By: Lester Laminack

I’m going to risk making the assumption that each of you, at some point, has heard someone say, “if these walls could talk…”  It has been my experience that folks say something like that when walking through historic buildings, old or abandoned houses, and in buildings where either tragedy or scandal has occurred. Yet, it occurs to me that the walls of our schools do indeed talk. In fact, I think they have much to say to anyone willing to listen.

Many years ago, I was given one of my most interesting and memorable tasks as a consultant. When I arrived at the school, I was met at the front door by the principal who held a digital camera in her hand. “School hasn’t begun just yet,” she said. “The children are still arriving, so I’d like you to take this (camera) and stroll about the building. Feel free to move in and out of any space, we are all used to visitors here. I’d like you to snap photos of anything that catches your attention, causes you to pause, puzzles or intrigues you, anything—positive or negative. Seriously, snap a photo of anything you value or question or wonder about. Then, around ten o’clock I’d like you to meet with me in my office. I want to download the photos on my computer and go through them with you. I want to hear what our school speaks to you, to know if we project what we proclaim.”

Seriously, this was my task for the first few hours of that day. It remains one of the most fascinating tasks I’ve been assigned as a consultant. No other administrator has ever asked this of me since. 

I moved through the hallways thinking that I would walk through the entire building and get a feel for the place before snapping any photos. As I strolled, I was struck again and again by the presence of student art on display. It was presented as if I were in a museum. There were display cases for smaller pieces including three-dimensional works, as well as paintings and sketches on easels. In corners and stairwells, I found pedestals with larger pieces that could be viewed from all sides. Then, I came upon a large section of the wall covered in matte black fabric to create a display space in a hallway. Hanging in the center of the display was a famous print, of generous proportion, from an artist with historic renown. The print was tastefully matted, like something you’d hang in your home. There were smaller pieces done in a style similar to the featured masterwork. These smaller pieces were the works of students and it was clear that they were created by artists ranging from four to twelve years of age. The student works were not clustered by grade or age level and they shared the spotlight equally. Each piece of student work was presented as a serious work of art, matted in a manner similar to the masterwork. Placed carefully among the various student pieces were small placards with statements noting how the student artist had employed a technique learned from a study of the renowned artist being featured. A length of yarn was attached to each student piece and ran to some point in the masterwork drawing the viewer’s eye to the stated connection. In addition, there was a placard (about 10”x14”) listing out the standards these artists were working on as they studied the renowned artist and created these pieces.

All this was so carefully displayed to center children in the creation of art. There was a clear celebration of the genius of childhood, the exuberance of creativity, and the joy of producing the work.

This was in contrast to what I found when exploring the writing of children on display. As I strolled through the halls, pausing outside the classroom after classroom the most typical presentation of writing was a collection of stories neatly written and organized around a shared topic (The Worst Day Ever, The Best Surprise, I Was Never More Frightened). Each piece in a given collection shared a common opening line, a set of transition phrases, the same general organization, and an obvious lack of spelling or grammar “errors.”

What struck me most in this contrast is how differently we view and celebrate children when the product of their effort is something graded for the report card and “valued” by a score on a standardized test. I was soaring with joy when I encountered the child in each piece of art. No two pieces looked the same. There was no obvious effort to have them attempt to replicate the masterwork. Instead, the focus was on the technique of the artist—the use of color and line, and materials to execute an intention. Those attempts were celebrated as they were evidenced in each piece. And the celebration of those attempts was given a place of honor and respect alongside the masterwork.

By contrast it was not the child being celebrated in the writing displayed in the halls. Rather, it was the standard/conventional spellings, the standard/conventional use of punctuation, the adherence to the organizational frame and use of the prescribed transition phrases that were centered in their writing. 

There were many other wonderful things those walls whispered, and chanted, and cheered about that morning. There was so much to celebrate in that school, but the best conversation was delving into an exploration of how we could center and celebrate the child in the writing work in a way that would parallel the pride and joy so obvious in the art.

“…if these walls could talk…” Well, friends, they do. Now the question is, “do they project what we proclaim?”

Lester’s books are on Amazon!

Learn more about Lester Laminack, check out his website!

