Mrvaudrey

Author: mrvaudrey

  • White Folk and White Spaces

    As a white person, there is a hesitance about intrusion into black spaces.

    On the podcast The Sporkful, the interviewer sits in an all-black diner and asks the owner about white people being welcome. The owner responds, “Do you have the same concerns for black people who are in all-white spaces all the time?b

    Since I spent most of my life around people who looked just like me, I feel no qualms voicing my opinions in those spaces, but I am more reticent to inject myself into mostly black spaces. This could be fear of rocking the boat, some sense of sacredness, or wanting to keep a respectful distance, and is likely some combination of all three.

    Much has been said this week about the white privilege article from a white basketball player. If you haven’t yet read this article, go do that, then come back.

    Done? Okay, cool.

    Now this quote:

    Itbs not enough to say bI donbt think about race.b  Because in a community, how one member is doing affects the whole.  And for those of us not in the dominant racial group, we donbt have the luxury of saying bI donbt think about raceb because racial issues affect us on a daily basis.  So let me encourage all of us to try having these conversations, to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and quick to forgive each other when we say something stupid.  Thatbll happen if you start to have conversations, and we just have to have grace for each other if we make mistakesbitbs better than not talking. 

    ~Francis Su, Mathematics for Human Flourishing

    Still here? Okay.

    Last week at NCTM, I spoke to a group about building Bravery in teachers and students. In an attempt to model bravery, two things are happening:

    1.) I will continue to invite white folk to discuss hard issues in mostly white spaces. We (white folks) are more likely to engage with a hard topic if we donbt have to couch our language; my goal here is long-term change, not policing or shame, so I’m willing to sacrifice a bit for people coming up the Equity trail behind me.

    2. The other goal is to continue improving myself, modeling vulnerability and humility around things I donbt understand, and paying close attention to those up in front of me on the the Equity trail, stumbling as I go.

    This means getting involved in the Twitter chat tonight, even though I might say something unintentionally ignorant. Ibm prepared to be brave around things I donbt fully understand in hopes I can improve.

    One of the most obvious ways I can improve is tied to my musings above; I feel more comfortable joining a Twitter chat led by a white person than the wildly successful #ClearTheAir chat earlier this year, led by people of color.

    I’m weak, but getting stronger. But I’m going to engage in this chat anyway instead of shaming myself out of it.

    And if my kids take my time, I’ll get on it later tonight or tomorrow.

    ~Matt “Weak, but Getting Stronger” Vaudrey

  • NCTM 2019

    …Since brevity is the soul of wit,
    And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
    I will be brief…

    Hamlet, Act II, Scene II

    About three hours ago, I arrived home from the National Council of Teachers of Mathematics annual conference. For less than 48 hours, I accumulated more experiences than would be wise to replay here, so I’ll pick a few standouts.

    There are no proper nouns in this post, so if you and I hugged, shook hands, did math together, or chatted in the last couple days, then just assume I’m writing about you.

    image: tsvsu

    Within a few minutes of arriving in San Diego on Thursday night, a half-dozen friends gave me hugs and invited me to sit with them. Now, “friends” is an unusual term to use here, since we only see each other once a year or so. But this small, unruly cohort (affectionately called the Math-Twitter-Blogosphere or #MTBOS) attempts to be inclusive, inviting, and loyal all at the same time.

    So to define “a peer in the field of math education who is interested in sharing their practice, learning from other, and contributing to the field as a whole,” let’s use the term math-friend throughout here.

    Peak Moments

    Read the next two sentences together before having any feelings about them, please.

    More than once this weekend, I met a new math-friend who said, “I saw you speak before,” or “I have your book,” or “I follow you on Twitter.” Invariably, I try to turn that recognition into camaraderie, to lower the perceived podium and sit alongside these new math-friends to learn together.

    The NCTM conference is full of teachers who fill big rooms at conference centers and get lots of notifications on their phone. Whatever word you wanna use to describe that group, they are only math-friends if they uplift and encourage others from the stage.

    The type of math-friend I want to be is a curious consumer of fresh ideas, an earnest listener of shared experience, and a good hugger.

    I hugged a lot this weekend.

    image: tzvsu

    Those hugs, those fresh ideas, and those shared experiences gave me life and encouragement and the strength to dig my fingers back into my local school system like it’s fresh pizza dough, shaping and molding with renewed vigor.

