Earlier this year, my department adopted a new data-tool. It generates lovely reports that teachers and principals can use to understand numbers and stuff.
It’s also super-complicated and the forum is fairly sparse. My search for support also took me to YouTube, which was equally fruitless.
“Wow. Last uploadB in 2011, huh?”
I found myself grumbling as I attempted to wrangle it into a form I understand:
This is stupid.
I don’t need this.
My life has been great before this system; how is this going to make it better?
But I stuck with it; my director expects me to learn how to use it, and that’s enough reason for me. Also, I’m aware that a positive mental attitude will make this more likely to stick.
After a couple hours, I realized:
This is how some teachers feel in every tech workshop I do.
Who cares about Google?
My class is just fine without Desmos.
Students don’t complain now, so why should I learn about Haiku?
After lunch, I had another epiphany:
This is also how some students view math class.
Who cares about completing the square?
I have basketball practice later, I can’t focus on fractions.
I have an A already; why should I care about periodic functions?
Learning is hard. It’s your attitude that dictates your success.
Change your attitude, stick with it, and the learning will come.
~Matt “This still ain’t much fun, but I’m pressing through” Vaudrey
Arrogance sits at the core of traditionalB education. The idea thatB the teacherB knows something andB the studentB needs to understand it.
One sees this arrogance in many traditional classrooms; an authoritarian adult keeps children in an orderly array and provides tasks for them to complete. Dispensing knowledge like food from his/her vast coffers, teachers areB benevolent dictators at best and draconian Supreme Leaders at worst.
A new teacher’s understanding of this idea is betrayed by their language, with phrases like,B “I struggle with keeping the classB under control.”
Veteran teachers’ language shows that same ego, however: “I’m not giving you an A unless youB show me you deserve it.”
In contrast, modern education isB [becoming] an environmentB of questioning and collaboration, where the ego of knowledge is dispersed among the students.
Inward-facing desks is a start, but humility in a position of authority is tough to fake. The teacher must actually feel that students have value to add to learning, and that they can lead and follow each other, not just the adult in the room.
Since humility requires practice,B I do my level best to find rooms where I ain’t the sharpest one.
A month ago, I traveled halfway across the country to learn from other math teachers whoB also traveled halfway across the country; we all converged on Texas forB the largest gathering of math teachers on the continent. I watched from an enormousB crowd as speakers explained books that I had never readB and instructional strategies that I had never tried.
I appreciate these chances to realize how big the world of education is. How exciting that there are new things to learn and new methods to try and new people to meet!
In the face of such overwhelming ignorance, one’s ownB arrogance can’t survive; weB must replace it with humility and get to work.
While I can certainly point to my favorite moments from the week, the general feeling of pre-enlightenment is my favorite part; not so much that I learned new things (I did), but that I learned how much more there is to learn.
That is an exciting proposition.
~Matt “I’ve never heard of that, can you show me?” Vaudrey
Today was day 1 of CUE Rockstar Math, where 120 of my fellow nerds descended on Dana Middle School in Arcadia to discuss math education with me and some Twitter friends.
Thankfully, CUE starts these events at 9:00, which gave me time toB rinse diarrhea crumbs off my baby (not an idiom; actual baby, actual poo) and make it there in time to give hugs and high-fives to a room full of people who are just like me: math teachers who want to become better at their job.
Class Culture of Critical Questions
As with all Rockstar events, I gave two 2-hour workshops on the same topic, separated by lunch. The second round ran pretty well off of my phone, because I tripped on my cord and…
Just spilled my entire water bottle into my MacBook.
Anybody at #cuerockstar math have a loaner mac or chromebook?#NotAJoke@CUERockStar
That’s not the point of this post, but it was one of the moreB eventful parts of the day.
The workshop starts with a demo lesson, modeling the 3-Act lesson from Graham Fletcher called Krispy Kreme Me. After the lesson, we make some notes about what phrases and procedures got everyone interested in sharing.
It was pleasant, fun, and not a great representation of an actual classroom.
Let’s turn it up a notch.
“In my hand are a stack of yellow cards,” I say to the room. “Half of the cards say General Ed Student, and the rest have some kind of instructional challenge for the teacher. I’m going to pass them out to each of you. Keep them to yourselves.”
