers and parents to develop social literacy. For example, listening activities can include playing games such as “Simon Says” or “I Spy.” Communication activities such as “Twenty Questions,” in which children develop 20 questions (or less, depending on the child’s interest and ability) to identify a hidden object in a classroom, are helpful for learning appropriate turn-taking and question development. Board games can develop cooperation skills and generalized commenting, a skill that is often difficult for individuals with ASD. Making cards for sick classmates or teachers can help with developing social empathy. Having a “Give Me a Break” card, which can be used by a student to have a break in an activity, can support emotional development. Many more ideas are easily accessible for teachers at resource-sharing sites.
Many social skills teaching opportunities can be incorporated into pre-existing activities in the classroom with peers. Opportunities for naturally-occurring social interaction can be built in while lining up or working in groups, during physical education, at recess, when eating lunch, and more. Consider introducing a peer-mediated program: using other students as “social experts” in the classroom by teaching them effective strategies to interact, model, and provide age-appropriate coaching towards students with ASD. For example, when your student doesn’t respond to the bell, you can ask a peer to remind the student to get his or her lunch bag. This is called prompting a peer to demonstrate what the student needs to do. This prompting could also include specific social interaction skills. For example, during a conversation, ask a peer to prompt your student with social difficulties to share, when asked, what he did last night after school. An overview and resources for this approach can be found at: www.asatonline.org/treatment/procedures/peer.
Children with an ASD, just like other students, need to develop social literacy. Finding and using a published assessment tool for social skills development is an essential first step in developing an individualized program to develop social literacy. While this assessment helps to formalize the baseline of current functioning for an individual student and the next steps of that student’s social development, further information-gathering must be done to find resources and strategies for effective social skills instruction. These include developing SMART goals, being aware of social skill competencies, and accessing resources available to teach these skills. The development of social literacy is essential in the growth and development of the whole person, underlying future and continued student learning and achievement for all.
First published in Education Canada, March 2013
Resources
Parents and teachers may find the following resources helpful:
• Autism Support Network
www.autismsupportnetwork.com
• Assessing Achievement in Alternate Areas
www.thea4ideasplace.com
• Canadian Autism Intervention Research Network
www.cairn-site.com
• Geneva Centre for Autism
www.autism.net
• Offord Centre for Child Studies
www.offordcentre.com
• Social Literacy Today (blog)
www.socialliteracytoday.com
EN BREF – La responsabilité sociale et l’autonomie personnelle sont des priorités en matière d’éducation pour les enfants atteints de troubles du spectre autistique (TSA). Comme les élèves autistes manifestent des difficultés marquées sur le plan des relations interpersonnelles et requièrent souvent l’enseignement direct de comportements sociaux appropriés, les programmes de développement d’aptitudes sociales se multiplient dans les milieux éducatifs. L’acquisition de la littératie sociale est essentielle à une croissance et à un développement menant à l’apprentissage et à la réussite des élèves. Cet article souligne l’importance de la littératie sociale et examine différents outils d’évaluation destinés aux élèves manifestant des difficultés d’ordre social. L’article présente des stratégies, des ressources et des exemples utiles pour développer la littératie sociale.
[1] Centers for Disease Control. “Why are Autism Spectrum Disorders Increasing?” (April 16, 2012), www.cdc.gov/features/autismprevalence
[2] Division of Behavioral and Social Sciences and Education of the National Research Council, Educating Children with Autism (Washington, DC: National Academy Press, 2001).
[3] S. Bellini, J. K. Peters, L. Benner & A. Hopf, “A Meta-analysis of School-based Social Skills Interventions for Children with Autism Spectrum Disorders,” Remedial and Special Education 28 (2007): 153-162.
[4] S. Bellini, Building Social Relationships: A systematic approach to teaching social interaction skills to children and adolescents with Autism Spectrum Disorder or other social difficulties (Overland Park, KS: Autism Asperger Publishing Company, 2006).
[5] K. McKinnon and J. L. Krempa, Social Skills Solutions: A hands-on manual for teaching social skills to children with autism (New York: DRL Books, 2002).