    The conference was full of Peak Moments (I think that’s the term), where things felt great and I was inspired.

    Valley Moments

    For some, the conference had its share of valley moments, too.
    (That’s … probably a term I just made up.)
    A sewage pipe burst at the Hilton, so I was roused from slumber after 4 hours with the smell of untreated shit wafting through the drains in my hotel. Not my favorite way to begin a day of learning, but I rallied.

    Years ago, when I first went to college, I was brought low by the newly raised bar of academic achievement. Suddenly, everybody in my classes was capable and hard-working, and sliding through class without breaking a sweat was no longer an option for me. It was humbling.

    That’s how some of us feel at these events; some of the top math educators in the world converge on one spot and share their favorite ideas. Compared to those folk, what I did in class last week wasn’t so special.

    “I feel mediocre!”
    image: rawpixel

    You’re a Great Teacher

    If you’ll indulge a food analogy:

    Of course.

    Defining a “great” chef is a challenge.

    Cooking (like teaching) is relative, prone to interpretation, and tough to nail down. Throughout the last couple days, I had a Cuban sandwich, a breakfast buffet, and a bacon burger, all of which were “great” in their own way.

    Teachers, it’s easy to glance sideways at your fellow chefs and compare. What’s “great” for your classroom is always going to be different from your neighbor, and you can be great at dozens of things, all of which combine to make you a great teacher.

    You’re a great teacher.
    NCTM and Twitter and math-friends all combine to us more great.

    More tools, more ideas, more resources, more support, and more hugs.

    ~Matt “More Hugs” Vaudrey

    NOTE: Hilton responded really well. They got me a fresh room in the morning and 50,000 Hilton points towards a future stay.
    If I weren’t so exhausted, I would have asked for the points/dollars conversion and compared it against nightly rates.
    Instead, I just said, “Thanks,” and went to get dressed.

  • Equity Goofus

    Therebs a scene in the movie The Sandlot where the main character finally plucked up the courage to get into the game. He borrows a glove and walks to the outfield, muttering to himself, “Don’t be a goofus. Don’t be a goofus.“

    Once the game begins, it becomes very clear he has no idea what hebs doing. As a boy between the ages of eight and 15, he should know more about baseball by now.

    But he doesnbt.

    image: Alamo Drafthouse Cinema

    The other players are initially shocked at his incompetence, but they forgive it and teach him, until he is as capable playing the game as they are. With some practice, he grew more comfortable and more capable in a context where failure was expected and corrected.

    image: smithsverdict.com

    Last week, I sent a thread of tweets into the Internet while muttering to myself, “Donbt be a goofus.” Since I’d rather be a clumsy advocate than a silent one,1 I chose to engage even though I was unsure of how to do it.

    The following day, I read the chapter in Dr. BrenC) Brownbs book about oversharing and using vulnerability as a crutch to gain sympathy.

    Oops. There’s a good chance I was doing that.

    Anyway, Marian Dingle immediately reached out via direct message on Twitter with equal parts encouragement, questions, and correction. We sent several hundred words back and forth before she finally said, “How about we just talk on the phone?”

    It’s worth noting here that Marian didn’t owe me anything; she extended her hand to offer support unprompted support, and she persisted to address any and all questions I had. It must be exhausting for people of color to constantly do that, and I so appreciate it. Give that woman a medal.

    She helped me wrangle some clarity on three big issues, all of which are lifelong journeys and could be full blog-posts in themselves.

    1. As a white person, I have the luxury of not dealing with issues of race on a day-to-day basis. It doesnbt define the safety of my children or me, so I can go days or weeks without even thinking about the inherent white supremacy of school systems.

    The main character in Sandlot wasn’t aware that he was missing out on something important until the neighbor pulled him out onto the field. I’m incredibly thankful for the people of color in my orbit who are pulling me onto the field, knowing that I’m pretty inexperienced.

    image: Hollywood Reporter

    2. The reflection happening in private direct messages or in isolated Twitter discussions is fine for white people, but it leaves people of color out of the healing process. Also, white folk tend to center themselves in the discussion (like I’m doing right now on my website, more on that later).

