Let’s face it. By 1:00 pm a third of us are wishing for a diet coke, a third want a Macchiato, and another third want a power nap. Being the kind of teacher who plans purposefully, patiently meets students where they are, and keeps up to date with the latest tips and research can be exhausting. Of course, there are also the unplanned events that claim our attention like parent emails, unexpected meetings, and the social interactions that seep into our classrooms and fill it with peer drama and mediation. While that caffeine and sugar boost give us a quick fix it also leaves us jittery, rounder around the waist, and crashing later in the day. This led me in search of other, healthier, and more sustainable ways to get that much-needed energy boost.
By looking at the research from positive psychology and sociology I found that one of the best things we can do for us and our students is to focus on building from strengths. It turns out that we train our brains to look for whatever we think matters most. If we believe that focusing on strengths is important we will begin to look for them and then find them everywhere with every student. On the other hand, when we look for what is not working, we can also find that everywhere. The biggest difference is that strengths make us feel good and when we feel good we are happier, more energized and more successful teachers.
Every day I sit with a reader and ask him about his process. I get curious about what this particular reader thinks about, notices, and does as he reads. I really listen. Then I allow myself to be impressed by what he already knows how to do. By focusing on a reader’s strengths I fill up on positivity that can’t help but give me a boost.
After noticing a strength I explain it to the reader so he can also relish in the hard work that is paying off. While giving the feedback I really take in his change in facial expression and demeanor. The toothy grins, the rosy glow, all show me just how much the reader feels his pride. His pride gives me even more of an energy boost. Finally, I sneak peeks at the reader for the rest of the day, and enjoy the energy ripples of communicating to students what they already do so well.
Of course, this does not mean I only reinforce strengths when I confer, as I also teach students strategies, but the teaching comes second. At first, I had to train myself to look for what the reader could do so I could build from strengths. I put sticky notes on my conferring clipboard to remind myself of my intention. After a few weeks of daily practice it became more natural and now it is automatic.
Think this is all fluff, like whipped cream atop a latte? Think again—this positivity practice makes a difference. The next day, and the next day after that, you see its impact on the reader. In psychology, they call it the helper’s high. In teaching, I’m thinking of it as a double shot of positive feedback that gives each of us a needed boost.
Students enjoy reading partnerships. The comments that follow were part of reflections they wrote after experiencing this relationship:
“I love talking about my book to a partner.”
“My reading partner helps when I’m confused.”
“My partner helps me find books to read.”
“I can ask my partner for help.”
Students’ reflections point to the benefits partnerships have for teachers and students. What these comments teach us is the sharing and supporting between partners results in learning, independence, and the development of self-confidence and efficacy.
Provides more time for teachers. When students learn to support one another and respond to partners’ needs, the teacher experiences fewer disruptions. This translates into extra time to confer, coach, or scaffold students. It also permits teachers to pull groups for guided reading or to discuss diverse texts of the same genre.
Taps into the social aspect of reading.Students love to talk to their peers. Moreover, in middle grades and middle school, students value peer opinions on a range of topics, including books they liked and disliked. Focusing discussions on favorite books and/or suggesting titles to each other can deepen students’ interest in reading.
Develops independence for students. Partners can help each other unpack meaning from a confusing section of text, understand tough words, share background knowledge, and clarify a journaling task. Students have opportunities to get to know how a peer approaches reading and writing about reading. All this practice enables students to solve problems independently.
Organizing Partnerships
Sometimes students choose a reading partner and other times, the teacher might organize reading partners for a unit of study that runs five to six weeks. Help students understand that if their partner is deep into reading or working on a project, they should feel free to ask another student for assistance.
What follows are suggestions for using partnerships to boost students’ comprehension, fluency, and enlarge their vocabulary.
Pair-Shares: The turn-and-talk strategy invites students to share, with a partner, their thoughts about a book the teacher reads aloud, a strategy such as making inferences, or a video clip, etc.