Follow Lester on Twitter @lester_laminack

By: Lester Laminack

We live on a twenty-two-acre portion of an old farm nestled in the mountains of western North Carolina. Our property has acres of woods and acres of open meadows where cows grazed, and hay was harvested. I keep those meadows mowed. It takes about six hours on a small tractor to mow all of them and I do that at least twice each month. Six hours sitting on a tractor, wearing sound-muffling-headphones, is a great time to think. It is actually one of my new revision tools and a great time for reflection. When I am writing and hit a wall, I start the tractor and mow and think. When something is troubling me, I mow and think. 

Recently I was obsessed with the words: critic, criticize, criticism, and critique. I was rolling them around in my mind noticing their similarities and reflecting on how we interpret them. It seems that we are in a time when critics are present at every corner and on every tweet and post. News outlets and social media seem to thrive on criticism. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I find all that negativity draining, and it has me thinking. 

Some may argue it is only semantics, but I believe we feel the difference between criticism and critique. In my mind, criticism almost always comes from a negative place. Criticism lifts up what is wrong, incorrect, missing; all the negatives. Criticism seems to delight in finding flaws and flaunting them. You aren’t likely to want to help if someone says: “Just stop, that’s not how you load the dishwasher. You don’t put the plates in like that. Good grief.” Negativity never helps me move forward, improve, or make change. In fact, I find my reaction to negativity is quite the opposite. Negativity most often leads me to pull back, to withdraw, to avoid. 

I view critique, on the other hand, as coming from a positive place. Critique is what my editor offers when we have a conference to talk about one of my projects. She points out the strong parts of the manuscript, she lifts up what is working well, she speaks to those places where the language “sings”, where the characters and the dialog move the plot along, and points where the story “shines.” Then, within the context of that safety net of support, she draws a tight focus on a couple of places that are not working as well. Any attention to negatives is presented within the context of what is working, and she shows how the negative bit she chooses to highlight is detracting from all that is working well. 

If you are thinking this is some sort of coddling or ego management, then so be it. I’d rather think of it as guidance. Within the context of what is working well, the negative can be seen more clearly, more objectively. That is to say when negatives are presented in this way, I am able to see more clearly why something isn’t working and how it detracts from the story I’m trying to tell. Critique helps me to understand what I do well, what I have under control and gives me a window into where, how, and why I can improve. I find that critique, when defined this way, actually makes me a better writer. The next draft is tighter because I can reflect on what is working as I address what is not. Because I understand the intentions of my editor, I am energized to jump back into the work knowing exactly where to focus my attention.

From this perspective, critique is an act of caring. It requires that you reflect on what works in addition to what doesn’t. It requires that you consider your comments within a context, to pause and recognize that something isn’t “wrong” simply because it isn’t the way you would do it (e.g. loading the dishwasher). It asks you to consider whether your suggestion is coming from a place of support and potential for growth.  Critique is the positive energy of a critic.

Of course, this line of thought took me to school. It gave me pause and nudged me to examine interactions with both students and teachers. It is easy to notice the flaws, to see what is not working. It is easy to point those out. But, is it helpful? Is criticism beneficial to our students or our colleagues? I don’t think so, especially when criticism is coming from a negative place.

I find that criticism most often becomes a default mode when we are operating under stress. I believe most of you will agree that this has been one of the most stressful periods in our memory for our schools, our teachers, our students, and their families. When we are stressed, we are less likely to think clearly, less likely to consider the impact of our intentions, and less likely to think through how our feedback may impede or facilitate growth and positive change.  With that in mind I invite you to pause and reflect the feedback you give your students when offering suggestions for growth.

Lester’s books are on Amazon!

Learn more about Lester Laminack, check out his website!

Follow Lester on Twitter @lester_laminack

By Lester Laminack

One morning at breakfast I noticed Steve, with coffee mug in midair, staring through the windows into the woods behind our house. I sat quietly watching him for a moment. Then, without shifting his gaze, he spoke aloud.  “I’m so impressed by the fearlessness of squirrels. They just run to the end of the branch and leap with no fear of missing the next branch, no fear that branch will not hold them.”

