Until recently, our coaching team had worked off a purely informal basis for coaching requests: when people wanted coaching they would approach one of the team and kick off a relationship. And for the most part that seemed to be working. But there was a massive disconnect between people who indicated an interest in coaching, and the number of people actually receiving coaching.
So we put together a really simple Google Form, and put it out there for people to impersonally request coaching. And a small group of people, most of whom are well-connected and established staff members, put in requests. The unseen barriers (relational awkwardness, not wanting to load up a coach who might be under the pump) were taken out of the equation.
We are regularly make adjustments for our students when they feel unable to participate and become great at removing those barriers for our students. It can equally be so vital to get on top of removing barriers for staff.
Note: This is my first blog post in a gazillion years: and it’s fair to say that my experience and reflections are quite different from the older posts on the site here – which was really started to help me reflect on the beginning of my teaching journey. So don’t judge anything older on here too harshly!
I’m naturally a very intuitive person: the monotony of choosing to be explicit about minute details bores me to tears. The beautiful thing is that more often than not, that intuition has proven an invaluable trait. It allows me to think strategically, to go big picture with ideas and to often troubleshoot classroom issues before they arise. It’s a beautiful thing, and thus my intuition is my best friend as a teacher.
But the sad truth is that my beautiful intuition is also my enemy. By trusting my instincts rather than meticulously recording what goes on for individual students, I miss things. Students miss concepts I’ve tried to teach because they’ve looked competent, and I’ve found out later they were too proud to ask, or just didn’t realise they didn’t know what they didn’t know.
So I’m learning to change: my intuition is no longer the badge of honour it might have once been, but rather a powerful (if unreliable) tool in the toolkit, used but not depended on. I’m trying desperately to get into the habit of recording more, being more explicit with questions as well as answers and at least pretending to care about the details.
I’m an eccentric person. It’s taken a bit for me to recognise this about myself, but it has become something I am now comfortable with. It has not, however, been a big part of my teaching. To be honest I’ve probably tried to keep the crazy to a minimum, partly for concern that students will go silly themselves, partly as a lingering uncertainty about how students would take it.
But these past few days, my guard has been down. I’ve been battling to get along to school with a nasty cold and probably should have had yesterday off bar the fact that I really needed to see a few kids to make sure their interim report had them up to date if possible. As a result, the filter that would normally stop the stupid, dorky things coming out of my mouth was turned off. For example:
I apologised for almost sending my Strepsil sailing across the room.
I remarked that having taken a cold and flu tablet I was feeling a bit dopey today, to which a girl remarked under her breath “just today”. I almost wet myself.
Caught myself raving about how wonderful my wife is on more than three separate occasions in the one day.
Started singing a student’s name to the tune of the Blues Brothers theme when just calling his name couldn’t get his attention.
The scary part was, it worked. I keep forgetting that when I let students know that I’m a person, and see that I’m a person, they’re able to connect with that. And sure I’ll get the looks that have my students wondering about the sanity/stability of their IT teacher, but who cares?
Plus I know which teachers I remember: the craziest ones.
We’re now most of the way through the first week of the school year, and I’m feeling struck by the re-remembering of just how much I enjoy this job. There’s plenty to get frustrated at: unhelpful students, unhelpful teachers, administrivia, meetings, negative teachers, blah blah blah, but the fact of the matter is that this job (and probably even in this exact school and these exact classes) is exactly where I want to be right now.
One of the bigger questions to come out of my trip to Mumbai (more details in previous post) was rethinking what integrity looks like in the classroom teaching environment. The trigger for this line of thinking was around the story I heard about Gandhi (again from the previous post):
“A mother had a boy who was eating too much sugar. His mother had repeatedly asked her son not to eat sugar, but to no avail. Knowing that her boy respected Gandhi, she took her boy to him to have Gandhi tell her son not to eat so much sugar. As she explained the issue to Gandhi, Gandhi said “come back in a month”. Naturally the mother was confused and a little frustrated, but she nevertheless went away and returned one month later. When she reached Gandhi, he told the boy that sugar was bad for him, and that his mother was right: he should not eat sugar. Of course this infuriated the mother: “Why wouldn’t you tell him this a month ago?” Gandhi’s reply was simple: “Until a month ago, I was eating sugar”.”