Poetry Partners. Each pair selects a poem to practice reading aloud to a partner for four days, and on the fifth day, students perform the poem. Dr. Timothy Rasinski, an expert on fluency, favors this strategy. On the first day, students read their poem to themselves, then out loud to each other, and discuss its meaning. Then, they practice reading the poem out loud each day prior to performance day to develop fluency, expression, and comprehension—and enlarge their vocabulary.
Written Conversations About Reading. Partners can have written conversations on paper or on a computer about teacher read alouds, guided reading books, a lesson, a theme such as stereotypes, and genres such as science fiction. Students set up their written conversation with both names at the top of the paper and jot the book’s title or topic under their names. Students write their name followed by a colon each time they respond. Partners take turns commenting on each other’s ideas, asking an open-ended question, adding information, or offering a different interpretation. Teachers can read these to gain insights into students’ thinking.
Closing Thoughts
Sharing ideas, supporting and helping one another, developing friendships, valuing diverse interpretations combine to make reading partnerships valuable and memorable learning experiences. Always reserve time every few weeks to invite students to reflect on and write about their peer partnership experiences, then discuss these with their partner. What happens is both students read about how they impacted their partner’s learning, and in those moments, students strengthen their self-confidence and resolve to continue to work hard and learn.
In making the case for humane teaching, I open with the courageous words that I have heard students say to their teachers:
A kindergartener: When you yell, it makes me sad and afraid.
A second grader: Please, please don’t dump my desk when it is messy.
A fifth grader: When you announce the highest test scores with a drum roll, it makes others feel bad, especially those who work hard and will never score the highest.
A seventh grader: I am having trouble learning in your class because I am afraid you are going to embarrass me by throwing my binder on the floor, too.
A tenth grader: The fact that my paper was the most marked up in the class does not mean I should read it aloud to my classmates.
These are just a few of thestatements I have heard in the past few years. Students shouldn’t have to self-advocate in these ways. These pleas for compassion compel me to say:
We are experiencing an epidemic of inhumane teaching.
I state this bluntly because I cannot circle around this issue for another moment. Through actions and inactions, spoken words and stony silences, teachers are creating a hostile learning environment, whether they realize it or not. Too many students endure school days punctuated with inhumane experiences, either directed at them or their peers. Whether it’s intentional or not, and whether it’s a byproduct of being saturated in an uncivil media culture, inhumane teaching is suffocating our children. In Alfie Kohn’s description of this epidemic, he writes, “Students tend to be regarded not as subjects but as objects, not as learners but as workers. By repeating words like ‘accountability’ and ‘results’ often enough, the people who devise and impose this approach to schooling evidently succeed in rationalizing what amounts to a policy of feel-bad education.” (Kohn 2004)
Unrealistic expectations are being heaved onto educators, no doubt about it. It’s understandable to bristle and buckle under the pressure of accountability and raising the bar mandates. This pressure, however, does not give us educators permission to fuel inhumane learning environments. Yet it is happening. Educators have become far too comfortable saying damaging statements within earshot: These kids will never be ready for the test next year; high school is going to be a rude awakening; he is so low in math. It is hurting our students. Ultimately, it is hurting ourselves too. When we diminish students, we feel diminished.
I say this as someone who is guilty of misusing my power as an educator. I have outwardly shown frustration at answering the question that I already answered a half dozen times. “Okay, everyone, I am going to say this one more time. Jack, Jack, are you listening? I don’t think you are.” Even when I perpetuated seemingly neutral habits like naming students by their reading level, I was undermining learners’ confidence and capacity to learn. And every time I did something like this, whether during whole class teaching or with individual students, I felt a nugget of yuck in my gut. I am not sure I could have articulated it at the time, but now I see that it felt wrong because it was going against the very grain of my beliefs. Those were stress-fueled power plays, cheap shortcuts, and honestly, authoritarian acts.
It is time to commit ourselves to what feels morally sound: humane teaching.
Humane teaching is teaching with recognition of the learner. It springs from our own self-respect and professionalism, and an awareness that students thrive when teachers bring to their role a sense of stewardship.