    Marian used a great illustration to describe this:

    Imagine we’re in a crowd of people and some are stepping on other’s feet. Eventually, they cry out, “Quit stepping on my feet! It hurts!” The foot-steppers could respond in a variety of ways that don’t actually address the hurt they’ve caused:

    What? I didn’t notice I was doing that. I’m not the kind of person who would step on feet. If you don’t like it, move your foot. The real villain is the people who designed such a narrow hallway! That’s why feet are getting stepped-on!

    The best response is, “I’m sorry. I’ll do better,” and address the hurt you’ve caused by stepping on feet.

    image: 20th Century Fox

    Twitter is great for this; BIPOC Educators are being very honest about how white folks can step up. Give these a read.

    I have no good reason why I haven’t been engaging in #ClearTheAir chat on Twitter, where my peers are addressing hard topics publicly. I’ve been telling myself that I don’t have time, but in reality, I just didn’t want to figure out how to jump in.

    Yeah. It feels just like that looks.
    image: popsugar

    3. The challenge for me is a white person is to de-center myself while “doing the work” (the work of addressing injustice, both personally and systemically) and being public about it. Holding those two values at the same time is tough.

    Too public, and I risk appearing performative.
    Not public enough, and I risk appearing complicit, like I have no issue with things-as-they-are.

    In my case, Marian pointed out in our phone call that I appear to care a lot about how I am perceived online and off. She’s right; I’m entering a season of interviewing for Admin jobs and there’s a 100% chance that the interview panel will find my blog or Twitter feed.

    So far, I have been airing on the side of quiet and inviting. My goal is not to showcase my woke-ness so people of color will award me the badge of bGood White Person.”

    My goal is to talk about equity in a way that encourages further conversation face-to-face.

    I own a Black Lives Matter T-shirt, but I wonbt wear it to a job interview. Kicking in the door and forcing a difficult conversation will likely make things worse in any sensitive discussion.

    So for now, I’m speaking calmly about systemic oppression of BIPOC and unfair policing and inequitable discipline practices and ways to improve capital-e-Education for all students, because all of those are important to me. Once people are listening, then we can begin doing the hard work of changing hearts and minds, both in my fellow white people and in myself.

    If you’re reading this, you’re welcome to join me on the field. I’ll go first, even though I have no idea what I’m doing.

    Above: Happy children tearing down systemic racism in school systems
    image: imdb

    ~Matt “Awakening and Talking About It” Vaudrey

    UPDATE 28 March 2019: The day after this posted, Ijeoma Oluo dropped this masterpiece, which makes a strong case for the exact opposite approach of what I advocate in the last three paragraphs.

    Clearly, I still have much to learn and much to think about, but I’m leaving this post as it was. Like everything else on this site, it’s a cairn left on my journey, and I’m not going to sterilize it.

    image: Fedora Magazine. Literally.

    (…Dammit, I just re-centered on my white feelings again. Bye.)

    1. Bill describes it well here

  • It sure felt like getting fired

    I found this buried in my Google Drive this week. It’s a journal entry from 2008.

    Nowbeleven years laterbI love teaching and there are some teachers appreciate my commentary on stuff. As our teammates and friends are getting their March 15th letters, it may help to remember where we’ve come and how powerless it feels to be a bad teacher.

    It gets better, y’all.

    Okay, both my in-laws, my wife, and both parents said that I wasnbt technically bfiredb. I was told that my bprobationary contract wasnbt renewed for the following yearb.

    It sure felt a lot like getting fired.

    As you may have gathered from my references to my first year teaching, it was rough. On a good day, I had a little bit of control over the class, until a student wanted to do something out of the ordinary, like talk about anything unrelated to math. Then my lack of boundaries and authority skills made a 53-minute dog turd sandwich out of the class period. My class was out of control four and a half days a week and I was out of my element.

    So out of my element and out of control was I, that when called for a 7:45 meeting in February, I blissfully ignorant to its nature.

    Present with me at the meeting was Rich, the Assistant Principal and friend from church who got me the job, and Jim Mandala.

    I use his full name instead of an alias because I have nothing bad to possibly say about the man. His skills at commanding the respect and control of a room were god-like to me, a 22-year-old first-year teacher with no skills. His salt-and-pepper hair wasnbt the first thing people saw, nor was his crooked nose, likely broken in younger days (perhaps ten or twenty times).

