Stifling Genius?

I read this article from Scientific American today, entitled "How to Raise a Genius: Lessons from a 45-Year Study of Supersmart Children." The article begins with the story of Julian Stanley, a psychometrician and professor at Johns Hopkins who began a study of gifted kids in the 1960s, and through a series of vignettes explains what this long-term research study indicates about how we should parent and teach gifted children. It's a l-o-n-g article, but if you work with kids in any way--and in particular if you are a teacher--please, please take the time to read it.

I've been thinking for a couple years now about how we teach gifted kids in K-12 schools. I recognize how badly I did this when I was a middle school teacher, so I'm pointing the finger at myself first. I would like to say that I didn't always know whether the kids I was teaching were identified as gifted or not. I have learned a lot in the past few years about what actually makes for gifted learners. One of the biggest misconceptions people have about gifted learners: "high achieving" learners are the same thing as "academically gifted" learners. They. Are. Not. Synonymous. Nope. We have to get over this. One of the problems for the truly gifted learners in school is that they often see the reality of the "game" of school for what it is--not a very good game for the gifted kids either. And, because they understand that school is a game--and a pretty bad game at that--they might refuse to play. Which is why they are not always high achievers.

While I don't know for sure which of my former students were (are) talented and gifted learners, I have some suspicions based on what I've learned about gifted learners. And oh, how I would like to be able to go back and apologize to them!

Number one on my list of apologies: I'm sorry for stifling your genius by requiring the same work of you as everyone else.

Liturgical Christmas

A (belated) merry Christmas to you! I hope it was a happy time of celebrating for you.

I have not always loved the Christmas season. There have been years where the commercialization I see this time of year entirely overshadowed my joy of celebrating Christ's first coming. There have been years when I feel anything-but-joyful during the month of December. There have been years when I dreaded the busyness and stress that all-to-often permeate the American Christmas. But this year? Not so much. I have felt wonderfully joyful and peaceful, and my heart is full to the brim with hope and love, despite the challenges of the time since we last celebrated the Nativity. It's not that everything is perfect, but rather that I am able to see a bigger picture somehow, that I am able to rest in the security of being loved by an infinite God.

I had a tangible reminder of that on Christmas Eve night/early Christmas morning. My brother-in-law and I attended the Christmas vigil service at a nearby Episcopalian monastery. I am not Episcopalian by creed, so it was interesting to note the similarities and differences to other Christmas services I have attended in years past. I enjoyed gathering with seven monks and about a dozen other worshippers to celebrate Christ's coming.

Learning to Be Uncomfortable

My friend, the amazing Alice Keeler, dropped this great quote in an online conversation today.

Alice was talking about the way things sometimes change in a software update; the developers move buttons or menu items to new places, and it causes us to have to rethink, to relearn. But I love the twist here: those small moments of a little discomfort might be avenues to new learning.

I turned it into a graphic, because we should take this to heart, teachers. We should keep learning new things. We should keep striving to get better.

But we also need to recognize that learning new things can be a challenge. Learning new things can be hard.

There is always a learning curve; and a little discomfort in the process of learning should be expected.

When Your Students are a Blessing

Yes, I own a seflie-stick. No I'm not embarrassed about it. I'm also wearing a Christmas sweater
with a T-Rex on it (wearing a Christmas sweater of its own, of course)...so I don't embarrass too easily.

This crew.

This was the group of students I was privileged to teach in my "Teaching Science Pre-K through Middle School" course this semester.

We just has our last class meeting, and I am truly, truly sad to be finishing things up with them.

To celebrate, I brought candy canes, and wore a horrible-amazing Christmas sweater, and we made slime, because science.

This group of students was an absolute blessing for me this semester.

Keep Your Eye on the Donut

It's Thanksgiving Day as I write this. I am thankful for many things.

At my church, we have a "Thanksgiving Eve" service each year. It's usually a fairly intimate affair, a time for our church body to gather and reflect on the goodness of our God, and collectively give thanks.

