K-M the Librarian

I'm not "just" anything

2012-02-13T00:08:00.001-05:00

I have been kind of completely and totally overwhelmed at the response to my most recent post; it's amazing to me that something I wrote could resonate with so many people. What's been even more gratifying is the conversations I've been able to have with people about the role and perceptions of school librarians.

In that post I hinted at--but did not make entirely clear--one of the two words that bothers me most when we talk about images of libraries and librarians.

That word: make.

The point I didn't make clearly enough in that post is that I have no problem at all with the doing what we can to help educators, administrators, and legislators understand what we do and why it's important. I think we should demonstrate, I think we should teach, I think we should share, I think we should tell. I think we should be very deliberate and purposeful about taking our lights out from under the bushel. But those are not the words I most often hear--the word I hear more often than not is "make"--and as a reader and recovering English teacher, I know that verbs matter.

I know, of course, that other parts of speech matter, too. Which brings me to the other word I hear again and again in these discussions, and that bothers me even more.

Just.

As in "more than just a librarian." Or "more than just books." That we need to "make" people see that we're more than "just" librarians.

I am often described by colleagues as being "more than just a librarian" and while I know they're trying to be complimentary, it always makes me cringe. Is there something wrong with being "just" a librarian?

It just seems so. . . dismissive. As if being a librarian isn't much to be impressed by.

It seems that people are looking for a term that encompasses more than traditional, stereotypical definitions of what a librarian is. In school libraries in particular, they seem to want a word that encompasses both teacher and librarian--and the term they most often go for seems to be "media specialist." For the record, I hate the term media specialist. I think it makes me sound like a PR consultant. Not that there's anything wrong with being a PR consultant--it's just not what I am.

We seem to be in a bit of a "redefinition phase" and I think we need to be really thoughtful about the roles we're playing as people make up their minds about the terms they use to describe us, and the definitions attached to those terms. The dictionary definitions of librarian are vague enough that it's really up to us. And beyond the dictionary, it really is up to us as librarians to define who we are and what we do; we won't be able to "make" anyone have a particular definition of librarianship, but our actions will determine the limits of that defintion.

I really hope that the end result of these growing pains is not a new name for what I do, but a new definition of the term librarian. I don't want the idea of librarianship to be limited by "just"; I want to expand the limits of traditional definitions.

I worry, too, about the use of the word "just" when we talk about being about "more than just books." Even though what I do extends far beyond paper books, I don't think that the work I do with connecting readers and books (no matter their format) is anything to be dismissed; it's important work, and it's work I love.

I've heard other school librarians use the term "more than just a librarian" too (usually in the context of "how do we make them see we're more that just librarians). I always find this a little dispiriting--if we won't own the title, how can expect anyone else to?

I don't want a new name for what I do. I love being a school librarian, and I think that title fits perfectly for what I do and who I am. Rather than looking for a term that means more than "just" a librarian and encompasses all that we do, I would love to see us broaden the definition of librarian to include all that we know librarians do.

I am not "just" anything. I am a school librarian. No more, no less.

"You're not really a librarian"

2012-02-06T13:03:00.000-05:00

The other day I got into an "argument" with a student about whether or not I was really a librarian. His position was that I wasn't a librarian--I was actually a teacher who happened to have an office in the library.

It was a weird discussion to be having. As the conversation continued, it became clear that he was, in no small part, trying to annoy me. But I don't think the original statement was meant just to taunt me. We ended up trying to pull in other students to make our respective cases--his that I wasn't a librarian, mine that I really was. The general consensus seemed to be that I was definitely a librarian. And probably also a teacher.

I was thinking about the discussion I had with him, and with other students, in light of one of the phrases I so often hear when it comes to changing the perception/image of school librarians:

"how do we make them see that librarians [fill in the blank]"

This was not a student I know particularly well, nor have I worked with him a lot. He's new to the school this year. There's nothing I've done to try and "make" him see anything. I've just been doing my job the same way I've been doing it for years, and he came to his own conclusions.

We will never "make" anyone understand anything about school librarianship. We will do our jobs, and people will come to conclusions. It is frustrating that our colleagues, our administrators, and our legislators don't always understand our jobs. But there is no position statement or pamphlet that will truly change that. They are carrying with them perceptions of school librarians formed when they were in school.

If we concentrate on our students, our future colleagues, administrators and legislators won't need to be "made" to see anything. They will carry with them the perceptions of school librarians they are forming right now. Which is why we need to hold ourselves--and each other--to a high standard. Unfortunately, there are school librarians out there who are not doing us any favors when it comes to the perceptions of school librarians students will carry into the future.

I have met librarians who say, "this tech stuff is interesting, but it has nothing to do with my job." Or, "collaborating with teachers just takes too much time." Or librarians who express, in dozens of little ways, their general disinterest in students who don't come naturally motivated when it comes to reading and research.