As I walked around b grinning like my daughter before Gramma comes over b I went a step further.
“In order to make this more like a real class, I want you to channel a student that you have currently or had in the past. When you saw the card, you thought of a kid. Be that kid during this next lesson.”
Invariably, teachers begin to tilt their heads, smirk, and ask, “Really? You want Jeremiah in this room?”
And I grin right back and say, “Yep! Let’s go!”
Then a room full of adults get to make silly jokes about cheese, ask to go to the bathroom, bring up YouTube videos on their devices.
They also hesitate with big words they don’t know (EL Student), get distracted easily (Quick Finisher), or cry out, “I can’t see!” (Vision Disability). It’s one of my favorite things to do; flex my teaching muscles and be vulnerable.
We make a list of culture-building stuff they saw me do with the “real class” and things they would add, subtract, or change.
It’s powerful to hear a grown adult say, “I was the English Learner and you went way too fast for me.”
“That sounds awful.”
Yeah. Before the “channel your inner Jeremiah” part of the workshop, I’m honest with everybody: “This might go horribly wrong, but I’m gonna do it anyway.”
It’s my hope that, even if overzealous or skeptical teachers channel Jeremiah on a no-meds, skipped-breakfast, mom-yelled-at-me-on-the-drive-to-school day, all of the attendees still get to see the teacherB take a risk and be vulnerable, maybe even look silly.
There are dozens of math teachers that I admire from afar, many of whom converged on San Antonio this week for NCTM. I got to sit at the feet of these b my teacher-crushes b and hear firsthand what they may not share in print.
That’s the point of conferences, right? To confer.
Online, I get a two-dimensional view of these educators. For some, itb s a highly-curated image of their best work, best screenshots, and best writings, edited to perfection. Thereb s a degree of anonymity online, where I can choose to show only the best parts of myself.
Look at that picture to theB left. Thatb s the best picture of me that I have, so of course that’s the one I share.
But when Ib m sitting six feet from Elham Kazemi, listening to her description of the five (six?) methods of student discourse, itb s a completely different experience than just reading her book.
In literature, the digital persona would be called a b flatb character. Two-dimensions, no depth.
By spending time in real life with colleagues from home and abroad, I can repaint them in my mind as b roundb characters, full of life and detail and minutia that donb t come up in a tweet or blog post.
Chris buys me a drink as soon as I arrive, then asks, b If you could be any rockstar for a night, who would it be? Ib m asking everybody here.b
Our new friends at the bar pitch their workshop toB Stephanie, who listens intently and offers thoughtfulB feedback. Ethan beams as he shows me pictures of his kids. Karrine b who Ib d never met b comes in for a hug: long-overdue, since she translated the Mullet Ratio into French for use in her schools in Ontario
There are also imperfect parts to our round-ness, stuff you see from staff at your day-to-day, but not from teacher-crushes.
Gray hair thatb s more prominent than it was when that headshot was taken.
A foul mouth with a foot regularly placed in it.
A laugh thatb s a little too loud for the room.
(Some of those are me.)
TheseB traits, the good and the fallible, are what make us real, what make us into actual people. These are people with whom I can have personal relationships based on professional interests.B An online network of math teachers is great, but shaking hands and being a smartass in person is important, too.
See yb all in Atlanta this summer.
~Matt b Interrupts sometimes and has a moleb Vaudrey
In 2009, I had almost completed my second year of teaching, trudging toward the CST state-wide test in a small charter school in Pomona.
The ruthless ass-kicking that was my first year as a [terrible] teacher was replaced with the draconian rule of a plucky 24-year-old who wasnb t about to be pushed around by some teenagers.
Note: By year four, I had found a happy medium, where I could focus the class without yelling and still enjoyed my job more than 60% of the time. That jumped to 90% once I left that school.
I packed my bags for the enormous San Diego Convention Center and spent two-and-a-half days meandering through sessions that were over my head and gathering free pens from the exhibit hall.
image: Public Domain
b Twas a simpler time.