    No, the first thing people noticed about Mr. Mandala was his chest, which was eye level for most people, including me. Standing about 6b6b, peering down a crooked nose and inclining his charcoal-colored head to boom, bCan I help you?b he cast quite an intimidating figure. With that said, he was a delightfully pleasant and competent administrator, for whom I would immediately work again.

    So, I was worried, but not threatened, to see him share the table at my meeting.

    bMatt, what do you think your strengths are in the classroom?b Jimbs tone was light as he hunched over his folded arms.  

    I was stunned. Strengths? Like, those things that good teachers have? bUh, I think that Ibm relatable. Students feel safe to share their problems with meb& for the most part.b

    bI can see that,b Jim smiled. bI also see that you have good content, you know the math, and youbre a great communicator. Other teachers have said so, as well.b I started to perk up. This meeting is going great!

    bWhat are some areas where you can grow in the classroom?b Rich asked, more uncomfortable than Ibve seen him. Rich is a delightful man who wears his heart on his sleeve. Ibm sure he makes a great husband; chicks dig honesty and openness. And it made me nervous to see him squirming in this meeting.

    bWell, obviously, my classroom management needs some work. I think Ibve learned a lot this year and Ibm ready to start fresh with next yearbs class and reallyb& really take control.b

    I reiterate, this was in February.

    bDo you think you are doing a satisfactory job this year?b Jim again, asking with total sincerity and politeness. Coming from him, this question would make most grown men soil their knickers.

    Even grown teachers, whose capacity for surprise is somewhere between EMTs and Jack-in-the-Box repairmen.

    bUhhb& no.b I stammered, looking at my shoes. bI donbt think that I am a good teacher yet.b I started to see where the meeting was going. Why Rich was so uncomfortable, why Jim made so much eye contact and spoke so softly. I was getting fired.

    bMatt, webre confident that you will someday be a great teacher, but we canbt wait for you to become one. We need somebody now who can bring our scores up for the ELD students. We will not be renewing your contract for next year.b

    bb&okay.b I was crushed.

    bThis isnbt getting fired; when you apply for jobs, you just say byour contract was not renewedb. You should write up a letter of resignation, have it on my desk by the end of the week, and webll both write up letters of recommendation for you to apply for jobs. Thank you for working so hard; itbs clear that youbre a team player and you really wanted to do well.b

    bb&thank you.b My voice was about an inch tall. I just wanted the meeting to end, but I knew a full day of work awaited me. Jim stood, shook my hand, and left.

    Rich sheepishly asked, bAre you okay?b Tears were already lining up just behind my nose, and that question called them out. bYeah, Ibll be fine.b I sniffed wetly with a smile. bIbll be fine. Ibve just never been fired before.b

    bYoubre not getting fired. Itbs just the end of a one-year contract.b I feel for him now; he got me this job, and now he had to be there while it was taken away. Rich gave me a hug and I went to work. I called Andrea during my break period and cried behind my desk.

    It sure felt like getting fired.

    In the process of prepping this post, I found this one from a few weeks after the above was written.

    If you read that one, just… remember that I like my job now. And I’m much better with kids.

    ~Matt “Not Fired” Vaudrey

  • Focusing Impact

    My kids love to play with the hose in the backyard.

    We live in the semi-desert of Southern California, so it’s too hot to play without a sprinkler for about 8 weeks during the summer, but they’re even thrilled to dance in the rain yesterday, as the rest of the country is grappling with record snows.

    Anyway. They really like the nozzle below.

    image: elitza

    My daughter likes the mist setting, she can spray a little bit of water all over the place without soaking anything.

    That’s a lot of how I feel about my job as a coach: spreading a tiny bit of water all over.

    (Astute readers will note this is the second recent reference between water and instructional coaching. Yep. Keep reading.)

    In the last few years, getting a bird’s-eye view of capital-E-Education has made me awaken more to the world outside the four walls of my classroom. Public education must be effective for all students, and my Equity bone has been aching more and more.

