When I was a child I assigned a number to everything. I kept notes on how much fruit and how many vegetables
I ate each day. I created charts for
different activities and skills. Most
importantly, I tracked play time with my peers.
Did I obtain 80% mastery on my daily nutrition chart? Check.
Was the way I swung on the swing proficient? Check.
Did I spend enough time running around with Billy, Susie and
Betty? Check. Check. Check.
I was making AYP before it was in vogue.
Does this not seem awesome? On any day a kid was collecting
purposeful data in a bid to rise up out of a living biography and claim his
global inheritance of fulfillment in life.
Fulfillment of course being defined here as a series of numbers that
seems to be leading to something so that I could move on and do something else.
Caught the sarcasm yet?
As a young teacher in the classroom I have made a few
observations. Of these observations, one
really continues to draw my mental attention.
My students are constantly wondering if what they are learning is going
to be on a quiz or test. If I say no,
which I never would, students relax and zone out. If I say yes, they complain about the amount
of information they need to learn and with uneasy looks on their faces attempt
to plea with me for free time. This is
what educators before me have cultivated:
number zombies. Students
care about the grade they achieve on a test and not so much about what they are
learning or the process required to get there.
In education we play this huge numbers game. Lately, this game has been fully focused on
attaining AYP and having students pass the MSAs and HSAs in Maryland. We track how students are progressing and
what they are learning (though notably the focus tends to stay on reading and
math). This quantitative way of thinking
is great – but is it making an excuse for educators to stop caring about the
qualitative learning that should also be occurring?
Think about it. We
ask our kids to learn the same, think the same, and test the same. This past year I had class sizes of 32, 22,
29, 24, and 37 in the high school I teach at.
I do my best to follow the instructional model expected of me while also
implementing partner and group activities, but the reality of the situation is that students are stuck on a
teacher-teaches, student-does model. I
bring up this point because it then becomes difficult to ensure that when I am
not being a monolith in front of the class, I am constantly circling the room
to put students on task. I have grown,
at times, frustrated with the pattern into which I have fallen.
I feel as if I am merely teaching so that students can prove
themselves on the day-to-day objectives and therefore I have to assess them as
such. I struggle with this because it
leaves me handcuffed to the curriculum and unable to craft lessons around many
topics that I believe would be worth exploring in the classroom.
This is not to be taken as a negative view of having a
curriculum or of assessing the curriculum, but rather a commentary on how education
in general is failing to view our students as humans. I fear that we have become so obsessed with
results and instant (read: superficial) gain that we ignore the humanistic
elements in education.
According to the work of theorists like Maslow and Rogers,
the idea of humanism concentrates on the development of students’ self-concepts. If a student feels good about what they are learning
and is feeling good about themselves (affective needs), then that student is
starting off on the right page. This
allows a child to discern their own strengths and weaknesses and how to play on
one’s strengths to improve overall.
Maslow terms this “self-actualization,” in which a student does not
recognize learning as an end in itself, but rather as a means to progress
towards the apex of self-development.
This cannot occur for every student at the same time, and yet that is
what we expect. We determine when
students will take tests and when they will learn this or that. When students are not as quick as their
peers, we rush in an attempt to see if they require an IEP or 504 plan. BUT - humans develop at different paces, we
always have.
Therefore, what I am proposing is that we move towards an
open –classroom system and an ecological methodology of learning. (For more on the ecological systems theory,
see The Ecology of Human Development: Experiments by Nature and Design
by Urie Bronfenbrenner. (1979) or just
read the Wikipedia article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecological_Systems_Theory).
An open-classroom system is one in which a teacher is more
of a facilitator while a student is a researcher, creator, writer, thinker,
doer, etc... Let’s give students the
opportunity to discover their own human worth, individuality, and the freedom
to determine their own personal actions.
An open-classroom would remove the emphasis on attaining material goals
and increase the skill set a student needs to be a productive contributor to an
ever changing global society.