I’ve thought about those squirrels and the idea of fearlessness. Squirrels make branch-bridging-tree-travel look effortless. Indeed there appears to be no fear at all. But is it fearlessness that leads them to move quickly, gracefully even, through the trees? Or does that freedom and grace come from another source? Is it confidence? Skill? Practice? Or something else? At what point do baby squirrels become those confident, graceful branch-bridging acrobats? Are they trained by their elders? Is it a matter of natural agility, instinct, and genetics? Or is it that great skill developed over time builds confidence. And that confidence fuels practice which in turn builds competence.  And that competence reinvested in authentic use yields performance that appears effortless, or dare I say, fearless.

My thoughts shifted to both teaching and learning. When we see someone doing something so well that they don’t even seem to think about it, we can quickly fall into the trap of believing that it must be easy. It is likely that you have experienced this phenomenon yourself. Those DIY shows for home improvements are led by individuals with a passion for the work, extensive knowledge, much practice, and experience with both failure and success. Those hosts break the project down into small steps with the camera fading in and out between steps. The episode makes a project appear to be manageable and accessible to the novice. The show gets you engaged and energized so you make the trip to your home improvement store, purchase the supplies, return home and fearlessly begin to make that magic makeover yourself. Then it suddenly becomes more complex than you had imagined. You can’t remember the sequence of steps involved. You watched the show in under an hour but forgot to factor in those captions on the screen signaling a four-hour wait for stains to set and sealers to dry. Your project doesn’t turn out quite right and you have to call in someone to help. You get frustrated. You vow to never attempt another DIY project. You proclaim yourself “not the handy type” or “just not good at this sort of thing.” You become skeptical of those DIY programs. Your experience shapes a portion of your identity, and unless you have a new experience–one with success–that identity may become a permanent thought that limits your willingness to even attempt another DIY project.

Consider the possibility that teachers can be like the hosts of a DIY show. Like those hosts we have a passion for our work, extensive knowledge, much practice, and experience with both success and failure. A competent teacher can make any task seem accessible. A teacher’s demonstration can make something seem easy, effortless, natural. Yet, when the novice student fearlessly attempts the task and is met with less than stellar success there may well be a sense of frustration, even failure. That experience may come with a resistance to make another attempt; an ego protecting wall saying this stuff is useless in the real world. I fear that too often we teachers meet those reactions with an attitude that is less than supportive and understanding. I fear that, as teachers, we forget we are the hosts of the DIY show and our students are the one’s with wide-eyed eagerness who can be easily disillusioned.

Do not misunderstand me here. I want fearless learners. I want us to encourage our students to jump in and have a go, to attempt without fear of failure. But, how do we have that without squelching their desire to try or instilling a belief that they aren’t capable? Consider this again, great skill developed over time builds confidence. Small successes build confidence. And that confidence fuels practice which in turn builds competence. And that competence reinvested in authentic use yields performance that appears effortless, or dare I say, fearless. Now, let’s think about what it takes to reach the point where students are willing to invest time building essential skills, knowledge, vocabulary, and processes that will give them the confidence needed to continue.

It has been my experience that there are at least four essentials:

• Trust
• Feedback
• Vision
• Tenacity

I believe that learning hinges on an established relationship between teacher and student where there is trust. Students must trust that they are allowed to attempt without the expectation of perfection. They must trust that you and their peers will support them in their attempts, no matter how shaky. They must trust that it is natural and expected and accepted that learning is a series of repeated attempts with growth over time.

I believe that trust builds with feedback that speaks to strength. Students need to hear what they are doing well as a context for suggestions for improvement. I believe that students need suggestions in small digestible bits that they can implement to experience growth and success. I believe such experience leads to receptivity to additional suggestions, in fact, they may well seek them out.

I believe that success brings confidence that engenders the competence to imagine more, to develop a vision for the work. The ability to envision allows the student to imagine not only what comes next, but also to imagine how all the steps fit together and become the whole. Vision, in my experience builds and becomes clear with experience, knowledge, language/vocabulary, success, feedback, and trust.

And that leads us to tenacity, the ability to stay with the task and cope with the small stuff along the way.  Tenacity, in my experience, is fueled by vision. One must have a sense of purpose, a sense of the outcome, a sense of how to get there, before the willingness to stick with it emerges.

Fearlessness may be the wrong word for squirrels and learners. But that graceful movement sure looks fearless to me.

Lester’s books are on Amazon!

Learn more about Lester Laminack, check out his website!

Follow Lester on Twitter @lester_laminack

By Lester Laminack

Enjoy, as Lester guides you from teacher-centered to student-centered teacher read alouds!

