Creating a New Normal This Fall

For many of us, deep loss marked the 2020-21 school year. We yearned for a return to “normal”. We missed the camaraderie and connection with students and colleagues. We lamented the ability to use certain instructional strategies (group work, chalk talks, gallery walks, etc.) that were no longer safe or feasible in this new environment. I too found myself grieving for the past. But, being the practical person that I am, I returned, time and again to one truth.

“Necessity is the mother of invention”.

Growing up in a missionary family, our lives subsisted on the generosity of strangers, on hand-me-downs, and on the miracle-working power of a sewing machine and duct tape. If there’s one thing I know how to do well, it’s how to turn nothing into something. I know how to hustle for resources and find a way when there seems to be no way. This mentality is what kept me afloat so many years working in low-income, high-needs schools. 

It’s this skill set that kept me grounded when school closed in March 2020 and the phrase “quaranteaching” entered my vocabulary. I shared my transition to remote learning in my post, Rona Ramblings Part I. Over the past 18 months, we’ve seen necessity drive innovations in medicine, healthcare, food service, technology, and so on. I love witnessing the creativity and evolution of nearly every industry. We should be proud of the rise of tele-medicine, the increase in hands-free payment options, the innovation in cleaning technology, the ability to enjoy block-busters from the comfort of our living rooms or even the thriving sales of e-books. 

All of this is context for why I’m so adamant about not returning to a pre-covid “normal”, particularly in the realm of education. As my podcast co-host, Megan Holyoke, commented recently “going back to a ‘normal’ school year reminds me of those who clung to the ‘Make America Great Again’ slogan.”  And, in the same way we interrogate the sentiment behind MAGA, I think we should question our own desire to return to teaching and learning of the idealized past. 

What was so “great” about learning pre-covid? How well were we serving our students? Who was the center of the classroom?  Who benefited from the policies and practices of our school system? Who’s voices were we listening to? Who was left out? Who was institutionally marginalized?

After a summer that was far too short, the new school year has arrived. It’s here. The tweets, posts, and published musings of a return to pre-pandemic times are moot points. Here’s why.

First, you cannot have a traumatic event that impacted everyone on the planet and remain exactly the same. While one may argue that each person experienced trauma conditional on factors such as race, socio-economics, or geography, no one was left untouched. There is no “return to normal”. There can be creation of a new normal but the pre-trauma period is forever altered. Our memories will fill the pages of many books to come. We will (hopefully) reflect on our experiences in such a way that real growth will occur.  Pretending this was an insignificant blip on the timeline of life, does us no good. We cannot go backwards. Stop trying to erase this moment. 

Second, why tho? Was pre-pandemic education and schooling actually that terrific, joyous, and easy? It wasn’t. Let’s stop pretending. Students weren’t engaged 100% of the time. Our prom wasn’t that spectacular. Just because we had a sweet spreadsheet to manage our standardized testing routine, doesn’t mean that it was benefiting students and staff. Do we really want to MEGA (Make Education Great Again) our upcoming school year? I don’t think so. And I hope you cringed when you read that last line. 

Our memories of the past are tinged with a nostalgia that distorts the truth. 

I refuse to accept last year as a loss (more on that in a future blog post) and go back to some bygone sense of reality. 

Full disclosure ya’ll. I do not believe this pandemic is over. If you don’t believe me, check out the Delta variant memes or this Time article. However, as we begin to see a light at the end of this very dark tunnel, we need to confront our tendencies to glorify the past. We must release the old routines and structures we cling to. Instead, we ought to anticipate the uncertainty and prepare for the unexpected of the new school year.

In effort to do that, here are a few of the steps I’m taking to mentally, emotionally, and physically prepare myself for trash can fires of the fall.