There’s plenty to think about in a story like that. For starters: so much of the practical advice around teaching methodology (particularly with reference to behaviour management) is that teaching is essentially an acting job. You can’t let students know what you really think, how you’re really feeling, etc. And there’s certainly a sense of self-preservation in that mindset: there’s little doubt that some students will take advantage of any vulnerability. But at the same time, it feels to me as though there definitely has to be a balance in that – in part because I think that lots of the time I’m a rubbish actor. I know that the students I’d been the most “real” with: admitted when I was having a shocker and let them know when I was walking on sunshine, were also the students who were most likely to believe me when I saw something impressive in what they were doing. Of course, it feels farcical to talk about “balancing integrity”…
The other half of this quandary is considering how you respond to kids, when “the official line” differs significantly with your own beliefs. Regardless of which school policy it is that you disagree with: uniform, computer policy, whatever – at some stage there’s going to be issues in which your beliefs side with the students and against the school. What does it look like to take integrity seriously? To shift either way seems a cop out; playing the cool teacher who rebels against the system or towing the party line and playing it safe. I’m really not sure where to land on this: my best effort at this stage is to discuss both sides of an issue wherever possible, but there’s certainly a level of professionalism that does require you to swallow your tongue at times.
I’ve been back from my trip to Mumbai for about a week now, so it’s probably about time I get some thoughts down on paper (or nearest virtual equivalent) before those thoughts drop out of my mind completely. “Teach for Australia” is part of a global network of organisations who all essentially do the same thing: put graduates into schools in disadvantaged communities. This network (Teach for All) had their big annual conference/workshop thingy, and somehow my application to go was successful. The conference was in Mumbai, India and hosted by Teach for India. We spent a couple of days in classrooms in slum communities in Mumbai, and the rest hearing from the Teach for India guys as well as from each other.
If I do this right, each of these sub-headings will get their own blog post – but with my blogging patterns being the way they’ve been we should all just be thankful if this post ever sees the light of day. So here are my “take-aways” from the conference, in no particular order:
1. Integrity in the classroom
The only way I would want to introduce this point is by relaying a story we heard in the conference. Naturally, it’s a Gandhi story: a mother had a boy who was eating too much sugar. His mother had repeatedly asked her son not to eat sugar, but to no avail. Knowing that her boy respected Gandhi, she took her boy to him to have Gandhi tell her son not to eat so much sugar. As she explained the issue to Gandhi, Gandhi said “come back in a month”. Naturally the mother was confused and a little frustrated, but she nevertheless went away and returned one month later. When she reached Gandhi, he told the boy that sugar was bad for him, and that his mother was right: he should not eat sugar. Of course this infuriated the mother: “Why wouldn’t you tell him this a month ago?” Gandhi’s reply was simple: “Until a month ago, I was eating sugar”.
I’m struck by the way that integrity is not something that is ever discussed in teaching – certainly not in relation to how we interact with our students. There’s a “what they don’t know won’t hurt them” mentality – as long as students don’t know that you don’t really believe what you tell them, it’s OK. Exploring what integrity in my teaching means is certainly a rich vein of thought – and one I intend to continue exploring.
2. Feel, Imagine, Do, Share
This one comes courtesy of Kiran Sethi, who was really impressive in her presentation to us. Kiran was my first introduction to the idea that to enact change we follow a progression of “Feel, Imagine, Do, Share”. First you feel what the problem is and not just from your own perspective. Imagine what the situation could look like, both in a practical planning-type way and in a dreaming type way. Do: Get out there and have a go. Do what it is that you are thinking about. Share: make sure that no matter whether your efforts are a success or a failure (and it’s pretty rare for anything to be either completely), document what you did, so that next time others (or you again) learn from your experiences. I think at different times in life I’ve been much better at one than the others. More thought also required here.
3. Self-confidence, Collective confidence, Expanding your locus of control
This one came from a workshop, but was a highlight of the week for me. In describing how the Teach for India “fellows” hoped to bring about systemic change in education in India, they described the progression as build self-confidence in who you are and what you are hoping to do, then find others on the same mission and together build the collective confidence, then gradually you expand your locus of control. This made a lot of sense to me as a way of “building a movement” – which was another key part of the time: feeling like I’m part of a global movement to confront educational disadvantage.
4. Take responsibility
Mixed in with the previous point is a very clear call to take responsibility for what I want to see happen in my school. Lots of the past year has been about drawing some very clear boundaries around what I’m responsible for: my classroom. But it’s got to be bigger than that. I feel like this upcoming year has me in a position ready to really start changing some mindsets: in particular in the attitude to students and their potential.
Hopefully all this gives you a bit of an idea of how Mumbai was for me. The optimist inside me says I’ll get a post out about how each of these points is going to look practically for me, the pessimist says that there has barely been a post in the past 6 months. We’ll see.
I’ve created a new theme for Son of A Teacher Man – that’s right, I’ve created it. It’s something I’ve done before for my personal blog and this theme is loosely based on that. I’ve gone with a style of the old dot-matrix printers, mixed with some old-school video-games stuff. It’s been pretty fun, and I’ll keep working at it to make it work properly. Take a look (if you’re not already).