According to the philosopher Kirschenbaum, an open-classroom
would have these traits:
-Students exercise choice and control over activities
-Curriculum focuses on what the children are concerned about
- Focus on life skills - thinking skills combined with social skills (e.g. sharing and communicating)
-Co-operative learning
- Self-evaluation and self-monitoring
- Teacher becomes a facilitator
-Students exercise choice and control over activities
-Curriculum focuses on what the children are concerned about
- Focus on life skills - thinking skills combined with social skills (e.g. sharing and communicating)
-Co-operative learning
- Self-evaluation and self-monitoring
- Teacher becomes a facilitator
We cannot allow society to apply it’s zombiefication of
adults to children in schools. So let’s
reclaim our brains and drop the emphasis on teaching and put the emphasis back
on learning.
4 comments:
Your post brought to mind three things. First, the ideal that you are talking about seems to be along the same vein as the Montessori schools (at least as how I understand them). Second, in your classroom, you could consider moving towards more a more project-based learning model which I think would encompass many of the things you'd like to see happen in the classroom. Finally, as an undergrad, our grades were pass/fail and entirely based upon narrative evaluations. I thought that this was a great idea - and one of the main reasons I went to the school - because it took away the pressure for getting an "A" and instead put the emphasis on authentic learning. Perhaps this is something that some secondary schools could try as well (maybe a charter school could try it out?) to get to that more authentic level of learning that all teachers want their students to achieve. Or we could stick to "number zombies" since that seems to be working out so well...
First, I just want to say great heading. When I read this heading, I thought of two things: the way in which our economy currently operates, and my personal experiences in education.
What's funny about the title "number zombies" is that it's not just our students who are fixed on the data; it's the entire United States (and other developing nations). Most companies/businesses/politicians/etc. seem to be following the philosophy that the proof is in the numbers. If the numbers are not improving, then something needs to change, immediately. Education seems to be the last field of study to rely on numbers. And, maybe there is good reason for this.
The majority of my undergrad experience was focused on the numbers. Frankly, I probably learned about half of what I was taught because of this. Most of what I learned came from experiences, involvement in my university, and conversations with professors during office hours. So, if creating "number zombies" doesn't work with 20 year old students, why would it work for 7 year olds?
Naush, in response to your post, I did a small bit of research on Montessori school, which included calling a friend of mine who attended Montessori school until fifth grade. It would be interesting to see a school successfully create a hybrid of traditional schooling and Montessori ideals in Baltimore City.
While reading this post, much of what was said resonated with my experience as a teacher. Many of my students and administrators act similarly, and are constantly obsessed with grades, test scores, number of referrals being filed, etc. It really is a "number zombie" nightmare. And while it nauseates me to think that we are defining our children by the numbers they produce, I can't reconcile that feeling with the need to ensure that schools are being effective. And how do we measure effectiveness? Test scores, grades, data. Numbers.
It's similar to the conversation about measuring teacher effectiveness. How do we measure great teaching? In some ways, it can't be measured or quantified. Same goes for learning. We know what its like to see great learning going on through analysis, exploration and discussion. Yet, we can't always capture students academic revelations by distributing an exit ticket. Those moments must be observed.
I agree that numbers are killing our schools and our kids, but I am at a loss of how to fix that. Until we can be assured that students are receiving excellent educations, I can't help but think it's necessary to play the numbers game.
Hm, very interesting comments. I absolutely agree that we've fallen into this unfortunate game of 'number zombies.' Learning should be holistic, engaging, and spark curiosity. But as Brynn says, it's very difficult to quantify things.
Just to back up for a moment, I think we need to think of the original purpose of the numbers. In essence, assessments are suppose to be ways to measure a student's strengths and weakness. In turn, as teachers we respond to by patching up the weak spots and enriching strengths.
In terms of AYP, however, we've fallen into a numbers competition where the assessment is the goal and end rather than a tool to actually help bridge learning. Hence, the number zombies.
I think the 'numbers' can be useful, but only when used to promote authentic learning not to fulfill an obligatory checklist.
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