Carl Rogers, grandfather of positive psychology and one of the great humanitarians of our time, describes this approach as “prizing the learner” and it is remarkably impactful on learning. “It is an acceptance of this other individual as a separate person, having worth in her own right… a prizing of the learner as an imperfect human being with many feelings, many potentialities.” It is the belief that all learners possess the innate desires to grow and yet are grappling with growing. “Learning is increased…. when they are simply understood – not evaluated, not judged, simply understood from their own point of view, not the teacher’s.” (Rogers 1967 304-311)
In line with Carl Rogers’ thinking, I am not suggesting we approach our students in a fluffy, sugary-sweet, singsongy way. That’s just nonsense and all students see right through it. Instead, I am urging us to take on courageous, brave teaching. Embrace the difficulties and the struggle of learning; accept the many complexities manifested in students and teaching without finger-pointing, blame, and humiliation. This is integral in the work we do: namely, teaching with compassion and esteem.
So just how do we teach with compassion and esteem? I am tempted to succinctly tell you in the numbered tips style so prevalent in all media, designed to hold the attention of a distracted population, but it’s not possible to squeeze this issue into such a format. There are no capsulized solutions.
So, instead, I reach out to you, requesting you to draw in close for just a bit longer so I may share a bigger message here. YOU are not the problem. If you are reading this blog, you are likely an enlightened educator who doesn’t shame students. But WE are all the problem. Let me explain. We can post, read, like, share, retweet these blogs till the cows come home, but that doesn’t seem to be stemming the tide of inhumane teaching in our schools. Instead, I want to crowdsource us and our own passion and smarts and outrage so that together, we recognize it’s time for greater collective action.
Within our schools, how might we use our insight and energy to help fellow educators learn more compassionate ways of interacting with students? How do we help us all be more compassionate with ourselves? It seems to me it’s done by way of a paradox— a pairing of zero-tolerance and generous, abundant curiosity about why we are resorting to those behaviors and how we might search out alternatives. It is a strict, daily commitment to prize the learners within our fold in the manner of Carl Rogers. We also must, every day, recognize and prize ourselves and our fellow educators. And when this does not happen, we act. We do not let discomfort dissuade us from addressing inhumane teaching.
Instead, we might choose to do what one educator, a principal who has taught me much, did to face inhumane teaching head-on. First, she acknowledged the feeling in her gut that said, “No way. These words are callous and cruel. This is not who we are.” Second, she recognized her role in the situation. She owned that in some way, shape, or form she contributed to the way teachers were speaking about students. Bravely, professionally, and compassionately, she spoke to the educators about her expectations of humane teaching and how all must grow (including herself) to prize their students, especially those who seem most challenging. From there, they all made a plan of action to study together— to study ways of educating humanely. Most importantly, they followed that plan of study together by reading, talking, teaching, and supporting one another in this work. May we all be inspired to follow this same path when advocating for educating compassionately.
This is brave, challenging work that requires persistence. Committing to humane teaching helps us ground ourselves in the greater purpose of the work we have been called to do, and helps us to teach from that sacred space so that learners no longer need to self-advocate for dignity. WE are the answer.
My teaching career started in September 1963. My husband and I had moved from New York City to Winchester, Virginia after he accepted a job there. I had been working as a copywriter for an ad agency, but Winchester didn’t have an ad agency. So, at my husband’s urging, I took a job teaching sixth grade in an elementary school in Gainesboro, Virginia, replacing the principal’s wife who was on medical leave. That made me the only teacher not related to the principal.
Gainesboro was a poor, rural community. Some of the children’s parents worked in the principal’s peach factory while others worked on his land as tenant farmers. As such, most families were beholden to the principal for earning enough money to feed and clothe their children.
From the first day, the principal and I were at odds. Corporal punishment was thriving at the school; teachers were equipped with a whip or a paddle or both. When both first appeared on my desk, I promptly returned them to the principal’s office. That action started the yearlong battle between the principal and me. Every morning when I arrived at school, I’d find a whip and paddle on my desk, and I promptly returned them.
