Thursday, September 17, 2020

Mac Luckey, or Teaching Gifted Kids

Mac Luckey was a philosophy professor at Morehead State University, a state college in Kentucky, my undergraduate alma mater.

I didn't study philosophy, but luckily for me, Mac was also the director of the Honors Program, a program designed to enrich the college experience for students who in high school would have been identified as Gifted and Talented (what we call AIG in my school, two states over and 20+ years later: Academically and Intellectually Gifted). 

The program, when I was a part of it, consisted of a variety of seminars and four core classes called the "Age of" classes focused on eras of human history. Age of Classicism, Faith, Enlightenment, and . . . Discovery? Apparently I don't remember the fourth class as well. After all, this was more than twenty years ago. 

Age of Classicism came first, and Mac taught it. I'd just completed high school, finishing second in my class. I was a good student by most standards, but--I mean no offense to my well-intentioned public high school--I had yet to be challenged by the academic adventures offered to me in the classroom. 

That may sound arrogant, but we're talking about eighteen-year-old Samantha and arrogance was certainly a part of who she was, as it is for a lot of AIG kids. When you're accustomed to feeling like "the smartest person in the room" it's easy to get a little full of yourself. Humility comes with experience. 

Mac could have flattened my arrogance and broken me, or at least tried. Plenty of other teachers in my life took that approach, and inspired my stubborn distrust. But instead, Mac gave me the most important gift he had in his possession: his interest. 

When I tossed out some tired observation he had probably heard thousands of times in his career, he didn't roll his eyes and shut me down with sarcasm. Instead, he pushed me to take my thinking further. He asked me questions that went deeper, questions I couldn't just toss off something flip and clever about. He made me consider WHY and HOW and make connections and associations, just by asking questions. 

I'd only had a handful of other teachers who "got me" this way. Mac talked to me like I was an interesting person he had met, rather than a responsibility he'd been saddled with. When you're an eighteen-year-old girl, very few people take you seriously. 

But Mac did. He talked to me like he might talk to any woman he met anywhere, interested to find out who she is and what she knows. He never acted as if he was talking to a child, but just to a fellow human being. 

He didn't try to "catch" me at something mundane like not having read all the 50 pages that had been assigned the night before, but instead engaged me (and all of his students) in challenging conversation, inspiring me to read not only the assigned pages but an extra book of criticism so that I might bring more to the table at the next discussion. 

I'd scribble down titles of works he mentioned casually in class and look them up on my own time, not because I was worried about making a grade or winning an award, but because he'd made them sound interesting. He'd piqued my curiosity. 

I only took the one course with Mac. I was an English and Education major with minors in Spanish, Creative Writing, and Honors, and he taught philosophy. Technically, he was only my teacher for the one semester. But he remained an influence in my education across my four years at Morehead, through the Honors program. He gave me travel and presentation opportunities, a listening ear, job references, and sometimes, when I was ready to listen, advice. 

He passed away a couple of days ago, having made it to 85 years old and changed the lives of hundreds, maybe even thousands of young people along the way. I hadn't spoken to him in person but maybe once or twice since I left Morehead, for all the usual reasons: busy life, etc. But, nevertheless, he is present in my life and the lives of my students every day in what he taught me about teaching. A lesson he probably didn't even know he was offering. 

RIP Mac Luckey. I was the lucky one: I got to be your student. 

Friday, September 11, 2020

Talking to All the Black Boxes

Like a lot of teachers around the country right now, I'm spending a lot of time talking to black boxes with names on them. (also known as: teaching via Zoom).

It's disconcerting, even eerie sometimes, because rooms full of children are not generally quiet or still. It feels lonely, and at the same time, I feel a lot of pressure to be even more dynamic and enthusiastic and clever than ever before, like I've suddenly become a YouTube star, with a captive audience. 

Teachers develop a lot of skill in reading body language . . .skill that doesn't serve us anymore when we cannot see the students. I feel suddenly blinded and deafened, lacking 2/3 of the information I usually use to engage a room full of kids. 

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It's not really better if all your students turn on the cameras (which they may not be able/willing to do: camera function, limited bandwidth, privacy concerns, etc.) because then you have a wall of faces to try and read quickly, like the Brady Bunch on overdrive. Not nine faces, but more than thirty at a time in some classes. 

By necessity, kids are spending a lot of time on mute because there is SO MUCH background noise, connection issues, feedback, and poor zoom meeting etiquette going on, that they *have* to be muted just to keep the whole thing from devolving into chaotic white noise. 

Don't get me wrong. This is better than not having any semblance of live meeting time. Last spring, during our sudden shut down, there were kids I NEVER HEARD FROM AGAIN, despite all the ways I tried to reach out: email, LMS system, phone calls, snail mail . . .especially once the state decided to remove external accountability in terms of grades and testing. 

But still, how do we engage kids? Here's what I've been trying: 

1. Use ALL the interactive tools the software offers. 

For me, in Zoom, that means asking kids to type responses in the chat box, use reactions, put up different symbols in the participation box, polls, popping links into the chat to outside apps, and (to the extent possible) unmute in turns and speak aloud. 

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2. Keep track

Teaching has always been partly about record-keeping and documentation to some extent, but I'm finding it extra important to keep good notes: Who didn't show up for Zoom? Who showed up but was unresponsive? Who is not completing the assignments? 

I only "see" my students twice a week under our current plan (the other days are asynchronous online learning), so I have to pounce as soon as a kid begins to fall behind or it's going to get dire quickly. 

I have a standing policy right now of emailing kids who don't show up for Zoom right after the class ends and asking them to update me on what's going on. I'm getting good responses to that, and it's helping with the relationship piece because the kids know that I noticed they weren't there and I care about why and want to help. 

3. Give options: 

Don't rely on a single path to show understanding. Technology is wonky, so you always need alternatives, other ways that kids can show that they "get" what you need them to "get" even if their microphones don't work or they have to come to class with their baby brother on their laps. 

I'm building as much differentiation, scaffolding, and enrichment into every assignment as I can. Whatever I provide live, I also provide asynchronously, making instructional videos, presentations, etc. available through our LMS (Learning Management System, in this case: Canvas). 

Due to privacy concerns, we can't record and share our in-person classes, but I can record a brief lecture giving the same information without the interactivity and it's good for reference, backup, and review. 

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4. Balance flexibility and accountability: 

Where there's a will, there's a way, right? So, it's up to me to help my students develop persistence (or grit!) and not give up when they hit an obstacle. 

Communication is key for this: reaching out to find out what's in the way, and doing my best to remove or mitigate those obstacles. 

Kids still HAVE TO DO IT, even if they need alternative ways to do so. Some obstacles are external and others internal, but all can be overcome if only we don't give up. 

Luckily, I'm darn stubborn. :-)