1. Make a plan A, B, and C. I am engaging in a thought experiment that places me in a range of teaching conditions. I’m thinking about my desk space if I teach from home. I’m preparing for how I will eat safely on campus if I’m in-person. I’m envisioning how to partner students for collaborative work with social distancing, revisiting keys to success in a hybrid environment, or if I’m teaching in a concurrent model. I’m practicing speaking with a mask that is comfortable and matches my work outfits. I’m anticipating ways to distribute and collect student work. 

2. Keep My Personal Routines. Much of last year was tolerable because I reorganized my morning routines (coffee, prayer, journaling) and my weekend habits (one day dedicated to my mental, emotional, physical and spiritual health). I call my parents every two days. I schedule Zoom dates with my sisters and some college girlfriends. I’ll continue to find joy in exercising, skating, and cooking. 

3. Plus It. Through collaboration with my grade level team, emails with colleagues at my old school, and random voice notes idea-sharing with teacher friends across the world, I have some incredible lessons and corresponding handouts from last year. I’m capitalizing on this work by tweaking or expanding my use of certain tasks. While 5Es framework and hyperdocs were intended to design online learning they are just as relevant this year. I’m adding to my already curated list of best practices and resources for teaching in a pandemic. If you don’t follow Dr. Cailtin Tucker or aren’t familiar with Global Online Academy, go bookmark them right now. 

4. Yes...And...I’m not joining an improv team nor am I approaching this year with toxic positivity. As my friend Camille Jones says, we can do hard things. I may grumble, cry, and drink a couple glasses of vino, but in the end I will face whatever reality is in front of me with as much determination as I can muster. I’m looking at each situation with a “yes/and” mentality so that when I face a mountain of hardship or what seems like an impossible task, I will be able to put one foot in front of the other. Yes, this is tough...and who can I bring along with me in the struggle?  Yes, this schedule sucks...and how can I maximize student interest and class time for deeper learning?

5. Stay Woke. If you’ve read my work before or listened to the podcast, you know I’ve got a speech about educators who pushed equity and justice to the background this last year. Folks stay making excuses for why they cannot engage in the inner or outer work of making the world a better place. The pandemic shone a big, bright spotlight on inequalities across the school system. Anyone who paid attention could see this coming. And now, as the light grows dimmer or fades away, we cannot go back to the “normal” habits of ignoring what is hanging out in the dark. If anything, we should be motivated to fill these gaps and find real solutions for the troubles that plague our schools. If education is not prioritized within pandemic response plans, when will it be?

As we head into a new school year, I hope you are ready--ready to resist a MEGA mindset and commit to creating a better educational experience for each of the students entrusted in your care this year.

Rona Ramblings Part II: A Remote Classroom is Still a Classroom

As frustrated as we are, 

as much as “this isn’t why I became a teacher,”

even though “we can’t possibly expect students to learn under these conditions,” 

and despite “none of us were ready for this,” here we are. 

This moment is revealing important truths about who we are as teachers, who we expect our students to be, and the massive cavities in education systems around the world. To paraphrase Shakespeare, “There’s something rotten in education.”

While I have one of the most ideal situations (students whose life needs are met, strong leadership, family engagement, support from tech & instructional coaches), by no means is my remote learning classroom perfect. I have students with shaky internet access, students who refuse to turn on their video cameras, and students who aren’t reading directions or submitting assignments on time. Wait, this sounds like my pre-coronavirus classroom.

For those that know me, you know I work tirelessly to establish a common classroom culture. One that is characterized by open-mindedness, acceptance, and doing our best. I pride myself on co-constructing this kind of learning space with my students. It’s this foundation that I relied heavily upon when we transitioned to online schooling.

With the shift, I knew I had to stay true to my values and keep essential elements of the classroom: maintaining an inquiry-oriented environment and discussion-based learning. I rely heavily on student to student discussion to get to any learning objective. I fake like Socrates and  constantly pose questions, training students to ask their own questions (of the text, of each other, of me). 

After day one of online learning, I realized that my skills in leading and cultivating in-person discussions aren’t exactly transferable to a virtual discussion of Shakespeare with seniors. Hamlet is already a tough read and it is even more complicated when you can’t turn and talk. Although a solid place to start, asking students to share their annotations in a whole group setting was not going to cut it. Even I was zoning out mid-discussion.