[6] L. Jung, “Writing SMART Objectives and Strategies that Fit the ROUTINE,” Teaching Exceptional Children 39 no. 4 (2007): 54-58.
I’ll never forget dropping my son off for his first day of school. He’d just been diagnosed with high-functioning autism and we were brand new to the town. I looked at the school grounds – namely at the lack of fences around the play area – and broke down in tears. I sat in the car with my kids, crying surreptitiously, and tried to gather strength.
Although Charley’s diagnosis was new, his quirks were well known to me. I knew that he was a wanderer. I would have rather seen a kindergarten “cage” than that fenceless schoolyard. I also knew that groups of children always made him really unpredictable, that people touching him unexpectedly could result in punches, kicks or bites. Even loud noises made him bolt.
Yeah, I knew school was going to be hard.
It’s now two years later and Charley is in Grade 1. He’s fully integrated in his class and manages to do most activities with his classmates, albeit in a modified way. He’s learned and grown in many amazing ways. And yet, school has been hard. The public system is not a perfect fit for his unique little brain. He’s gifted in so many ways: He notices everything. He remembers everything. He recites whole books from memory. But does he care to learn the names of his classmates? No way.
When a relative visited us recently, she asked him about his favourite part of school. He said, “Nothing.”
Undaunted, she pressed him. “Surely you like gym?”
“No.”
“How about recess?”
“Oh no!”
“Lunch time?”
“Nope.”
She sighed. “Charley, there must be one thing you like at school.”
He thought for a moment, and said, “I like going to the office. It’s quiet. There are grown-ups. And they have Lego there.” Classic Charley.
He’s had the most wonderful teachers in his three years of school. I’ve been encouraged to help come up with strategies for enabling success and dealt with the rough weeks side-by-side with his team. I’ve worked with his teachers developing his IEPs and discussing therapies needed. We’ve been really fortunate.
Yet I’d be lying if I claimed I don’t think about home-schooling him on a regular basis. I look at the potential of that little brain and wonder what he could learn in a calmer, more familiar environment. I wonder if I am missing a great opportunity to help him flourish. “Who might he be if given the right tools?” I wonder.
But every single teacher, therapist and administrator we’ve encountered has worked to convince me that the primary goal here is to give Charley the social tools needed to succeed in the future. How far can a brain take you if you can’t negotiate with your peers? Or even have a basic conversation? Talking to Charley at this point consists of him presenting a mini-lecture on whatever he’s currently obsessed with: trains, ocean zones or narwhals.
Charley’s brother, Sam, started JK this year. He’s what we call “neuro-typical.” He strutted into school the first day, knew everyone’s name by the end of week one and reports to me daily on his classmates’ adventures. I seesaw between sadness and thankfulness, watching Sam take on the world so effortlessly. His struggles will be few compared to his big brother’s.
While Sam spends the weekend counting down the hours until school starts up again, Charley plots ways to avoid it. “I think my stomach hurts.” “I’m pretty sure I have a fever.” “School is boring compared to home.” With forced cheerleader spirit and occasional bribery, I get him out the door on Monday morning.
Most days go pretty well. He really loves his teacher. He knows all the women in the front office and where they keep their stickers. The janitor is his friend. Every single kid in the school knows his name, even if he doesn’t know theirs.
One day I picked him up and asked him how his day was. He looked up at me and smiled. “Mommy,” he said, “School would be perfect if there were no other children here.”
Oh, Charley.
First published in Education Canada, March 2013

Henry is training to fight in a cage for a living. This new piece of knowledge sits in front of me disconnected from everything I know.
“Don’t you get hurt?” I ask in total incomprehension. What I want to ask is, how can you take pleasure in hurting others? How can you feel the crunch of bone on bone and feel anything but horrified?
“Yeah, you get hurt,” he answers. Obviously, he and I feel differently about pain.