We don't know which students in our library today are going to be future teachers, administrators, or legislators--but I guarantee their rosters are going to include today's unmotivated or struggling students who don't feel welcome in their school library. And by the time they're adults, there's nothing we will be able to do to "make" them change their perception. The only time we have for that is right now, with the students in our schools.

I don't know what to do about school librarians who are unconcerned with the perceptions their students are forming about libraries. It's a bigger issue than I feel equipped to address. So in the meantime I go to my library, and I do my job. And if my students graduate thinking of a school librarian as "a teacher who has an office in the library," I like to think I've done a pretty good job.

14 Things to Tame

2012-01-11T22:09:00.000-05:00

While at AASL in Minneapolis, I went to a session about 17 Things to Chew On, a 23 Things-style learning program for teachers created by two school librarians (Alicia Duell and Allison Cabaj) in Illinois. I'd been thinking about doing something similar for a while, but couldn't wrap my head around the logistics; the plan that Alicia and Allison shared filled in some of the blanks for me.

Inspired, I returned to my school and started to think about how to make my own "Things" program a reality. I'm lucky to have a very supportive administration, and even though I'm not sure they understood exactly what I was planning, they gave me the go ahead.

The next step was to create a video to promote the program. I wrote a script, and then gathered my performers. I also went around asking faculty if I could take a picture of them looking frustrated in front of a computer; none of them asked me why I was taking these pictures, displaying a level of trust in me that I both truly appreciate and plan to exploit again in the future.

I introduced the program, 14 Things to Tame, during our professional development day last week, and the response so far has been amazing (and I only had to strong-arm a few of them). There are incentives involved along the way; I've also been putting candy in the teacher's mailbox after each task they complete, in an effort to create a Pavlovian response (learn something new! get a piece of candy!). Dear colleagues: please do not think of yourselves as subjects in a science experiment.

There are teachers from all different departments participating; there are also at least a few teachers who are following along, even if they're not participating. And that's part of what I love about a program like this--you can participate in the conversation in whatever way you're most comfortable, but--one way or another--everyone becomes part of the conversation. The people who are participating are talking about it to the people who are participating--and they're all talking about the role that these technologies can play in their professional development and in their classrooms.

I'm excited. I already have more teachers participating than I expected, and I'm sure I can guilt even more into participating. I know it's going to be a lot of work, but I think the payoff will be worth it. If you're thinking of doing something similar in your own school, please feel free to ask questions or borrow anything from my own program!

Reference Question of the Day

2012-01-05T11:16:00.002-05:00

"I need some sources on the history of Christianity before Jesus."

Mid-year New Year

2012-01-01T15:43:00.000-05:00

Having spent most of my professional life as a teacher (and most of my life before that as a student), the January New Year has never felt quite right to me. The real New Year for me was always in September (or August). The January New Year seems like a bonus New Year, a mid-year pause to reflect on the first half of the year, and re-focus for the second half of the year.

For the record, I am not much a resolution maker (or keeper). I have only successfully kept two resolutions: 1) to moisturize and 2) to make changes in my life when I felt like I needed to, and not when dictated by a date on the calendar.*

The second half of the year is, generally speaking, much busier than the first half of the year, at least in my library (though how my year can get any busier is beyond me; maybe I should go buy some more coffee). The fall is a warm-up in a lot of ways. Students and teachers are getting into the groove, getting to know each other, and just starting to dive into content. I, too, am getting to know new teachers, new courses, and testing out new ideas. Come spring, however, we're all warmed up and far more people are ready to dive in to more and more ambitious research projects.

I like this pattern a lot. I always have teachers who do research in the fall, and it gives me (and them) a chance to test out new ideas for instruction and resources. I'm then able to fine-tune, re-work, or completely abandon those ideas come spring, when the research projects and requests for instruction and resources start coming fast and furious (and usually with short turn-around time).

But, as I mentioned, this fall has been busier than most. This is a result of many things--having more on my plate (first as the de facto ed tech facilitator, and then as the actual ed tech facilitator), more teachers who want collaborate more often and earlier in the year (file that under "good problems") and, as I start to feel really "at home" in this profession, and more professionally active (both formally and informally) I am increasingly aware of what's out there, what other people are doing, what I want to do, and what I think I should be doing. And all of that adds up to a lot.

As a result, I feel both more and less ready for the second half of the year than I usually do--more ready because I have more ideas, but less ready because this fall has been so busy I've had less time to really reflect on what's working and what's not working.

This has been one of the downsides of being so busy this fall; as I have more and more I want to take the time to reflect on, the less time I feel like I have to reflect--both on the day-to-day of my practice, but also on the larger picture of how I work. How do I pace myself, without feeling like I'm leaving something out? How do I focus, while continuing to grow? What is the balance? Is there one?