    So I want to focus my impact, twisting the top of this nozzle, to be less spread-out and more focused.

    image: nomadswe.co

    As noted in recent posts, a job focused on relationships is more likely to produce growth. A site-level administrator would have more concentrated impact, more time to build relationships with staff, and more authority to produce equitable conditions for students and staff.

    All the chatter about becoming an Administrator is due to something I learned in August: My job as Ed/Tech Coach expires in June.

    Now, I’m not upset about this; like many TOSA jobs, my position was designed to have a shelf-life, and five years ain’t a bad run for an Instructional Coach.

    And b if I’m honest b it’s probably time.

    Of all the teachers I supported last year, 51% of them were classes I visited only once during the year, and never saw again.

    Nearly three out of every four classrooms I visit are people I only see once or twice a year. It’s hardly hyperbole to guess that I’m not improving the instruction of those teachers, which begs the question,

    Do we need a full-time instructional coach if I’m only driving change in 25% of my visits?

    Now, there’s a much larger conversation to be had about effective instructional coaching and an ideal staff-to-coach ratio (It’s probably not 1,000:1), but the conversation I want to have is about impact.

    I want to focus my impact on a smaller group, and it’s becoming clearer that site-level administration is a good next step in that direction.

    So as the 2018-19 school year wraps up and I clean out my desk, I’ll be looking that direction.

    More to come.

    ~Matt “Ready to be Mr. Vaudrey again” Vaudrey

  • Seat at the Table

    My favorite math lessons are the ones that end with more questions than they answered.

    Relatedly, my favorite conversations leave me more interested in learning, not satisfied with the learning Ibve done already.

    CMC has been the professional highlight of my year for the past few years, and this year was no exception.


    In her blog post,* Claire offers thanks to “Big names” in Math Education (her terms) for the encouragement and advocacy given in loud voices:

    Your work has gotten me through a difficult time professionally and I am so grateful.

    John and I will be the first to tell you that we haven’t sought notoriety within the Math Education community (and are both uncomfortable with it), so we regularly check to see that our compasses still point toward North, toward students first and always.

    But if taking a selfie, signing a book, and speaking encouragement into a microphone makes teachers stand a little taller, then it’s worth it.

    As Patricia mentions in her blog,* it’s time to start bringing more ideas to the table:

    I realized during this conference that there are so many talented teachers doing great things in their classrooms that make a big difference in the lives of their students. We need to hear from them too; their voices, their stories, their strategies so that we can all be better.

    Yeah. The comments section of this blog has been pushing on that for years.

    So that’s where I am. I want to use my medium amount of influence to make more seats at the table, to celebrate more ideas, and to pass the mic more often (even though I love the mic).

    Sunil wrote about the CMC workshop he attended, given by Chris Shore. Both parties are nudging people like me (white males with a microphone) to nudge b okay, push b the pace of education toward more students, eventually toward all.

    ~Matt “Change is a-comin’ ” Vaudrey

    *These two mention me, and Ibm sending yball there to read despite my discomfort with their praise. Thatbs how good they are.

  • Seeds

    This morning, my friend-and-colleague Sarah and I spoke on the phone, exploring this tweet of hers:

    As you may have read earlier this week, I’m on the verge of something.

    The story of the last few years of my career is one ofB deciding what kind of impact I want to have on the field of capital-E-Education.

    In those few years, my impact has gone beyond the 150ish students in my classes and spread to other educators around the country. Twitter, this blog, and a book, theB impact I’ve had on Education is more than I thought it would be.

    But what about legacy?

    I got an email today from a teacher in Massachusetts with questions about one of my lessons that she ran in her class. Of course, I respond with excitement and support, answering her questions and prompting further learning. I’m not sure if we’ve ever met, but I’m happy to support here, even without any kind of relationship.

    What really gets me interested, however is growth over time.

    Sprout by AnastasiaW

     

    Sarah pointed out on the phone that our job in getting teachers to try something new and to grow is like spreading seed on a garden or a lawn. When we take fistful of seeds and try to spread them, some fall on rocks, some onto the path, and some onto the soil where they grow into plants. (We realized later that it was theB parable of the seeds from Matthew 13, but … like… from an Education standpoint.)

    I work in a school district, building relationships with teachers to encourage them to grow. Sarah works for a curriculum company, and she prepares teachers to grow into new instructional practices.