As for my Sophomores, we transitioned to a remote classroom amidst reading Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime. While I had the infrastructure and routine of reading a chapter, writing a dialogue journal and discussing that writing, an online platform didn’t give my Sophomores student-to-student discussion time critical for meaning-making. 

Here is what I’ve realized and subsequently changed in my practice since March.

Realization 1:  The type of questions you can ask in a virtual space need to be scaffolded differently. In a classroom you can see who has an answer, who doesn’t understand your wording and restate the question or who is too shy to volunteer. 

Practically speaking: I started writing my tiered questions (moving from a recall level to evaluative/analytical level) into my weekly lesson plans. This way students could see in advance, write/think of a response and not get caught off guard. This was especially important for my higher level questions. For example, while reading Born a Crime I posted questions to help students narrow in on a specific concept in one chapter (Why is the chapter called ____ or What is Trevor Noah’s central idea in this chapter?). Another strategy was to routinely post the same two questions during discussions: Why did you pick this quote? How does this connect to our previous learning?

Realization 2: It’s extremely difficult to create small group discussions in a large virtual class setting (especially if you’re not using Zoom).

Practically speaking:

• I’d used Padlet ages ago for some online discussion but found myself turning to this tool once again. With the recent updates, it’s a far more versatile discussion board which allows comments, links, likes, gifs, color coding and more. This worked well to promote student to student discussions and meaning-making for 2 out of 3 of my classes. 

• For seniors, I set up a Discord channel and created rooms for each Act of Hamlet. I also created channels for independent reading book groups, posting questions, comments and gifs throughout the week. This worked really well for asynchronous learning and provided a way for students to collectively engage with the text and each other “outside” of class.

Realization 3: You can design meaningful interactions through intentionality, planning, and trial/error.

Practically speaking: As students (and teachers) slipped into various online habits, it is imperative you both keep routines and you keep it interesting. If you’re not having fun or growing, then why would a 15 year old be? I’ve added some silliness to my weekly preview videos. I draft weekly journal questions that provide multiple entry points for students, give them choice, and create a space for some of the social-emotional aspects of our learning community. 

Realization 4: The world is a dumpster fire and students’ lives are all over the place. You cannot take anything personal and you have to be extra patient.

Practically speaking: Although I feel like I have my stuff together, I still create documents with missing scaffolded steps, forget to link to the article I told students to read, or completely miscalculate how long a task will take. And I’m a grown adult woman who’s been teaching for 14 years. A 15 year old will miss that email you sent, will forget to attach their assignment, will ask the same question you answer 4 different ways to avoid misunderstanding. I try to learn from my mistakes, keep an open-mind when I’m answering students' emails, or just repeat directions...yet again. Look, I’ve definitely failed at this one many times in the last two months, but I’m working on being patient with myself.

Realization 5: Yes, you can give formative and summative assessments BUT you’d better have strong scaffolding and again, patience, for when something goes awry and root all your assessments in equity pedagogy. 

Practically speaking: In a virtual classroom I’m unable to read over a student’s shoulder, solicit a quick exit slip, or ask for a fist-to-five (I mean maybe if all students had functioning cameras). Instead, I’ve gotten creative with my formative checks. In weekly sessions, I use “cold calling”, volunteers, and “popcorn calling” for spot checking. I’ve conducted one formal and one informal end of unit survey. Probably the most important thing I did was design a start to finish unit document with clearly labeled, color-coded scaffolded steps. I check everything I assign---to monitor student learning, to offer specific points of improvement, to clarify directions, or to offer praise.