Eight years later, the National Council for Teachers of Mathematics and its selection committee have selected my co-author and me to share what web ve learned about classroom assessment, a topic that certainly was mentioned to me in 2009 and immediately forgotten. Forty copies of my book are riding beneath this plane as I type, and teammates b many of whom Ib ve never met b will chat in an exhibit booth alongside me, attempting to evangelize new and veteran teachers to share the awesome and improving snapshots from their classrooms on Twitter.
Regardless, I feel a calm sense of purpose and this 700-series jet barrels toward Austin1 for NCTM. My innards churn with an amalgam of excited wonder and professional urgency.
With that sense of urgency, here are some conference tips Ib ve learned from attending a bunch in the last ten years, both as an attendee and a presenter:
Plan
Early in my career, I attended CMC South, where I had this conversation with two of my teammates, who Ib ll call Diane2 and Chiara:
Vaudrey: Okay, web re here, web re caffeinated, web re registered. Where are you two headed for the 8:00 session?
Diane: Oh, man. I havenb t even looked at the book yet.
Chiara: Me, either.
Vaudrey: Did yb all see the link I sent you last week? Thereb s a digital book with all the sessions, and you can filter them… want me to show you?
Chiara: I didnb t bring my computer, Ib ll just sit at one of these tables and plan out my conference.
Diane: Ooo! I’ll join you!
Vaudrey: …Okay. Well, Ib ll be in the San Jacinto room if you canb t decide and want to join me.
Do your homework. You can burn an hour of conference time figuring out where to go. If youb re unsure, pick a stranger and follow them; youb ll likely stumble into something interesting and unexpected.
And if that workshop ainb t your style, you can go through the schedule and plan out your next few sessions.
Snacks
My pastor wife once mentioned from the pulpit that she keeps granola bars in her purse, just in case her husband (me) gets hungry and cranky. She may have referred to me as b a grumbly bear who really needs a salmon,b which the youth group in the audience thought was hilarious.
True story; I keep snacksB in the glove boxes of both our cars and myB purse, too. Especially at conferences.
At most conference venues, there are a limited number of food locales for breakfast and lunch and the lines are likely to be enormous. Plus, what if I want a snack at 10:00, but really want a good seat for the 10:15 session?
Then Clif bars are my friend and I can power through until 12:30.
Meals
This tip I mooched from David Theriault, an ELA teacher from Southern California. He does his homework picking outB a great place to eat, and then b rather than listen to an admired speaker give their usual 60-minutesB b he’ll take them to lunch and get some quality time with them.B Ib ll quote him directly:
Paying for someoneb s lunch or dinner is the b catch and releaseb (fishing term) of spending time with someone. Even if the conversation goes south at least they got a great free meal. Not just a free meal, a great free meal.
…Itb s not enough that we talk as teachers and friends, itb s not enough that we eat together, we need to take the time to make our b hobbyb (teaching) something worth celebrating. Sean Ziebarth and I always joke that teaching isnb t just our job, itb s our hobby.
In addition, dinnerB and drinks are a great time to have candid conversations with like-minded folk from outside your sphere of influence.
Even better if theyb re unlike-minded. What a great time to challenge your perspective and learn new things than to have a martini with someone who doesnb t work in your district. Or your state.
Bonus if youb ll never see them again; theyb re sure to be honest with you.
If your 8:00 session on Wednesday is free, come see John and me talk about Dessert.
Web ll be in costume.
1. Yes, Austin. Even though NCTM is in San Antonio. I booked a flightB to the wrong airport andB itb s more than a little embarrassing.b)
2. If the real Diane and Chiara read this, thanks for being pseudonyms. You b of course b were always well-prepared for literally everything, including CMC.b)
Today, the Senate voted 50-50 to confirm Betsy Devos as secretary of Education. It was so close and so contested that VP Mike Pence was brought in to cast the final vote.
Maybe you’re not a teacher; here’s why you should still care and what that means for you.
Who?
Since Betsy Devos rose to prominence in November 2016, very little of the coverage has impacted my main concern, which has churned in my stomach since. As a teacher, I immediately Googled her, since I didn’t recognize herB name.
I saw the same things many of y’all saw: never taught in a public school, sent her kids to a private school, worked with large educational organizations. All three of those areB alsoB true of Arne Duncan, the prior Secretary of Education.
Who happens to look like Tim Curry.