    Before a legacy, before the impact, there has to be a relationship. Someone has to till the soil, to water it, to pull the weeds, so that when the new idea comes, it has somewhere to grow.

    image: Monica

    That’s what I want to do. I’m happy to support teachers around the world with Barbie Bungee and Appetizers and Desmos and all the other fun things I know about… for an hour at a time. Or a day at a time. It’s fun to get teachers excited about stuff, especially when I’m one of the first to expose them to tools like WODB or Twitter. As Sarah texted to me later:

    When you have to wear the Consultant Hat, you can’t afford the time needed for the relationship you need (to create the change you want). As a school admin, you’d have the time to make the relationships.

     

    I want my day job in Education to focus on relationships first.

    More on that later.

     

    ~Matt “You sound frustrated; what’s up?” Vaudrey

    P.S.B Nanette Johnson’s talk on Legacy is also relevant here.

    ShadowCon 2018 – Nanette Johnson from Shadow Con on Vimeo.

     

     

  • Impact

    I have a job that I love.

    That’s not true for a lot of people, and it wasn’t true for me for many years. The business cards on my desk say Instructional Coach of Educational Technology, but when students ask, I just say, “I’m a teacher who helps other teachers.”

    There are 13 schools in my district, 10,000 students and hundreds of staff… and me. There are likely dozens of classrooms that I’ve never visited in my four years here. Sometimes, it feels like I was hired as a gardener, but I’m making trips back and forth with a tiny watering can.

    I need what this guy has.

    The list of things I love about my job is too long to post here, and the thing my job is lacking is easy to describe:

    Impact.

    Last school year, I visited 729 individual classrooms, all of which I logged in a spreadsheet and monitored with a chart to make sure I was visiting the large sites a fair amount.

    And there are dozens of teachers who love kids and who are pushing the ceiling on what “Excellent Teacher” means for 2018.

    And I only get to see them a few times a quarter.

    How do you choose who gets your time?

    That question was asked to me at least four times on Friday, when I presented at NCTM Seattle. Other instructional coaches would raise their eyebrows when I said “thirteen schools,” and the underlying question is the hardest one to answer:

    How do I serve my teachers fairly?

    Sure, I would love to spend all my time hanging out in the classrooms of those dozens of all-stars, fine-tuning their craft, doing research for them, and grooming them to present at conferences (which I do a bit already). But that leaves hundreds of other teachers without access to my time.

    Also b and this is the squirmy part b what about the several thousand students whose teachers don’t get the same service? It’s often the all-star teachers who call my department for support the most, and (as a friend told me once), “Why should the other kids suffer just because their teacher doesn’t wanna grow?”

    Fair question, though the wording makes my heart ache a bit.

    Anyway, I have a plan in place to rectifyB some of the issues here. More on that later.

     

     

    ~Matt “None of my teachers are lazy and all of them are all-stars” Vaudrey

  • Why We’re Here

    Our last day of school was June 6th, a minimum day. After submitting final grades and textbooks and turning in keys, both students and teachers zipped home in time for a celebration lunch.

    Each of our 13 schools was notably quiet by the usual release time. Only secretaries, principals, and the occasional support staff remained.

    The Ed/Tech Department was far from done. Like most District Office employees, we have a full summer of projects to prepare for the next school year, including cleaning and updatingB every ChromebookB in the district and re-organizing the carts for student use.

    This meant that we were on each school campus as it was totally clear of students.

    There’s a strange emptiness when a school has no students on it. Blessed as I am to spend my school year around happy children, the exact same locations felt incomplete during the summer, their vacancies sharp and palpable.

    I’ve baked cookies before and forgotten ingredients. The end result was not at all what I was expecting, even though most of the stuff was there.

    This was kinda like that.

    We have entire departments at the district office tasked with making sure the grass is trimmed, food is cooked, and employees are paid on time. Some of those employees go weeks without seeing kids.

    Hanging out in these places kidless was a clear reminder that summer is a welcome reprieve, but the real work happens when students are back on campus.

    Like the picnic tables, play areas, and sidewalks, our role b teachers and staff b is unfinished without students around.

    My family and I had a very restful summer break and I feel no remorse for tuning out during July.

    And I’m excited to get back into my favorite job in the world. At once challenging and fulfilling, exhausting and life-giving, improving and imperfect.