We are currently without a pastor, so last night one of our elders shared a Thanksgiving reflection. She began with an object lesson for the children (which, of course, is also an important lesson for us grown-ups as well.)

She took a donut out of a paper bag and held it up for all the kids to see (both the littler ones up on stage, and us bigger ones still in the seats.) I was hungry--hadn't had supper yet--and it looked delicious to me. Who wouldn't be thankful to be given a donut when they are hungry?

But there is something missing with a donut: there is a hole cut out of the center. Not that it matters, of course; that's part of the joy of the donut. We expect donuts to have a hole in the middle. Honestly, it's odd for a donut to not have a hole in it. Hardly seems like a donut then, right?

We don't focus on the hole when we are enjoying a donut.

And so, she taught the kids--and all the rest of us too--a rhyme about donuts:

As you travel through life, let this be your goal:

Keep your eye on the donut, and not on the hole.  

A simple lesson, perfect for the kids. (Perfect for the grown-ups too.)

How often, in light of good gifts in hand do we focus on what is "missing"--the hole in our donut? Are you thankful for what you do have? Or do you focus on what you don't have?

I think that from here on out, every time I see a donut, I'm going to be reminded to pause and give thanks.

Image by Giovanni Tancredi [CC BY-NC-SA 2.0]

Being a Teacher

Tomorrow in my middle school curriculum and instruction class we're going to be talking about lesson plans. Which means...tonight I was working on my lesson plan for teaching future teachers about how to write lesson plans. (That feels like Inception, somehow.)

Teaching, as I often tell my students, is not for the faint of heart. Under the very best of circumstances, it is incredibly demanding. Just planning a lesson can be daunting, let alone teaching it. And don't get me started on assessing their learning. And then the demands of meeting the needs of individual students--can we really do this? Ensuring that all students will learn? And then there is the management of the classroom. How do we create a classroom atmosphere conducive to positive social interaction and meaningful engagement in learning? And how about fostering moral development in students? And communicating with parents? And keeping up with professional development expectations? And fulfilling other administrative tasks that are required?

As I was thinking about this, I created a quick web graphic to illustrate...

Being a teacher is like trying to do a yo-yo with your right hand while solving a Rubik's cube with your left hand while also balancing a broomstick on one foot, all at the same time. I might add that in the current school culture, it's like trying to do all of this while riding on the back of a 10-point buck in hunting season. 

So give those teachers in your life a little extra measure of grace. Yes, we chose to do this. And, for the most part, we love it--or we wouldn't keep doing it.

But being a teacher is anything but "easy."

Teaching Freshmen

Sometimes I look at the freshmen I teach and think back to what I was like in the fall of 1994...with my mop of California-blonde hair, and wearing flannel everywhere I went, and listening to Dave Matthews, and Hootie & the Blowfish, and Blues Traveler...and I smile.

I smile because I thought I knew so much then, and didn't realize how much more I had to learn. ("Wise in my own eyes," as the writer of Proverbs so often cautions against...)

It's humbling to serve as a professor, because I think of how very much my professors had a hand in shaping how I think, and act, and LIVE today. I wonder sometimes if I'm doing enough in the service of helping them grow into the people God is calling them to become.

But these students? Wow. What a blessing to teach them. They ask such great questions, they (usually) throw themselves into the weird learning tasks I ask them to try, and most of them truly want to learn. And yet, strangely, I sometimes catch glimpses of the freshman I was coming out in them, the kid who thinks he is so wise, but has so much yet to learn. But I know that it's part of their growing and maturing process too, just as it was for me. In those moments, I feel like the work I'm doing is somehow holy, and nothing to be taken lightly. Makes me wonder if my professors maybe felt that way about working with me too.

Maybe I'm just feeling a little nostalgic today, and maybe I'm just feeling the burden of being a little behind on my marking, and maybe I'm just grateful for the opportunity I have to be teaching at my alma mater, helping freshmen discern if becoming a teacher is part of their calling, just as my professors did 20-some years ago, changing my life in the process.

I think I'm going to go put some Collective Soul and grade papers...

I must have listed to this album a hundred
times in my dorm room during freshman year.