Processing My Process: Grades & Goals?

Like most teachers, I am a collector and recycler of ideas. Many of these remain locked up in a memory vault or notebook, while others coalesce around a singular purpose awaiting their moment to enter my practice. Over the past three weeks I have been returning to two ideas that, while not outside my realm of awareness, have by virtue of recently appearing on my Twitter feed prompted me to risk: grading student work without awarding a traditional grade and student goal setting. In the way our work has come together, I am going to use one (ungraded student work) to prompt another (student goal setting). While neither is revolutionary, I am hoping to have my feedback of their work have implications that reach beyond a returned paper set aside in a "portfolio" (translation: manila folder in a hanging folder in a cabinet to be "reflected upon" using a standardized template) or dispensed with disgust at an unfriendly number.

At this juncture (halfway through the school year), I really need for students to take to heart the feedback I have (repeatedly) shared with them, both individually and holistically as a grade level. Just as I am extremely confident I am not sharing anything new with them ("reduce clutter by revising out unnecessary clauses"), I am equally sure that many have ignored the advice from quality educators for the past 11 years of their schooling. I also know that our district (like many) has been sending professionals to training on subjects such as  SMART Goals and growth mindset, other than a passing nod to each in a department meeting, not much practical turn key training has been given. It may be that it has, but I, like the student who needs to be retaught what a metaphor is each year, the ideas have not been presented in a way that has clicked with me. This would likely be a fairer assessment of the situation as others (as you'll read) in my district, if not building, have.

I have toyed with these ideas in class over the past 15 years with varying degrees of depth and success. Like many of the strategies I have refined with my classes, I continue to try and find ways to make their use meaningful enough that they become valued by the students and thereby gain a sort of power and credibility. Articles by Carol Dweck and graphic organizers about SMART goals, to this point, have promoted interesting discussion (and have returned to them in college at which point they express gratitude for having been given them in high school) but have served primarily as "one-offs" that have little real resonance for either teacher or student.

A few weeks ago I came across a tweet (pictured above, left) by another teacher in the same school district as I, regarding her efforts with goals setting with students. Following an exchange of e-mails, she shared some resources with me including a short explanatory video she sued with her classes. At that time, my students had just taken a multiple choice mid-term and I had been looking for a way to have them process the results. It occurred to me that they might benefit from developing some SMART goals around heir own skill deficits as a means of drawing some conclusion as to1) what they are and 2) how to address them. Like "the best laid plans of mice and men," dates and ideas did not line up well enough to follow thru, but I had made some preliminary copies and began to consider a discussion of growth mindset as a precursor activity. Not quite ready to go, I set aside the materials for another day.

In two of my classes, prior to our five-day Present's Week Recess, students submitted analysis essays based upon individual chapters of Marjane Satrapi's graphic novel, Persepolis: Book 1. My intention when assigning the task (as students were informed of on the assignment) was to follow my normal grading process: read twice, comment and use a generic Advanced Placement writing rubric to provide feedback. I might even invite them to develop some personal writing goals after first providing them the vocabulary with which to do so (see, I still had those copies on my desk which I really wanted to use). The latter part had yet to have actually taken place, but the thought was there.

After a quick review of some of the papers, I came to a familiar conclusion: some of the same mistakes were being made, and not just by those students who had (based on prior experience) written the hit "print" on the library computer five minutes before class. If I followed my past practice, in all likelihood, other than prompting some haggling for points, my x/y grade (x = 9-1 on 9-point rubric, y = 100-65%) would have the same amount of minimal impact. It was then I came across Mike's tweet (above right) and I began thinking of trying something different. What if I read twice, commented with some suggestions for improvement and did NOT give a grade?

As of this writing, after 6+ hours on a train ride to New York City and a third of the way back, I am about 2/3 of the way through the papers. While many of the comments are similar, I am also attempting to personalize them further, a process that takes a considerable amount of time. Too much time to do this in such great detail, very frequently. But... what if we use this as an opportunity to establish some baselines about our writing and with this baseline, and some guided reflection, each developed a SMART Goals for improvement?

With the kernel of an idea of a plan of action, as well a sense of purpose, I find it's time to review some of my notes, finish the papers, and remember where those copies were for class tomorrow... and risk again.

The Power of Re-visiting Text

Wild Strawberries (1957) is not nearly as "artsy-fartsy" or maudlin as this trailer makes it look... honest!

Each school year, despite the best efforts of our department leadership to clearly inform teachers which novels are assigned to be taught at which of the four grade levels (9 thru 12), invariably teachers will high-jack a text for use a different grade level. Whether out of a passion for a particular title or because they don't feel the obligation to research materials for a novel they have not previously worked with, this is an annual conscious choice on the part of some that results in a completely avoidable bone of contention. While this does create problems (beyond the need to find alternative resources, let's face it, the thematic content of some texts really is more accessible and meaningful to older more experienced students), there is also an opportunity created through this lack of etiquette: the potential for revealing for students the power of a re-visiting a text.

A favorite title from my
youth I look forward to
revisiting this summer.

