When Geoffrey Canada, the founder of the Harlem Children’s Zone, attended college he was used to being a good student. But statistics was something he dreaded and, sure enough, he flunked his first exam. So he went to his professor in a panic and told him how hard he had studied but that he had failed, nonetheless. So the professor said, “Oh, I know what the problem is. The book you’re reading has a particular slant. Read this other book and you’ll do fine.” And so it came to be. A year later, upon reflection, Geoffrey figured out why he had succeeded: “The professor made me read two books on the same subject.”
When I need to learn something new, when I’m about to embark on a project, I go to the library and take out as many books on the subject as I can lay my hands on. I must have started out with 25 books on Harry Houdini at the beginning of my research for my DK biography. Did I read all the books cover to cover? No, but I looked at all of them and I read many of them cover to cover, without taking notes unless some particular quote struck me. Each book made me more familiar with the arc of Houdini’s life. Gradually, I accumulated enough knowledge to make his story my own. I found a way to tell his story differently, not strictly chronologically as most biographies, so that it would be a fascinating read for kids, not just a recounting of his deeds and accomplishments and certainly not an exhaustive treatise with way too much information so that a kid’s eyes would glaze over. It is my job to distill voluminous amounts of information to create an accurate, compelling narrative that is NOT too much information.
Yet, what happens in most classrooms when kids have to learn something new in history or geography or science? They read ONE SOURCE, and a not particularly well written one at that. Educators are screaming that kids need to learn critical thinking. What does that mean? Reciting the facts from the one source they’ve read? I don’t think so. Why not have each student read different nonfiction trade books on a subject and then discuss the authors’ varying points of view of the story? Why not have students read several books on a subject and discuss which book they liked best and why? Kids learn how to think critically by doing it and they need to read more than one source to start formulating opinions of their own.
Critical thinking implies an ability to make a judgment based on evaluating a variety of sources. It also implies that once a judgment is made, it can be defended. And yet, the climate for teachers to think critically is not very hospitable. I think we’re starting to see some pushback against the imposition of the assessment tests as the single most important factor in evaluating schools. Here is an example of critical thinking at its finest.
Superintendent John Kuhn of the Perrin-Whitt Independent School District of Texas recently testified at his state legislature on behalf of a bill that would initiate a two-year moratorium on standardized testing, known as STAAR in Texas. After he said we should treat teachers like we want them to treat students, Representative Hochberg raised this question: Teachers give students grades all the time...why shouldn't they be graded?
Superintendant Kuhn fumbled for an answer and went home feeling he had missed a golden opportunity to make an important point. It bothered him so much that at midnight that night he wrote out what he wished he had said (don’t we all want Mulligans upon reflection?):
“Representative, you make a good point. The state has adopted the role of teacher, and teachers are the students. And this is the root of the problem--you are a bad teacher, and that is why we students are getting rowdy now. That is why we are passing notes to one another saying how mean you are. We are not upset that you grade us. We are upset that your grading system is arbitrary and capricious. We are upset at the way you hang our grades on the wall for everyone to see, instead of laying our papers face down on our desks when you pass them back. We are upset because when you treat us unfairly there is no principal we can go to, to report you for being unjust. There is no one but you and us, ruler and ruled. Your assignments are so complicated and sometimes seem so pointless. You never give us a break, never a free day or a curve. And we heard you in the teacher's lounge talking about how lazy we are. You stay behind your desk, only coming out to give us work or gripe at us. You never come to our games; you didn't ask me how I did in the one-act play.
“Representative Hochberg, the problem isn't that Texas wants to grade us; the problem is that Texas is THAT teacher, the one who punishes the whole class for the misbehaviors of a few bad apples, who worries more about control than relationships, who inadvertently treats all kids as if they are the problem kids. This approach has made you the teacher all the kids dread. The one who builds fear instead of trust, who never takes late work or asks how our weekend was. You are the teacher and we are the student, and if you want us to mind, you should create a happy classroom, work with us, relate to us, build trust with us, seek our input, and ask our opinions once in a while. Give us choices. Give us room to experiment and permission to risk new things in your classroom, permission to try and fail without disappointing you.”