I entered school as one of the youngest kids in my class. Born at the beginning of October, I began my kindergarten year standing a little shorter, arriving a little less seasoned in the ways of the world, and a little less able to do some of the basic things that many others in my class seemed to do rather effortlessly. Although I eventually caught up with my grade level peers (I can now tie my own shoe laces!), it was clear from reading some of my early report cards that I was being measured against an external standard of what children at various ages should be able to do by the end of the school year. Unfortunately, when you talk about catching up, I really didn’t start to excel at school until it was almost time to leave the system. My high school marks were barely high enough to gain acceptance into the Ontario university system, and my first year results at the University of Toronto were really nothing to write home about.
Something happened, however, in my second and third years of post-secondary schooling. First, I found the campus pub and I started to have a good time, fitting into a social scene that was more determined by interest than it was by age. Second, I started to earn consistently higher marks and this encouraged me to take a deeper look at what I was studying, spend more time in the library and consider extending my educational journey.
Interestingly enough, other people appeared to have more confidence in my intellectual abilities than I did, myself. In fact, when I asked one of my philosphy professors for a letter of reference in support of my application to theology school, he took the opportunity to express his disappointment that I wasn’t considering grad school in his particular discipline. He felt that I was selling myself short and that I could definitely handle the greater intellectual demands involved in being a philosopher, as opposed to a priest. I remember leaving his office on a late winter afternoon thinking to myself, “Wow, after all these years of being in school, this is the first time that I heard someone say that I could actually do more than I had learned to assume.”
As Sir Ken Robinson points out, one of the beliefs around which our current systems of education are organized is that kids enter school stamped with a best before date. Parents and teachers are made keenly aware of how children are doing in relation to others in the class, even though a student born in January may differ in “real development age” by an entire year when compared to the student born at the end of December. Convenient for registration and processing purposes, but questionable for many aspects of learning and development.
Notwithstanding my personal story, it wasn’t until many years later that I became aware of the advantage afforded to children who are born earlier in the calendar year. From school admission to registration in a hockey program, birth date matters a whole lot, and according to folks like Malcolm Gladwell, creates a playing field that is, from the very beginning, uneven.
To be sure, schools can have a mitigating effect on many of the factors that are at play in the life of a child as they enter formal schooling. The seemingly universal movement of students based primarily on date of birth, however, is a factor that is almost completely within our locus of control.
Although I have some ideas regarding how we might re-imagine our current approach to student progress, I would first like to hear about your stories and ideas.
How was your own experience of school affected by your birthdate? Are you aware of being advantaged/disadvantaged by your age? Has your school district found creative ways to rethink the way that schools move through the system? As a parent, teacher or administrator, do you think about birthdate as a factor in school success? Are there other questions or thoughts you have about the issue of the age-grade dimension of our current schooling practices?
Winnipeg high school teachers explain how student voice has increased their students’ intellectual engagement.
Every year, dozens and dozens of students make the decision to leave their homes, leave everything familiar and comfortable, get on a plane and enter our school. They come for broader horizons, opportunity and quality learning. They come to increase their life chances for success, their own and their families’.
They are lucky if they land in Leonie Plunkett’s classroom.
Leonie cares about these kids and she brings this ethos into her social studies classroom.
Recently Leonie and her international students worked their way through the Great Migration unit but they also worked their way into the consciousness and even hearts, of our Canadian students.
Some of our Canadians students have no idea what it’s like to place themselves in a foreign routine. They have no idea how easily humour and personality can dissipate when living in a foreign place. Knowing this about her Canadian students and knowing the real strength and struggles of her international students, Leonie used her unit on the Great Migration to teach her students a contemporary lesson.
“What would it take to make you leave everything you know for the promise of something different and the potential of something better?” Leonie asked this question of her grade 10 socials students.
They met her question with blank stares and she resolved to go deeper.
Over the course of their unit, students gained perspective on the experience of those who left Europe to travel to a land they’d only heard about, the New World. Many of these immigrants arrived mid-winter to a frozen land without supplies or understanding of how to sustain themselves. They navigated hostile politics and immersed themselves in unexpected physical labour. They fought to survive and to find themselves anew. This, our Canadian students discovered, remains the experience of many immigrants today.