• I know summatives are a controversial topic, but imho if you’ve conducted your formatives fairly and equitably (we can parse that out on a different post), then I think summatives can be done the same. To be fair, I’m writing this after having two totally different experiences with recent summatives. One, was super smooth. In part, because it concluded the unit we’d started in real life. The other, less smooth. Although I’d thought my teacher-moves and modeling were perfect, half my students didn’t turn in something I thought was very clear. What became clear was that it was me. So, then I personalized my feedback and asked each student to resubmit with changes. It was fine. But I definitely had to eat my humble pie and “allow” revisions. 

Realization 6: You can still teach in a remote learning context with equity and justice at the forefront of your choices.

Practically speaking: Even in a remote context, students and teachers mirror practices and behaviors they had before. Students who inconsistently did their homework previously, are still being inconsistent. Similarly, if you were a teacher that endeavored to be anti-racist and social justice oriented, you are still that same teacher.

Ideally, all year long you’ve built the kind of learning environment that allows for safe discussions of an array of topics and you’ve worked with students to make curriculum choices that reflect a range of voices, perspectives, and ideas about the world. Just because life is a dumpster fire doesn’t mean you throw justice into the burning dumpster. Remote learning is not an excuse for assigning irrelevant texts, using crappy handouts, or forgetting everything you learned about effective teaching and learning.

None of this is easy, but it’s not impossible. 

I hope the disequilibrium of this pandemic forces a system wide change. I hope it topples education demagogues who make adult-centered policies. I hope it forces the part of the problem-never-the-solution teachers into another profession. I hope it collapses the obsession with standardized testing. I hope it ignites community-school partnerships to equip neighborhood schools with 20th century access to technology. But most of all, I pray that we learn something from the coronavirus and not only reimagine what learning looks like but actually have the political and social will to implement what we know will improve K-12 education.

Rona Ramblings Part I

I’ve stopped and started this post numerous times. And just like that, six weeks have both flown by. Somehow I feel a decade older.

It was early February when my personal bubble burst, waking me up to the new realities of a world impacted by the coronavirus. It would be disingenuous not to acknowledge the privilege I had to leave this particular aspect of news in the periphery of my vision which was focused on wrapping up semester grades starting new units, and travelling for spring break. I really began digging into the reports when we were faced with whether or not to cancel our flight to Bali for spring break. It got quite real when airport officials in both the UAE and Indonesia carefully checked our travel history, zeroing in on trips to China and South Korea. One week later, on our return trip home, airport personnel donned masks and temperature guns lined entrance ways. The concern, fear, and general anxiety was palpable. I felt myself getting a fever just standing in line to check-in. 

As I noted in a recent interview with Nate Bowling on Nerd Farm Podcast, my experience with the coronavirus feels like I’m standing in turbulent ocean waters, surrounded by waves. I can see waves coming. I ready myself and jump a little to keep my head above the water. Yet, it’s almost guaranteed to knock me off balance and pull on my swimsuit. I resituate, planting my feet “firmly” into the sandy ground yet a wave comes faster than I think, and knocks me down. I barely have time to catch my breath, wipe the salt out of my eyes and adjust my swimsuit before the next wave hits. 

Thoughts on Teaching & Learning

We are incredibly blessed to work at a school with leadership who intentionally tried to prepare for a pandemic (can you even prepare for something like this?!). We closed school one day, engaged in a kind of rapid-fire professional learning experience, and then rolled out our remote learning plan! I was in awe. Even the branding was on point. E-learning, virtual learning, and online learning put me to sleep just thinking about it. But remote learning? That’s fresh. Throughout that day, I found myself longing for the normalcy and consistency working would provide. Concurrently, I kept thinking, “how can you keep things normal in a world on fire?”

While many schools/districts that closed “early” were viewed as fear-mongering or hyperbolic, closing is (or I guess was) preventative. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in education, it’s that we tend to react rather than be proactive in cases of crisis. I was relieved to see this type of initiative or forward thinking regarding our state of emergency. But, so many people I love were back in the US, where as a nation, coronavirus wasn’t even on people’s radar. It was something that could happen there (aka, Asia). Not here in the land of the free and home of the brave. 