So critical thinking involves inputting a variety of sources, reasonable discussion, and time for reflection. Is that happening in your classroom? Your school? Your district? Your state legislature? Perhaps if there were more critical thinking about critical thinking, education wouldn’t be in its current crisis.
Twentieth-century education arose at the time of the industrial revolution. Its purpose was to produce workers for factories — people who could read and write, who got along well with others, and who could follow directions. This short video sums it up quite well.
But times have changed and the skills of the 20th century, which education met most effectively in the 1950s, are still being taught for the most part in the old-fashioned way. It doesn’t work. Recently, I’ve been attending education conferences where many innovators speak about the skills we’ll need for the 21st century. Computer literacy is, of course, a given. But that alone won’t solve the problems. Much of what I heard at these conferences as new is a simply a throwback to the progressive education I was fortunate to receive as a child. (The new buzz word is “project-based learning,” or pbl.) But one noted and impressive educator I’ve come across in my travels, who truly speaks to the future, is Alan November. Here is another short video in which he lays out what he thinks are the three essential skills kids will need for the 21st century.
If you don’t have the time or interest to watch the video, here’s my take on his three skills. First, people will have to know how to process massive amounts of information. This means they have to be able to read critically, pick out the stuff that fits with the problem they have to solve, and synthesize the material into something that has added value for the marketplace they are connected with.
Second, November thinks that people have to be able to work globally — to find people on the planet, not just in their neighborhood, state or even country, who can help them to solve problems.
Third, November believes that the most valuable workers of the future have to be self-directed. They will be able to work without needing a boss. This means that they must be creative enough to figure out what needs to be done and disciplined enough to do the work without having someone looking over their shoulder. (It’s cheaper to hire workers who don’t need managers.)
So now, here’s my question: Who are exemplars of workers who already have these skills? Who are models of disciplined, self-starters, on-going life-long learners, who process massive amounts of information, including material gathered from all over the world, and produce works with added value? Can you guess who they are? (I’m prolonging this, trying to approximate a drum-roll.) It’s (are you ready?) CHILDREN’S NONFICTION AUTHORS!!!!
We each do extensive research; we travel (and email and Skype) the world; and, god knows, we don’t have a regular paycheck so we’ve got to be self-starters. In addition to the knowledge we’ve accrued via the books we write, we can talk from first-hand experience about the acquisition of the subset of skills needed for each of the three overall 21st century skills as stated by Alan November. We can speak about how to locate pertinent information, how to select the most appropriate information, how to honor our sources, etc. Most of us have traveled to other parts of the world in pursuit of what interests us. What skills are involved in working globally with people of different cultures and values? (We can speak to that.) And as to the last skill, the idiosyncratic ways we have each learned in order to trick (manipulate? cajole? threaten?) ourselves into working productively, that could absolutely fill volumes. It’s so highly individualized that I venture we each have something different to say about it. At the very least, we can affirm that work is not relegated to a traditional 9-to-5 workday.
Want to know how we do it? Start asking.
And to help you ask we’re launching something new:
Ink Link: Authors on Call invites you to join us for a series of COMPUTERSIDE CHATS — informal panel discussions via videoconferencing — starting on May 10. This adventure in technology will allow authors and educators to discuss the exciting role that nonfiction literature can play in bringing the joy of learning to your classroom. The videoconferences will be FREE, compliments of our partner SetFocus, which has given us a “virtual room” for our chats. Participants can ask questions via a written chat (#authorsoncall) , and the conversation will continue on our wiki. The room can hold about 40 separate endpoints, which might include anything from individual computers to a room of people with a projector. Together we can create an intimate meeting without the costs or inconvenience of travel. Since space is limited, reservations will be granted via applications ala TED conferences where you can add your own witty comment. If you'd like to join our emailing list, please let me know at: Vicki@inkthinktank.com
The first INK Link Computerside Chat will feature author David Schwartz, literacy expert, Angela Maiers, and moi, Vicki Cobb. The discussion will be Passionate Voices: Science, Math, and 21st-Century Skills.