Leonie gave her Canadian students the task of seeking out international students and interviewing them about their personal “great migration”. What did it require of them to leave their homes and families? What got them through the first big transitions? Who did they rely on? Who did they confide in? What gave them joy in this place? What caused them to struggle? Was it worth it? What do they miss? What have they gained? Individually, Canadian students asked around the hallways and cafeteria to find their international “twin” and interview him or her about this most profound experience.
After studying some political cartoons of the era, cartoons which communicate the difficulties of the immigrant experience in sharp and sometimes acerbic tones, Leonie had asked her international students to create political cartoons to represent their experience. Here is one:
“You know what would be great next year, if I get to teach this course again?” Leonie reflects one afternoon. “I’d give the Canadian students the political cartoons the internationals created. I’d ask them to think about the images and to articulate the messages. Then, maybe, I’d invite the internationals in and have them get into a discussion about immigrant experiences.” Leonie hopes that students would learn how much they have in common, how similar their worries and emotional lives are.
We talk about how having the conversation anchored by these political cartoons would ground the conversation in a much deeper place than the types of food they miss from their home countries or what they think about Canada’s climate.
We talk about brave it was for her 15 year old Canadian students, many who have never left their comfortable neighbourhoods, to approach someone whom they don’t know and extend themselves in conversation about things they know nothing of. We talk about how brave it was for her international students, also 15, to speak up and own the difficulties inherent in living and learning in a different culture.
Mostly though, I notice how Leonie’s eyes glow and her voice gets raspy as she talks about how the other day, one of her Canadian students came by her classroom, his arm draped casually around an international student’s shoulders: “Hey Ms Plunkett! This is Henry – the guy I interviewed for that assignment in socials!”
Henry had the goofiest grin on his face.
I remember a certain teacher in high school whose reputation was built upon years of making students work extremely hard in order to achieve good grades in his course. He was tough. His course was tough. You had to be tough to make it through… or at least it felt that way. In retrospect, I’m fairly sure that his reputation intimidated his students more than he did. There was one year, though, that seemed different. His entire character seemed to change, and even he admitted that he could identify a bit more with his students. What happened? He took a course. The teacher who was known to push his classes to their limits suddenly had an awakening and learned what it was like to be a student.

One year ago, I began blogging. It was my first attempt to try something new in quite a while; to share some ideas with the world and to learn for the sake of the students who learn from me. Here are my thoughts from that first post:
The worst thing that anyone can do is to get stuck in a rut. This is especially true ifyou are a teacher! This blog is the beginning of a challenge that I have made for myself (and for any other teachers): try something new!
We are forever telling our students to experiment and take chances, but many timeswe don’t follow our own advice. What is the result? Fuddy-Duddy Teachers. Don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean. You remember them from your own days in high school… the teachers that relied on the same old assignments like they relied on their same old wardrobe. Change is necessary. Clean out your binders and see your classroom with a new set of eyes. Who knows what we’ve been missing.
http://northernartteacher.wordpress.com/2012/01/21/hello-world/
What seemed like such a huge step soon became a stepping-stone as I cautiously explored different ways to connect with teachers online. Thanks to my principal, I was introduced to Twitter and managed to begin following many other educators who were more than willing to share wonderful resources.
There was no way to anticipate the extent to which blogging and tweeting would change my understanding of education, but these simple steps allowed me to enhance my practice and provide a richer learning environment for my students. Reaching beyond our classroom walls has meant so much for our school, and we’ve been rewarded with learning experiences worth remembering.
Exploration and risk-taking have become the norm for teachers who want to invite the world into the classroom – these new experiences don’t have instruction manuals that explain the steps to success. Students become co-learners on many projects that haven’t been tried before, and have often taken a teaching role as they have shared resources and knowledge.
We now have a class blog where projects and pictures are shared, and a class hash tag on Twitter that we use to share notes, questions and links. Often, students will send me a tweet while they’re working on an assignment just to make sure they’re on the right track. Who knew social media could be used to provide useful feedback?