In the lead up to my own school’s closure, I began to lurk online, trying to wrap my head around what remote learning looked like around the world. I was in awe of teachers in China, Hong Kong, South Korea and Thailand. I was especially amazed by the elementary school teachers who were designing fun, engaging, well-rounded online classes for their students. Within days, many education organizations started posting articles like “10 Strategies For Online Learning During a Covid Outbreak” and “Teaching Through the Coronavirus”.

As one colleague put it, “we are in constant change. The sands are shifting.” It took moving to the desert for me to finally get that metaphor! While routines and structures are essential to well-run schools and classrooms, it’s far too easy to get stuck in a rut, teaching the same books or using the same instructional strategies over and over. If you’ve always done something one way, you can’t imagine or envision it another.

For many of us, this is a steep learning curve. If you’re used to singing and dancing in front of a classroom to hold attention, trust me no matter how awesome your students are, put them in front of a laptop and add the stress of the unknown and pour some worry about a relative back in the US and it’s far more challenging to keep them focused. I don’t care how good your lesson plans are or how charismatic of a person you are. 

One of the reasons my husband and I moved abroad was to open our eyes to other ways of doing things. Certainly, teaching in the middle of a pandemic forces you to rethink what teaching and learning could or even look like.  And let me tell you, not all “best practices” in the classroom transfer into an online setting. Not only do we need to consider the cognitive needs of our students, it’s critical to consider their emotional needs as well---and these are varied. For every student who is melting down, you’ll find another who just wants to do a worksheet. The constant barrage of waves of excitement, disappointment, anxiety, and fear impact teachers and students alike. 

On Responses in US School Districts

What I found most striking in the early weeks, was that suddenly there were a bunch of equity warriors taking to the internet. I was fully immersed in remote learning when it seemed that US school districts began to get whiffs of potential school shutdowns. 

Out of the woodworks came a lot of well-meaning white women who were waving an equity flag. “It’s a privilege to teach online,” they announced. “It’s inequitable to force remote learning on communities.” I was caught off guard for a handful of reasons. 

1. Knowing how much I was working to shift my classroom practices and routines to a remote context didn’t feel like a privilege. 

2. Teachers across Asia didn’t have strong wifi and were figuring out how to teach remotely with some success. 

3. I couldn’t wrap my head around the alternative to online school which was no option for learning at all. Basically, students who were ahead would be fine. Anyone else who was behind would become further behind. My heart ached. 

4. Didn’t these educators realize how deeply rooted in inequities American public schools are? Where have they been living/teaching/breathing? To suddenly care so much about “equity” (which btw, was interpreted as simply access to technology) when I’d bet my left-hand most of these folks were doing little to actually solve matters of equity in their schools and districts up until now. 

I’ve thought through and dialogue with many smart, respected educators about this. In fact, I wrestled with it on a recent episode of the Interchangeable White Ladies podcast. Anyone who has known me, knows I care deeply about issues of equity, dedicating much of my professional life to learning, thinking, and working on matters of equity. 

Closing schools and keeping schools closed through the remainder of the school year is necessary. However, weeks in, I am still not convinced that closing schools without some plan to provide meaningful ongoing learning is the best option for students, especially the students who have the greatest academic needs or need the social-emotional support school communities provide. I know many smart educators who’ve made a case for how much students are learning on their own, or that Maslow’s hierarchy means students aren’t in a place to engage in this type of structured learning. I don’t disagree per se with any of those arguments.  

But, I keep returning to this lingering thought. I can’t do everything for everyone. I  can do some things for some students. And I can try to do that for as many students within my sphere of influence. Being in a remote learning environment is not an excuse to throw best instructional practices out the window and simply stay in crisis mode (I get being there initially, but we can’t stay there). 

Rather, as I head into week 7 of remote learning here in the UAE, I continue to ask myself to questions:

• How can I create a safe place for students to feel validated in a time of crisis?

• How can I create learning experiences that are differentiated enough to engage all my students wherever they are emotionally, academically, and physically?