31st October 2011

I am addicted. Crunchy Nut Cornflakes and Meusli, football … and education.  I know you might think that’s a bit strange; Crunchy Nut and Meusli together, but at 6.21am every day it’s a necessity.  I can’t help the football thing and even stranger, is me being addicted to education.  Not just my own, but that of all the students who enter this school.  It’s just a job isn’t it?  Would I do it if I wasn’t paid?  Well probably not this particular job, but certainly I would be doing voluntary work in a Primary School helping little people read. 

It struck me on Sunday afternoon when I was reading the book, ‘Sailor Bear’, with my 4 year old Grand-daughter.  After reading it to her once, with the usual pirate jokes and affectations thrown in, I just couldn’t help myself go through it again to ask her how many words she knew on every page.  I was enthralled by her knowledge of the printed word at such a young age, but after page 3 she said, “I don’t want to read that book anymore,” and promptly rose to her feet and played with a car.  What was she thinking?

So as I sit here in my office at 7.55am I am reliving that experience and it set me thinking.  Why do teachers think that students should be interested all of the time?  We think that the knowledge we want to help them learn is of paramount importance, but sometimes they just don’t.  Do you agree?  Well whether you do or not, look back on your own experiences of education; school or otherwise.  Even now, do you really give your full attention and efforts all of the time?  Anyway, just thinking about that thought might give you some ideas. 

And so, to today.  It’s a new topic. Drugs.  I have mixed feelings about teaching Year 7’s about drugs, but hey, things have changed haven’t they?  But first of all I am going to be giving books out so that they know their Academic Profile grades and can read what I think about their work so far.  I always try to use their names when writing to them in their books and sign it off as ‘Sir’.  I’ve even used stickers.  I’m early as usual and I remember that Rachael is coming in again. I hope she notices the BLP skills notice I have on the outside of the door; ‘We are practising the skill of ‘Questioning’ today – Please come in!’  The learning objective is on the board.

Drugs can be an emotive topic as I know that some students will have knowledge of illegal drugs, but know precious little about legal ones. As they walk in I remind myself it’s the first day back after half term and they might have forgotten the cues I gave them that are teaching them how to treat me.  Today I am ensuring that they know how to discuss properly in small groups; can I still do this without losing control?

Rachael’s in position, register’s prepared, ready to roll.  Mr Minhas, our HLTA walks in and I quickly remember he had told me last term he was going to take 6 students out for the whole half term to do pre-tutoring.  I need to re-organise.  He takes them. I re-organise.  Rachael looks a little bemused.  Does she think I am dis-organised?

“Why are they going out Sir?” I ignore it.  Replying will get me involved in unnecessary conversation.  I have the choice to respond.

“Where are they going Sir?”  I ignore again.  They don’t need to know. Every action has a reaction and neither they, nor I, need one right now.

“Do I have to sit here Sir?” My re-organisation hasn’t gone down well with one or two.  Legs don’t go under desks, just sideways; heads turn away looking forlornly back at their usual seat showing their disgust and unwillingness to participate.  I’d have done that too in 1969.  Only now my response as a teacher is different.  Re-direction.  Teaching spot.  I ‘Biffle’ them and they remember easily. Good.

“I was really pleased with you all last half term,” I say, only partially fibbing.  “T and C are bringing your books to you and I want you to read my comments and check in the front of your book for your Academic Profile grade.”  They look eagerly.  Feedback is king, whatever form it takes.  I stand, scanning and using the occasional name and eye contact that says, ‘I’m surprised you’re not on task yet’, for simple re-direction.  It gets quieter.  Chunked skill.

I’m pleased with the re-organisation.  It’s amazing how the dynamics change when a few people are absent or out of lesson being pre-tutored.  My friend M is away; his friend, M number 2, has elected to sit by two girls.  Both he and I know they are his intellectual equals and I can see non-verbally he has immediately gone into subservient mode. I wonder why?

The first activity today is a ‘What do you know about drugs?’ sheet that I will re-issue again at the end of term to assess progress.  I explain how to fill in the sheet and that it’s a self-assessment to be completed in silence.

‘Have I made that clear to everyone?’ Always better to say that than, ‘Do you understand?’  Puts the onus on me you see.  Nods of approval.  Within 30 seconds 3 boys on the same table are filling in the wrong boxes.  The temptation would be to say, ‘Did you listen to me at all 30 seconds ago A?’  I resist and give out 3 new sheets I have spare.  Preparation. 

“Can you write paracetomol?” My instructions weren’t good enough. 

“H … it’s a self-assessment, read the questions and if you can’t do it, go onto the next one.”

“Can you write more than 3 things?”  They’re only Year 7.

“R … it’s a self-assessment, read the questions.  I need to know if you know the vocabulary in this topic.  If you can’t do it, go onto the next one.”

“What does unit of alcohol mean?”  My instructions weren’t good enough.  They’re only Year 7 and I have created this problem.

“OK.  Everybody.  Pens down … looking this way … listening to me.”  My voice lowers on every request made. Good old micro-instructions leave nothing to chance.  “Let me make this a little clearer.  This is a self-assessment to be completed in silence.  Read the questions and answer them in the best way you know how, at this moment in time.  I scan quickly.  No questions.  OK, carry on.”

I spot P talking to her friend almost immediately.  I decide to stand still and make a minor interruption to the class as the silence principle needs reiterating.  “P … silence means exactly that!  Thank you.”  Heads go down as they sense I am feeling a bit peeved.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch V play tapping his friend behind him.  I walk over and whisper in his ear, “You do that again V and I’m on the phone to Mom again.”  He nods, needing reassurance that he won’t get a repeat ear-bashing that he got off Mom last time.  I love supportive parents.

The next activity is based around the easy question, ‘How many names of drugs do you know?’  It’s purposefully vague as I want a group competition.  I tell them they need to whisper so that the others don’t copy their words.  Whispering loudly is hard.  I do this as they get a little louder and I try in vain to whisper loudly, “Keep your voices down … whisper! People are copying you!”  The noise level drops to an almost infinitesimal rumble.

“L … Did you finish?” I write ‘Closed question’ on the board as I talk.

“Yes Sir.”

“How many names did you come up with?” (How?)

“27.”

“Who came up with the most?”  (Who?)
                “K … Sir.”

“Why was he good at this?”  (Why?)

“His Mom works in a Pharmacy!”

You get the idea.  I am explaining open and closed questions, the hows, whys, whens, wheres and whatnots. 

“Asking better questions means you get better answers.”  We are going to have to spend more time on this as I am seeing a few blank looks around. 

I remind myself too, that questions about learning are great, but when I want to manage behaviour and teach them how to treat me, closed questions are what I need.  ‘What?!’ I hear you say.  Open questions never seem to get me anywhere nearer to my objective, they just open up a conversation that I don’t need.  Time is running on though, and I haven’t got everything done that I wanted to do.

“OK, planners open at today’s date, please.”  I give out the homework and notice T off task and talking about anything other than his planner.  “Is your planner out T?”  A little bit of redirection without reference to his behaviour. Nice.

As they write down their homework in the planner I place one green ‘post-it’ note next to each of them. They finish with their planners. 

“On the ‘post-it’ I have just given you, I want you to tell me one thing you have learned today and one question you have about drugs that you would like answered.”

Surprisingly, they scribble furiously.  Feedback is king.  I feel good as they leave the room and stick their little pieces of green paper on the table next to me. I quickly read the first one.

‘How do the chemicals addict u?’  Of all the questions I have posed this week, including the 10 rhetorical ones which I’m sure you noticed, this last one by an 11 year old child is the best.

I just love Year 7.