This idea is even more relatable when considered in the context of movies, a fact I was once again reminded of while re-watching one yesterday. The opportunity to re-visit a text (whether traditional hard copy or film presentation) creates a situation that illustrates the difference between simply reading a book and really READING a book. As teachers and adults, we can appreciate finding new information each time we read a story or novel, or after re-watching a movie. High school students, however, often view the reading expedience as a chore which, once completed, is finished with little necessity to revisit it beyond identifying cited textual evidence for responding to an essay prompt.

VHS box for Federico
Fellini's La Strada (1954).

While an undergraduate English major wa-a-ay back in 1988, I took a film study course entitled "Fellini and Bergman." As a product of an urban Western New York public school system, I had zero familiarity with the idea of watching foreign movies other than those produced by Toho Studios and (badly) re-dubbed in English. A large part of the course requirement consisted of independently watching films outside of class. This task required going to the bowels of the campus library and viewing videotapes at a desk with large headphones on. It was there that I also gained a level of comfort reading subtitles--an underappreciated skill I continue to develop to this day. While at my local public library yesterday, I came across a DVD copy of one of the films I had seen in the library basement, Ingmar Bergman's Wild Strawberries (1954), a film I had last seen 26 years ago.

After finishing the movie this second time, many years later, the difference in the experience was clear. Eighteen year-old me dutifully viewed Bergman's meditation on aging and acceptance, coming to some basic conclusions based in great part on my professor's book explaining the movie's themes, structure and story. Yesterday, 47 year-old me experienced with greater depth (and a stronger personal connection) the philosophical themes such as the value of introspection and the transient nature of human existence. I am also fairly certain that 65 year-old me (fingers-crossed!) will draw even more from a future viewing experience.

Stories, poetry and novels are no different; all benefit from the occasional re-visit, especially after time and experience have filled in some cognitive and emotional gaps. A part of me looks forward to the realization that this year's new crop of budding scholars have somehow been fed a novel that I had intended to teach. Rather than cursing the previous ill-advised professional, I will take advantage of the opportunity and challenge of demonstrating the power of revisiting text. Beyond the additional structural and thematic low-hanging fruit ready to be dropped, I am confident a great connection between the student (reader) and content can be facilitated... and the real magic of literature validated!

The Call of the Wild, Chapter 1

Yes, this is the same page as was tweeted--scroll down for another!

In the spirit of solidarity, just as I've assigned by eleventh graders to read (or re-read) and annotate Jack London's The Call of the Wild, I, too, have committed to doing the same. When I mentioned in class that I would tweet out my own annotations from the novella (doing what it was I was asking of them), one bright star said, "Does that mean we don't have to it ourselves?" Not quite. The hope is that by sharing what I saw it might spurn the student lacking the desire to be motivated to make their way through the book, too. And maybe even enjoy it in the process!

The edition I am using (and writing in) a Dover Thrift Classic which was purchased when another class of mine (many years ago) participated in The Big Read working with the same title. Most of my students are using old, hard cover copies from the mid-1980's and using post-it notes to make similar observations regarding writer's craft including syntax, diction, tone and figurative language, among others. I've read The Call of the Wild, and my annotations are by no means complete...

Accepting The Call For the First Time (Again)

The Call of the Wild begins with an unattributed epigraph:
the first stanza of "Atavism," a 1902 poem by John Myers O'Hara.

Two weeks ago, in anticipation of our impending seven-day break from classes, I asked my Advanced Placement students if any of them had a favorite book that they enjoyed re-reading for fun. The few that did, mentioned the titles that one might expect from normal eleventh graders: titles from any number of popular young adult franchises such as Harry Potter, Percy Jackson and the like. It was then that I hinted at the possibility of my asking them to read (or in some case re-read) a short novel that I enjoyed revisiting during break that they too may have become familiar with from middle school, The Call of the Wild by Jack London.

Though I teach high school English, and the reality that The Call of the Wild is firmly ensconced as a middle school title in our (like most) school districts, it became apparent a few years ago that, for whatever reason, London's classic was no longer being taught. As a result, most students had no awareness of Jack London beyond, maybe, having been assigned (and consequently dreading the experience of) reading "To Build a Fire".

As was expected, many students balked at the idea of being assigned a book to read during this time (and more than one colleague suggested to me "it is break after all"), I reminded my charges that had I any faith that they might read anything during our time apart, I might feel differently. An ulterior motive I had for assigning this particular book was the hope that some had indeed read it in middle school, and could therefor come to the realization upon re-reading it that books returned to at different points in one's experience can reveal new layers of understanding that their younger selves may have missed. (I knew some had been assigned it in the past by virtue of their names having been scrawled in the covers by their younger selves), of those few who had, none remembered it.

The task required of students' while reading was non-threatening as it mirrored one they had recently completed: as each read, she or he would annotate using either post-it notes (in the school's book) or in-text notations identifying and explaining specific literary strategies employed by London in telling Buck's story. The course was, after all, Language and Composition so our shared emphasis would be on writer's craft. For my part, I would also be re-reading the text, albeit for the upteenth time, and share select pages of annotation with the via my Twitter feed and our class blog throughout the course of our break. (Full disclosure: I could not resist the urge to begin (again) so actually began reading and annotating prior to the start of break.)

As some of my students reluctantly accept "the call" for the first time, and others willingly embrace Buck's tale for a second, I look forward to sharing together with them after break our thoughts on the journey (and process)...