So what makes Devos scarier than Duncan? You’ve probably seen a zillion reasons to hate or praise her, some of which may be true for Duncan, also. For me, it’s one word that makes the educator and parent in me cringe:
Vouchers
In Michigan, Betsy Devos lobbied for the expansion of charter schools, even when they underperformed their publicly-staffed counterparts. As a teacher, I fight an uppity reflex when I hearB about classrooms that inadequately prepareB students for the future.
I taught in a high school like that, and it was a grossB feeling when former students sentB me emails that said, “I am so unprepared for college. I’m in three remedial classes and I’ll probably need a 5th year to graduate.”
As of this writing, there are 25 voucher programs in the country (14 states), serving some 176,000 students. That sounds like a lot, but we have roughlyB 50 million students in the country.
What happens to the remaining 99.6% of our kids who still attend public schools?
Even if vouchers are expanded and moreB US students attend private schools instead, what happens to those left behind in public schools with no money and poor teachers? And for those in private and charter schools, Devos has given no indication that they be held to the same minimum standards as public schools.
All students deserve a quality education; I’m not convinced Devos will get them there.
The world probably won’t implode,B my middle-class, white children will probably have a fine K-12 education, and I b the public education employee b will continue to ask tough questions and advocate for quality public education.
And the silver lining to Betsy Devos gettingB confirmed: it’s gonna force us to have some hard conversations about what we want school to be.
~Matt “TryingB real hard to be objective” Vaudrey
UPDATE: 15 February 2017
Tweets like this can be read either way. I’m choosing to hope for the best.
Ib m honored to serve, and I look forward to discussing how we give every student in America an equal opportunity for a great education.
This year marks my 10th inB education. While the path of an educator’s career is murky and uncertain, I feel quite content with what I’ve accomplished in ten years.
Rather than listing the recent wins (see the class Twitter feed and mine for those), I want to compare what I’ve learned in the last 12 weeks as a long-term sub in your classroom, and relate those things to my decade in public education.
Teaching Muscles
As you may recall, I was concerned before stepping into room 908 this year that my last 2 1/2 years as an instructional coach might haveb & witheredB my teaching muscles.
I have vivid memories of my first year teaching, spending 45 minutes on the warm-up, yelling at students to be quiet, and marching them all outside to practice coming into the classroom quietly.
Those were my first few months in the weight room of education, and like actual muscles, teaching muscles take time to develop. Within about four years, I had muscles that most would consider average.
Teaching muscles, not actual ones.
Picture this guy, but with… nope, just like that.
Claire, stepping back into your class, I was pleased and surprised at how quickly my classroom management biceps awoke after a few years of neglect. And while I will always sacrifice “discipline” for an authentic classroom culture, I feel like I have arrived at a good balance, one where I can drive 36 freshman toward a learning goal for 54 minutes at a time.
A Great Cloud of Witnesses
During my first year teaching, I had to go door to door if I wanted advice. And a lot of it was garbage advice.
“Don’t smile until Christmas.”
A decade deep into math education, technology and math and culture have all advanced to the point where I can have my thumbB on the pulse of tens of thousands of math classrooms, I can mooch lesson ideas, materials, and even common errors from other teachers’ blogs, and I can promote the sharing ofB awesome stuff, positively impacting classrooms of educators thousands of miles away.
Claire, contrast today’s math-ed environment with 2007, me walking two buildings over to Kelli’s class, laying out my notebook paper and plan book, and asking, “So… how do I teach the distributive property?”
My Instrument in the Orchestra
Seventh graders, seniors, and most math classes in-between have passed through my door in the last 10 years. I’ve deconstructed hundreds of math content standards, and even built a pacing guide from scratch. A decade of public education affords me not only understanding of the part my instrument plays in the orchestra, but “vertical articulation” to understand how the timpani part takes over where my tuba solo ends.
Knowing the skills students already have in their pocket and knowing the skills they will need before they leave makes me/anyone a better teacher, and this collaboration I recommend for any teacher, school, or department.
Recent Twelve WeeksB
At the CMC conference in 2007, the presenter flashed a problem like this on the wall.
(Something like this. I forget what it was.)