The other day a friend of mine was telling me about a meeting she attended in person that was an audition for TED.com speakers. The candidates had many different personalities and stories but they were all so riveting that “nobody even texted or tweeted” during the presentations. This was in stark contrast to a recent webinar I attended where, in addition to listening to the speaker and watching his slide show, I was also expected to follow the chat window and even contribute. With hundreds tuned in, the chat window scrolled by so fast I could barely read every fourth post. The presenter chuckled as he digressed from his “no-lecture lecture” to answer a posted question every few minutes or so. Billed as a new way to use web 2.0 capabilities to effect learning, this webinar seemed to be to be an attempt to encourage multitasking to the nth degree. I stopped participating after five minutes, but left it on to the end when the speaker received a round of virtual applause and enthusiastic praise in the chat window.
What’s going on here? As a public speaker, I am terrified of producing glazed-over eyes so I am acutely aware of my audience response. With a remote presentation like a webinar, the chat window is perhaps the only way the speaker can sense that there is, indeed, an audience. But when a speaker really connects with an audience, attention is undivided. If I need to hang on every word and not miss anything, let’s say when I’m interviewing someone for a project, I bring a tape recorder. My notebook is only for jotting down an exact spelling or an important detail. I learn the most when I focus on just listening. From the speaker’s point of view, a listener’s undivided attention is not just polite; it is an honor. And often this is enough to bring the speaker to an even higher level. (All good interviewers know that people reveal more when they sense genuine interest. That’s how good writers get the best stuff.) After almost three decades of talking to kids in schools, I can sense that there is deterioration in listening skills. Kids today don’t have the patience to sit and listen to boring speakers (as if they ever did). But there have been numerous studies on the effects of multitasking on learning. Here are some of the results:
•Since we are hard-wired to respond to distraction (a throw-back to our hunting days where attention to the unexpected had survival value) people are addicted to responding to phone calls and emails. One study claims “Infomania is worse than Marijuana.” “Workers distracted by email and phone calls suffer a fall in IQ more than twice that found in marijuana smokers”.
•When people work at more than one task at a time, they are just shifting attention, not multitasking. The result is that nothing is done very well.
•Multitasking produces an illusion of competence that can create problems in really being able to perform at a high level.
•Heavy multitaskers are worse than average people at filtering out irrelevant information, organizing their memories, and even switching back and forth from one thing to another. In other words high multitaskers have an inability to concentrate — they are learning how to be ADD.
•In The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains, author Nicholas Carr reports that many studies have shown that reading with hypertexts produces less immediate learning than straight reading and less retention over the long run. Yet he understands the basis for its attraction. He says: "And so we ask the Internet to keep interrupting us in ever more varied ways. We willingly accept the loss of concentration and focus, the fragmentation of our attention, and the thinning of our thoughts in return for the wealth of compelling, or at least diverting, information we receive. We rarely stop to think that it might actually make more sense just to tune it all out.”
There are benefits in catering to short attention spans. The best tweets are like poetry — reducing concepts to punchy advertising copy. One-minute multi-media approaches bring content alive by appealing to more than one sense. Personally, it has turned me into a better speaker; I’ve become a performer, something like a night-club act. But real thought is not just bright and shiny on the surface. Many issues are too complex to be reduced to a sound bite. I worry that we will lose the ability to do deep thinking if we get addicted to constant interruption by the beeps of our seductive electronic devices.
I had originally entitled this post “May I Have Your Undivided Attention” but I rephrased it hoping that you can give it to me.