Our experimentation with student blogging has also added a different dimension to learning activities, as each post automatically becomes globally accessible. Projects that used to be shared on our class bulletin board are now available online to anyone, anywhere. Our audience has changed, making it that much more important to become responsible for what we share. I say ‘we’, because my students and I are exposing our words and our thinking. This transparency urges us to be accountable to our school, our district, and anyone else who might happen upon our work.
As I celebrate the anniversary of my first blog post, I’m happy to be able to reflect on the changes that have occurred in my classroom. My students have found more relevance in their learning endeavors, and their teacher is excited to share new possibilities with them. Who knows what this next year will bring?
Please click here to listen to a full Teaching Out Loud Podcast featuring Colleen Rose
Alex and I are sitting in her nook, a softly lit corner of the school she has made her own with lamps, a colourful throw rug, coffee machine and a laptop. It is a creative space – a place to design learning of a most powerful sort: personalized.
A few months ago she invited me into this space to talk about an idea that had been peculating.
“I want them to use poetry to explore their lives – all the stages of life,” she said, her hands moving in an arc to demonstrate the enormity of life’s ebb and flow.
I nodded, happy that other people get excited about poetry too, but not yet totally understanding her idea.
“We’ll start with toddlerhood – and then move through childhood, teenagedom, adulthood, and aging – the whole circle of life,” she said.
Now we are sitting in her nook reflecting on her unit thus far. She has collaborated on it with our colleague Greg Elliott and as a result of her idea and their creativity, students have written poems and studied poetry while studying themselves.
This unit reminds me of an English professor who I once asked a question that had been frustrating me throughout the reading of what I found to be confoundingly boring 17th century literature: “What is the point of studying literature?” I had demanded. “We aren’t doing anything important with this – we aren’t curing cancer or anything – we read books and analyze them.”
He turned to me, book in hand and, I kid you not, moved his black rimmed glasses so they perched at the end of his nose, raised his eyebrows just a titch, and said, “Brooke, we don’t analyze the good books – the good ones analyze us.”
Oh.
Now, here I sit with his words made real in Alex’s classroom. Alex is using poetry to ask her students about their lives. In her classroom, poetry humanizes each student to the other, the teacher to her students, the students to the teacher.
“The texts have created a safe space for us to look at ourselves and each other,” Alex reflects. “You learn that you’re all learning how to get through life – with some literary devices thrown in.”
If you’d like to talk with Alex about her unit or have any questions, she’d be happy to hear from you at athureau@sd45.bc.ca.
The other day, I got a bucket of water and a cloth, and called my youngest daughter. Admittedly, it was a rather pathetic attempt to appease some “mommy-guilt.” Struggling to find the tenuous balance between my need to get stuff done, while still spending quality time with the kids, sometimes leads me to combine those binaries and try to sell it as fun.
I don’t know how this plays out in the classroom. I can see value in enabling our students to dunk their soapy hands in their learning. The imaginative possibilities encompassed by a flexible curricula appeal to me; I believe these very things will teach students to think critically and adequately prepare them for a changing world.
But there is practicality to consider. Nobody wants a free-for-all! Outcomes-based curricula and assessment provide helpful structure, equity between students, and general organization. But are specific outcomes the best way to encourage authentic learning? Certainly they create destinations we are driving toward; but they also, by definition, limit the journey. In the process, do we limit our children?
Do we create and implement curriculum outcomes because we truly believe they are best for our students – or because we haven’t imagined how to do it differently? Are we ready to transform?
I have few workable answers to the practical challenges this educational transformation would present. However, I do think we are tumbling in a world that is a shifting kaleidoscope, unable to predict what picture will appear tomorrow. I am not confident the structure of schools and our current practices encourage the flexibility, creativity, and healthy curiosity our children will need as they navigate the ever-changing landscape of the future.
There is one thing I am sure of: that the weighty responsibility of preparing children for a world of possibilities, and the challenges that come with change, face educators and parents alike.
First published in Education Canada, January 2013