He then asked, “Who got negative one for their solution?” A dozen educators b B and I b B stood, in a room of 400. A grin crept across the presenter’s face as he pointed a bony finger at us and barked, “Wrong!”
The room burst into laughter, and I sat down quickly with aB red face.
I didn’t say another word the rest of the conference.
My poor math-knowledge wasB exploited to score points in the room.
Sadly, I took that idea with me into my classroom that year.B
I entered the field tenB years ago with no formal training in mathematics or education. Due in part toB dogged pursuit of excellence, input from dozens of smart people, and aB willingness to take a risk and fail grandly, I’ve had some meager success as a math teacher.
Thankfully, I tookB those ideas into my class, too.B I’ve made my class a place where no bony fingers will embarrass students with the wrong answer.
It is my pleasure and honor to now encourage other fresh teachers to take a risk and try something new.
The uncertain deserve an outstretched hand, not a judgmental, bony finger.
Claire, it’s my hope that your students felt that in their twelve weeks with me.
The Next Ten Years
In the car today with my wife, I expressedB my surprise that other math teachers value my input. As usual, she encouraged me, saying, “You understandB students and you understandB adolescence; that’s what makes your math class different. It’s not the math part.”
I know. She’s great. That’s why I put a ring on it.
Ten years from now, it’s highly likely that the emphasesB of math educationB will have shifted.
Because, you know; that’s what a pendulum does. ItB swings.
It’s my hope that my strong suit will still be something that makes math education better. I will still be interested in broadening my perspectiveB and learning about how to build better students, better teachers, and better schools.
And I hope the next 10 years will allow me to pursue that passion with the same fruition of the previous decade.
My daughter, Pickle,* and I got a package in the mail today.
Developed by MathForLove, it was a kickstarter… like… nine months ago, and it arrived today.
Immediately, (after we clocked the little brother with the box, denied it, got sent to time-out, confessed, and pledged to be truthful hereafter) we sat down to play the game.
The box, as you can see, is a cute size, and the rules for the various games are also printed on cards within the box. Which is good, because I wasB hella stoked to play, but unsure where to start.
First up, “Hungry Numbers” for ages 3 and up. The purple numbers will only eat cards with the same number of dots as their value.
Pickle: Hungry Numbers? That’s a silly name!
Next, we matched cards with the same values to their buddies with the same number of dots. It was a good chance to get PickleB acquainted with ten-frames, which she hadn’t seen before.
This was a good time to teach my wife why aB ten-frame (the blue cards) are important for counting and cardinality development.
I should note, my wife had surgery last week, is hopped up on Oxy, and didn’t really care about cardinality development. She went to take a nap shortly after we finished playing.
Both those games were for ages 3 and up, so I figured we could take it up a notch with something more her level (Pickle is 4).
We played PowerDot (which is essentially War, but for with a different name for children/people in nations besides the U.S.). For this game, we added in the Orange cards (circular numbers).
This led us into some great chats about what makes a number “greater,” a term she hadn’t heard yet.
Then we were interruptedB because her brother had gotten stuck by the ottoman.
Next, good-ol-fashioned Matching.
Then, we took it up a notch.
Vaudrey: Pickle, the next game is forB big kids. Ages five and up. Do you think you can handle it?
Pickle: (blows out tongue) I can handle it! I can do a hard game!
In the Dot Fives game, we matched ten-frames with other dots to make five. “This one has three, how many more to make five?” She, of course, crushed it. My wife and I were both impressed.
Then, in a moment out of a sitcom, she cheered and cried, “Yay! I can do tough things!” Then gave me a hug.
This… doesn’t happen often in my math classroom.
Letting students struggle and asking probing questions has been the focus of my career for the last decade, so I felt well-prepared to lead Pickle in this game. Even for parents who areB not math-education geeks bent on patient problem-solving, this game is a great place to start for Pre-K kiddos.
Thankfully, the designers also includedB a Guide for Grown-Ups (posted here, about 75% of the way down). This guide should be required reading for teacher candidates in college. It should be laminated and given, poster-style, to every new hire in a school district. It should be tattooed on the forehead…
Okay, you get the point.