    Students come back next week. Let’s get to it.

    ~Matt Vaudrey

     

  • Teacher Report Card – Mr. James’ Class

    It’s June. The end of the school year is a great time to take a risk and try something new.B

    On Twitter, several teachers have committed to letting their students grade them (more on that later), and Jesse agreed to write about his experience and let me share it here.

    (I’ve bugged several more to blog about it, and if they do, I’ll link them at the bottom.)

     

    I knew I liked the idea as soon as I saw Matt Vaudreybs tweet about a Teacher Report Card. Just as the tweet said, I knew Ibd be taking a risk, showing some vulnerability, but also knew that my students would definitely give me the feedback I was asking forbafter all, I do teach middle schoolers.

    Earlier in the school year I had some impromptu feedback sessions (digitally as well as face-to-face) when things didnbt seem to be going so well, both in my classroom and amongst the team of teachers I work with. Both were insightful and gave my students a much-needed voice to air grievances as well as positives about the year.

    When my students saw bTEACHER REPORT CARDb written on the daily agenda in all caps, I heard their whispered questions and confusion. For a couple of days, scheduling and last-minute assemblies (and lessons that went into overtime) delayed my introduction of their chance to bgradeb me. But finally the day came for me to explain to them what the Teacher Report Card was all about.

    I told them, bJust as you receive a report card at the end of the year and just like you have received feedback from me during the year, this time you will be the ones in charge of the grades and feedback.b I witnessed a few devious smiles as my eyes scanned the crowd. They liked the idea of this teacher feedback thing way too much.

    What had I gotten myself into?

    I explained that I wanted them to take their time to think about our year together and take their time in grading my classroom, lessons, and b ultimately b me. While there were a few who rushed through the feedback (there always are, but in that, maybe therebs some feedback, too) most of my students were thoughtful and reflective of their sixth grade year in Mr. Jamesb ELA class.

    Reading through the responses I was floored at what some of them had to say. As much as being vulnerable can sway in a positive or negative direction, being vulnerable ultimately makes me a better teacher. Andb&isnbt that the important thing?

    My students were honest in their responses and b at times b their responses touched my heart in the most positive way possible.

    bI feel like I have improved as a reader throughout the school year, and I have thought more about reading than I ever have. :)b

    bI just want to say thank you for being my teacher because since you are my first teacher of the day you help me get through the rest of the day. I also like the way you teach and I think youbre an amazing teacher. Keep it up!b

    bIf we do something wrong he lets us explain ourselves.b

    bI am really glad I ended up with you to start off my journey through HJM. I donbt know how much worse the transition would have been without you, so thanks for staying sane. Mostly.b

    Most of the feedback was very positive and will help me continue doing the things that I do well.

    But then, there were other responses that were tough to read.

    Tough responses that reminded me that this whole vulnerability thing wasnbt as easy as I thought it might be.
    Tough responses that I knew were about a moment that negatively affected a student in my classroom.
    Tough responses that ultimately will make me a much better teacher, but in the moment I was reading them just made me feel like I could have done better b could have done more b and thatbs the part that hurts.

    “Sometimes I hate it when the teacher asks me questions I don’t even know the answer to and when I don’t say anything he will just ask me until I answer.b

    bSometimes, the teacher doesnbt let us finish our sentences.b

    bDonbt yell at people for no reason.b

    bSometimes, the teacher gets on my nerves because i’ll say something and he’ll just look at me like I’m stupid and then maybe answer my question after he calls on another student.b

    While all these tough responses will make a difference, that last response is the response that will make the biggest difference.
    The response that will have the most profound impact on the rest of my teacher career.
    The response that makes this vulnerability a good thing even when it hurts. Because the insecurity and the guilt and the apologetic thoughts that are running through my head as I read that (and as I write this) are what will make me better.

    I encourage all teachers to be reflective in their practice, but to also allow your students to be reflective about their year with you. Allow their voices to be heard and allow them to give you honest feedback through a teacher report card or some other form of feedback.

    Prepare yourself to feel great after reading those incredibly thoughtful heartwarming comments, but also prepare yourself to rack your brain for the moment in the classroom that you may have made a child feel anything less than great.

    Thanks for reading.

    ~Jesse James