When you reach the end of an article, a story, or a book do you reach for your notebook to answer a set of questions written by someone else?  Do you feel that your understanding of what you have read, your worth as a reader, hinges on being able to give the answers to someone else’s questions?  Probably not.  Yet it seems that much of our reading instruction relies heavily on having our students answer a set of questions after they complete a reading assignment.  Following reading with a set of questions is a longstanding practice in literacy education.  In fact, many commercial reading programs follow this pattern.  One well-known program assigns a point value to each title, then has the children read and log on to a computer to read and answer a set of 10 multiple-choice questions. Other programs have students read then write answers to similar questions. And if we are teaching from a literature-based approach that doesn’t rely upon a commercially produced program we tend to have our own questions to hold our students accountable.

Questions Can Create Patterns

As teachers, most of us were introduced to Bloom’s Taxonomy as undergraduates in a teacher education program.  We likely practiced developing questions for each of the levels in the taxonomy and began our teacher careers believing that it was our charge to develop good questions that would hold our students accountable and yield proof that they read and understood the assigned text.

We sat with our notepads at hand and read the books, articles, poems, and various other texts our students would read across the year.  We paused at various points in the text to draft the questions we would give our students. We were attentive to character traits, shifts in the plot, nuances in word choice, the author’s use of simile and metaphor and figurative language.  We noted allusions to cultural references and other literature.  We were alert to the role of setting in the text, the way the author used dialog, bias, and narration.  We read closely and synthesized as we developed the questions we would present to the students.  Questions, whether presented by the program or developed by the teacher, may fall into a pattern or categories.  For example, questions about the main character, physical descriptions, main idea, vocabulary, opinion, evaluation, analysis, synthesis, inference, etc.

As students read and respond to the questions presented they begin to recognize the patterns as well.  Does this impact the way they read?  Does it shape what they tend to notice and pay attention to?  In other words, are they reading with the pattern of your questions in mind?  If the answer is, yes, then what are they failing to notice?  What is the cost to comprehension and attention and engagement?

Get In Touch With Ways You Read

Consider your own thought process as you read a text with the intention of writing questions for students to answer.  Are you beginning with a frame in mind? That is, do you begin with thoughts focused on Who? What? When? Where? Why? and How?  Or do you begin with the intention of finding three detail questions, two questions about the character’s motives, three questions that require the reader to interpret, two that require analysis, and one that calls for synthesis?  If the answer is, yes, then how does this frame influence YOUR approach as a reader? How does that process differ from the way you approach a professional text or a book you have selected to read for pleasure?  How does the approach effect your engagement with and your comprehension of the text?  Chances are that you read differently when you read for pleasure than when you read with the intention of developing a set of questions for your students.

Who’s Doing All The Thinking?

I have come to believe that the person who is asking the questions is the person who has done the thinking.  As you read to develop the questions for your students you were summarizing the text at critical points.  You were evaluating the merits of details and the use of Literacy devices.  You were synthesizing information and generating new thoughts.  You were noticing were the text called for an inference or expected you to have adequate background knowledge to connect to a metaphor or allusion.  In short, you were doing the deeper thinking, the more thorough analysis as a reader in service to the development of questions that would yield the proof of your students’ connections and comprehension.

Time To Flip the Read Aloud

I invite you to try something the next time you are reading aloud to your students.  As the story draws to a close and your voice delivers the last line simply close the book and exhale.  Pause for a few seconds and let silence settle over the group.  Then, look at them and speak quietly:  “Think for a few seconds.  Don’t speak yet, just think if you could speak with (author, illustrator, character, expert—beekeeper if the story is about bees, etc) what are the three best questions you could ask?  Think about that, please.  I’ll ask you to share your questions in just a moment.”

Have your notebook ready to jot down the questions as they share. At the end of the day when the students have boarded their buses to leave, revisit those questions and place them into four categories: Vocabulary, Background knowledge, Schema/conceptual frame, and other.  Take note of where the majority of the questions fall.  Think about what this reveals to you about their understanding of the text.  

I’ve come to believe that I find out more about where their understanding fails by examining their questions than I ever got from checking their answers.  

Lester’s books are on Amazon!

Learn more about Lester Laminack, check out his website!

Follow Lester on Twitter @lester_laminack