I no longer live in the Pacific Northwest. The next time I’m there, however, I’m scheduling a visit to the MathForLove HQ. I really wanna meet these three people, who have advanced degrees in things I can barely pronounce. Here’s founder Dan Finkel on a TED Talk worth watching:
“Thinking happens when we have time to struggle.” Oh, yeah. Finkel gets me.
Since the last time I visited their website, they’ve added a free lesson plans page. Using your resources to empower math teachers for free? That — by itself — is enough to get me on your team.
Real talk: Autumn has been crazy in the Vaudrey household. Between prepping for CMC-South, traveling the country to talk about math education, and moving my family across town, this li’l blog has been neglected. The next several posts in the #DearClaire series will be weeks late, but I’m posting them anyway.
Dear Claire,
Monday, I attempted to re-create Guess My Rule to introduce linear functions. It’s a lesson starter from my first year teaching, and as such, is ten years old.
It sure felt like something I hadn’t touched in 10 years. I give the lesson a D plus.
Three years ago, I used a trial Mathalicious subscription and did the Domino Effect lesson with my class (then-results here). Two hours before class on Tuesday, I decided that’sB exactlyB what I wanted for the days’ lesson: a discussion about ordered pairs and what they represent, coupled with rate of change.
Woulda been pretty cool if I’d have planned the period better. Instead, I took too long on the buildup and we scrambled the last 10 minutes to get to the grand reveal.
C minus.
Educator and genius Karl Lindgren-Streicher points out that anything can be done poorly b even one of my favorite tools for math teachers, apparently.
Just before class, I tweeted this:
You know that feeling where you’re not sure if the lesson will bomb or not?
Because yesterday’s bombed, and you wanna play it safe?
Shouldn’t we have our actB together if other teachers on Twitter are listening?
Shouldn’t we at least hide our struggles?
No. No we should not.
In that tweet above b one part modeling failure and one part fishing for encouragement b I was honestly and publicly reflecting about what to do when lessons bomb. Because they do.
Claire, you’ve been very kind to me in my two years working with you as an Instructional Coach, but you’ve also been frank with me about which parts of my demo lesson didn’t work for your class and what you would’ve done differently.
That honesty is important, as important as encouragement (which also came). Misty also saw that need in my tweets.
@MrVaudrey But that feeling, when you DO take that risk, and the lesson rocks? You can’t top it! We just need to remember that each time.
Ugh. Yeah. Fine. But it’s not working for the class.
Carly, for example b the studentB who respectfully pointed out “we shouldn’t be tested on this if we didn’t cover it in class” b called me over during test review last week.
She asked, “Mr. Vaudrey, when are we going to practice more… like…B actual math? Like, I understand that all these things (she motions at the review problems printed on colorful “stations” around the room) are important, but like… are we gonna get more notes on, like, equations and stuff?”
“And can we please have more homework?”
Students like Carly are accustomed to math class working a certain way. When their usual method of success no longer works, they get nervous.
It’s not wrong to give students what they require to succeed in class; a variety of nutrients is necessary for a healthy diet. If they want notes, it’s okay to give them that for a meal sometimes.
It’s wrong to feed them a steady diet of PowerBars, then wonder why their teeth fall out (educationally speaking).
Have I mentioned yet that Twitter is the best staff lounge? I’ve never even met Misty in real life.
Wednesday, we took notes on expressing the same function four ways, thenB practiced in groups.
The students needed some structure, so I provided it. Then, when they tackled the Desmos activity the next day, it went much better.
While we’re speaking about the gap between theory and practice, between teaching teenagers and teaching adults, between modeling vulnerability and appearing an expert, let’s talk about Saturday.
The San Gabriel Valley CUE affiliate held its annual mini-conference. Six hundred people attended, I had a great time modeling Appetizers for teachers, and one of my favorite teachers won the award for which I nominated her. The room full of her peers erupted with applause, praising her well-earned recognition.
It was a great day for me as a coach, four days after a pretty gross day in the classroom.
Contradiction? Very well, then it’s a contradiction. Teachers are vast; we contain multitudes.
~Matt “Walt Whitman” Vaudrey
UPDATE: AB Desmos activity was dropped a few weeks later that isB much better for the purpose of getting students to understand functions multipleB ways. Dan writes about it here.