As I’m sure is the case for many in the profession at the moment (and countless others), I’ve progressively been coming down with the latest cold-type bug that has been going around. It’s sapped my energy levels, left me with a red-raw throat and otherwise just made life miserable.
But most significantly it took the vast majority of the volume out of my voice today. I’m naturally quite a loud person, particularly in leading the classroom: often just when I get excited about whatever it is that I’m teaching. So today I felt completely dis-empowered, my “weapon of choice” was unavailable. I couldn’t instruct for longer than about a minute, I struggled to regain the attention of the class when I’d let them go, and I struggled to maintain their attention when I had it. I don’t think I realised just how much I’ve relied on the power of my voice in the class.
Some of that is good: I think I communicate effectively most of the time, but I’m also reminded by the need to have plan B, C, D, etc. ready for when the plan doesn’t happen. All good learnings I suppose – but I’m not sure I’ll make it in tomorrow. In the meantime, the headline gives me an excuse to link to (embedding is disabled) that most fantastic of music videos: Fatboy Slim’s “Weapon of Choice”.
One of the real highlights of the TFA mid-year intensive was spending some time hearing from behaviour-management guru Bill Rogers for a couple of half-days. While we were debriefing with some drinks afterwards I had a rare moment of insight and commented that “the tough part about all this will be when we get in the classroom and find out that this stuff’s not magic”.
Sure enough, I got back into the classroom and realised that while the strategies we learnt are fantastic (and make no mistake, they’ve changed the way I manage the classroom), they aren’t magic. The tough kids are still tough, kids still want to disobey instructions whether they are given as a stupid question or as a clear direction. The fact remains that we’re dealing with teenagers: independent, intelligent (and it’s important to remind myself of that one), human beings with their own sets of ideas about how they should approach any class. Sadly, but also happily, there is no magic to do away with that.
I have spent the past week at the Teach for Australia “Mid-year Intensive” – five days of living together back at our old haunts at University College and Melbourne Uni, and participating in some great times of learning together – both formally and informally. It’s been a fantastic time of hanging out, laughing, crying, expressing frustration, re-invigorating one another and reconnecting with why it is we got into this program in the first place. That and riding out a nasty stomach virus going through the majority of the group (and quite a few staff members). Nothing brings people together quite like poo stories.
This group of people have inspired me. They drive me on to being a better teacher and they remind me of the good things I am already doing. So it’s in this context, I’d like to (anonymously) introduce a few of my friends, and perhaps share a little bit of the lessons they teach everyday.
B is a drama teacher. In reality she teaches English as well, but you only need to look at B to recognize that she is probably a drama teacher. B brings an enthusiasm and excitement to almost everything she talks about: I can still vividly remember a conversation with B about the disappointment of the bland salad sandwich she was eating. There’s little doubt that she brings that whole-hearted approach to absolutely everything and anything she does. And once she is onto talking about something she truly cares about, there is no stopping her. B teaches her students that things matter, and that it’s OK and important to be passionate; that there are things in life genuinely worth looking a bit silly to pursue.
R1 is a deeply faithful husband and dedicated father. He gave up a very successful career in the IT industry to teach information technology and maths to year 11 and 12 students. R1 has a beautifully disarming way of communicating the absolute heart of a matter. But more than that, R1 knows exactly who he is and what he stands for. He knows that he’d much prefer to spend an evening with his kids after a long week at the intensive than he would spend the time at a lavish dinner with friends. So while his students may have maths or IT written on their timetables, I have little doubt that in reality R1 is teaching these kids that being an adult is about knowing what’s important to you, and living for exactly those things.
R2 and L are both teachers at my school, though I don’t see them much because they’re on the other campus. While they are both close friends, in reality they are quite different people. L teaches English and Humanities, while R teaches Science, Maths and IT. Both are in Teach for Australia for quite different reasons, and come from noticeably different backgrounds. But the most unifying thing about these two beautiful women is the love they ooze for their students. I’ve been in conversations where someone (else) has besmirched the name of one a ratty year 7, and both these girls have leapt to the child’s defense. It is not possible that R or L could teach a student and have them not know that someone cares about them, and how they do in life.
J brings a quiet dignity to everything he does. I can’t remember meeting a more gentle voice delivering such a rapier wit, and yet he brings an immense calm to tough situations. J makes people (and certainly myself included) feel safer through his own presence. As he works in a pretty rough, country school: it seems to me that J must surely be teaching that manliness and strength is not about aggression or domination.
These stories are there for every person I have been able to share this experience with, and it is an absolute honor to be calling these people my friends. There are certainly better teachers out there, and probably even groups of better teachers. But I am so immensely proud to be a part of this one.