My twenty-eight students were shocked that I didn’t keep and use the whip or paddle. They peppered me with questions: Weren’t you ever whipped at home? At School? Why don’t you believe in whipping? They seemed fascinated by what they feared. If they heard a child in another class screaming while being whipped or paddled, they turned shades of gray, sat stiff as toy soldiers, and when the screams subsided sighed deeply. Yet, they wanted me to keep the whip and paddle in our classroom.
I explained that I didn’t believe in corporal punished. Instead, I preferred to talk to a student who “broke” a rule and negotiate changes in their behavior. My students looked at me suspiciously, I believe because I came from “the big city.” However, neither their reactions nor the principal’s persistence changed my mind about hitting students. As winter approached, my students’ fascination with the daily ritual of returning the whip and paddle to the principal’s office waned. Thankfully, they became more interested in playing hoops at recess, watching “The Flintstones” on TV, and wishing for snow days.
Their wish came true. Just before Christmas break, a storm dropped more than a foot of powdery snow on Winchester and Gainesboro. Two snow days later, my students returned to school dressed in heavy coats, which they hung in the closet and placed their boots on the floor. All except Wilbur.
Wilbur was close to six feet tall; he had repeated sixth grade twice. This year was his third time. Although a slow learner, Wilbur was making progress. He was reading at his instructional level, early fourth grade, instead of at his frustration level, which he had been doing since he entered sixth grade, thanks to the grade-level basal his former teacher had been using. Nonetheless, my other students didn’t relate to Wilbur because he was older, much taller, and carried the stigma of repeating sixth grade three times. The result was that Wilbur had no friends. He stayed on the sidelines during recess, had no school social life, and refused to discuss his feelings with me. I totally understood his reluctance to talk but continued to try.
On that December morning, Wilbur sat tight-lipped and silent each time I gently asked him to put his coat and boots in the closet. Finally, I walked over to his desk, intending to do it for him. Quite suddenly, he stood up, punched me in the face, and decked me. While I was out cold, some students went for the principal who suspended Wilbur for a week, ignoring my pleas to reconsider the punishment. I felt that I was at fault more than Wilbur. Being a first-year teacher, I lacked the experience to know that I should not have tried to force Wilbur to obey me. As I reflect on this story, I’m aware of the irony: I did not believe in corporal punishment, yet a student who couldn’t find the words to express his inner turmoil punched me.
That year, I matured as a teacher and learned three important lessons from Wilbur and my principal.
Always respect a student’s response and space, and don’t box yourself into a stance from which you can’t retreat. I quickly learned to respect a student’s feelings and never push a student to obey a request, especially when he or she is hurting, confused, unhappy, or as in Wilbur’s case, embarrassed and lonely
Repeating a grade once doesn’t work. Repeating a grade three times not only doesn’t work, it is harmful to the student because socialization becomes a huge issue, one that affects his or her self-esteem, self-confidence, and sense of belonging. Progress can be made through careful interventions and scaffolds as well as by providing additional support during the day and in after-school programs.
Don’t compromise your values. Stand firm. I escalated the principal’s anger and frustration by daily returning his whip and paddle. For me, both were symbols of control, power, and daily corporal punishment to gain students’ compliance. Much better to negotiate positive and productive behavior through conversations. Maybe, if I had kept the whip and paddle in the classroom and not initiated the daily battle of wills, the principal would have listened to me when I asked for a more lenient punishment for Wilbur. I’ll never know.
Making mistakes has helped me learn throughout life. The mistakes I made during that first year of teaching transformed me into an advocate for students. Throughout my teaching career, I have opposed retention because all too often, the student experiences the same ineffective curriculum and teaching methods that deterred his or her progress in the first place. Moreover, the stigmatization a student inevitably faces can affect him or her throughout life.
During my year at Gainesboro Elementary School, I developed a mantra I still embrace as I continue to teach and coach and train teachers in the United States and Canada: At the end of each day, I have to live with my words and actions and feel at peace with them.