My first teaching job was seventh- and eighth-grade science. I was 23 years old, married, with a Master’s degree in secondary school science and permanent New York State certification to teach high school biology, chemistry and physics. But I had had a hard time finding a job. In those days young married women were not considered a good investment by schools as they were likely to get pregnant and quit. And, because of my graduate degree, they had to start me, a beginning teacher, at a higher pay scale than someone with just a B.A. So I was grateful to get the job and prepared myself to face the students with the reputation of raging hormones.
The first eighth-grade unit was on “modern atomic theory.” (Do they still teach it?) Somewhere in my training echoed the phrase “Make it relevant.” So I walked into my first class armed with a Fabulous Factoid. After describing the nucleus of the atom with its protons and neutrons and its orbiting electrons the stage was set for the delivery of my FF. “Want to know what makes up most of an atom?” I asked my class rhetorically. “It’s mostly empty space. In fact, if you took out all the space of all the atoms in a fleet of battle ships (maybe 17 ships) and packed all those subatomic particles next to each other, you would have a mass the size of a basketball that weighed as much as the entire fleet!” I paused, satisfied that I had delivered my FF with sufficient drama. Silence greeted me. Then, at the back of the room, a boy slowly raised his hand. (I still remember his name). “Mrs. Cobb,” asked David incredulously, “how do they know that?” I was stunned. I didn’t know the answer. I figured I’d better not fake it. “Good question, David. I’ll find out,” I stammered.
Needless to say, the answer was not in the textbook (nor, for that matter was the FF). So I went to the library and found a children’s book called The Story of the Atom. (I don’t remember the author; there is a current book with the same title by Joy Hakim.) I noticed that the door to my classroom was closed and no one was watching me. So I taught the unit from this book and ignored the textbook. Each day I told a different story giving kids notes they could study from: How Henri Becquerel accidentally discovered invisible rays from a rock — rays that passed through opaque paper. How his friend, Marie Curie, measured the strength of these rays and discovered two more radioactive elements. I described Roentgen’s astonishment the first time he used his invisible X-rays to see the bones in his wife’s hand. They learned how Ernest Rutherford shot some of Becquerel’s rays through gold foil as if it wasn’t there. (His experiments were the evidence for the enormous space in the atom and its nuclear structure.)
How J.J. Thomson measured the mass of the tiny electron. Together, my students and I learned how Niels Bohr synthesized the evidence from many scientists to create a model of the atom (modern atomic theory) that explains chemical bonding, changes of state, the periodic table, the gas laws and more.
Some kind of magic happened in that classroom. I found out in the teachers’ room that a few of my students were incorrigible troublemakers and that others were failing. But not in my class. One of my sections was during the lunch hour, interrupted by bells. Decorum was never breached, even when the bells rang. The mood was sustained throughout that entire year, even when the topics changed. Granted, this was a different time. It was before the student protest movements in the late sixties and this was an affluent suburban public school. (My later teaching experiences were not so idyllic.) At the end of the year my students had to take a statewide “achievement test” in science. The week before the test, I gave them practice test-taking. They did just fine.
True to the expectations of that time, I left that teaching job after two and a half years to become a mother. That’s when I became a writer. I began creating books that could give other teachers the opportunity to experience the magic that had made teaching so rewarding for me. But I wonder if today’s teachers have the freedom to instruct from material that resonates with them or with their students. (I wouldn’t survive today in an autocratic school that dictated what and how I should teach.) When I do school assembly programs as an author, I create an intense group experience akin to theater; but I’m considered “enrichment” outside of the typical classroom experience. My performance is simply show-business. I don’t have the advantage of a teacher, who has a real relationship with her students, which can allow for a sustainable conversation throughout the school year.
The magic in my classroom came from a rapport between me and my students that developed through my sharing content from a nonfiction book that resonated with me. After I discovered writing (while taking care of my own kids) I realized that there is not enough time to teach and write and do both well. So I chose to create books that can make teaching fun for teachers. The authors at my other group blog, I.N.K. create wonderful “scripts” and stories for classroom teachers to share with their students. When passions are shared, magic happens. I know because it happened to me.