One of the most amazing parts of this past year has been the many people I've been able to meet and learn from.** While more and more librarians are going solo, this experience is far less isolating than it used to be; even though I have no librarian colleagues in my school, I feel like I have colleagues all over the country. And because of all I've learned from these people, I feel the need to give back, but I want to give back something that is as good as what I've taken from people. It's a pressure that's coming from no one but myself, but it's a pressure I feel nonetheless.

I have ambitious plans for the rest of this school year, and for the calendar year as well. I know that I will fall short on some of them--I know because I've fallen short on my plans even when they're less ambitious. And I think I've decided that's okay. I would much rather over-extend and fall short, than just work within my comfort zone.

It's not exactly a resolution, but it'll do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* I did, however, tweet the following last night: ""When someone asks you if you're a god, you say yes." #favoritelinefromGhostbusters/NewYearsResolution". This resolution was inspired by the fact that a) I had a couple nights earlier gotten into an "argument" with a friend of mine about whether or not I was well-liked (I was arguing to the contrary) and b) I'd been watching Ghostbusters.

**And holy crap, as I think back on the past year, I have met a lot of people and had a lot of amazing opportunities. I'm half-inclined to do a year-end inventory of everything I've done in the past 12 months, but just thinking about it is kind of overwhelming, and right now I'm trying to focus on being overwhelmed by the upcoming year.

Our students are not robots (except when they are)

2011-12-17T15:14:00.001-05:00

I have just finished teaching an intensive two and a half week course on Lego Robotics. I met with the same 13 students all day every day during that time, and we built and programmed Lego robots, completing increasingly complex (both for them to program and me to build) challenges. It was an amazing time, but I’m not going to miss either the incessant whir of the motors or the incessant calls of “Ms. K-M, Ms. K-M, Ms. K-M!”

The other constant refrain of the course was, “My robot’s not doing what I want it to do.” To which I would reply, “Your robot is doing exactly what you told it to do; what did you tell it to do?” We talked a lot about programming and free will—specifically, your robot does not have free will, and it will only do what you tell it to do. If you’re robot is not doing what you want, it means you didn’t tell it what you wanted to do. (I managed to thoroughly undermine this line of argument by showing them Short Circuit.)

After the 342^nd (give or take) time I had this conversation, I started to relate it to other conversations I’d had with colleagues, usually as they bring me their students’ final products (sometimes these are projects they’ve worked on with me, sometimes not), and they tell me, “This is not what I was expecting students to produce.” And then we look at the assignment and/or rubric, and I often end up thinking (and saying), “Well, based on this, your students gave you exactly what you said you wanted.” Sometimes it’s teachers who are disappointed their students didn’t elaborate and build on ideas—but the assignment clearly asks for a report, and makes no expectation of applying ideas and facts to new situations. Sometimes it’s teachers who are frustrated that students spent more time on bells and whistles and fancy colors (whether the product be a poster, a PowerPoint, or something else) and not as much time on content—but the rubric gives as much weight to color and visual appeal as it does to content.

If we don’t ask our students to engage in inquiry, or use critical thinking, or apply prior knowledge to new information, they won’t. Some will, sure. But most students need to be prompted, guided, and taught to do so. And that’s our job.

I’m often able to revisit these conversations the next time I start planning a project with a teacher, and we’re often able to design something that, from the outset, asks students to use critical thinking skills and demonstrate the application of those skills.

However, our students—unlike most robots—do remember the programs they’ve been told to run before. Even the bad ones. So even though we’ve created something new and different, many students will fall back into old habits.

This is a challenge I know I’m not alone in facing; I’ve talked about it with colleagues both at my school and in other schools. It is so frustrating. We want to make the shift to inquiry-driven, student-centered work that builds critical thinking ability. But we can’t make that shift all at once. But in order to make the small shifts, it seems like we have to overhaul the entire culture. But we can’t. . . you get the idea.

I don’t know the answer for this, but I am starting to think about the spring research season and how we can help students reprogram their own learning behaviors.

Et tu, Nicholas Carr?

2011-11-28T21:28:00.001-05:00

I did not intend for it take this long for me to finish writing up my thoughts and reflections on AASL, but, well, it has. I thought of skipping writing this up altogether, but I’ve had a draft going for so long this now more about a battle of wills than anything else.

While at AASL I had the pleasure of sitting on a book discussion panel with Sara Kelly Johns, Joyce Valenza, Doug Johnson, and Nicholas Carr; we were all there to discuss Carr’s book, The Shallows.

I found the book very interesting—very frustrating at times, as the notes in my margins will attest—but I thought there were a lot of interesting ideas. I was excited to have a chance to talk to Carr about some of the things the book had made me think about—ideas beyond what he’d written. I wanted to take the conversation he’d started in the book, and push it in new directions.

I’ve posted the “long version” of my question to Carr; I did not read the entire thing—these were my notes I used to prepare (looking at this made me realize something a colleague had said to me years ago, but which I didn’t think was true—I tend to think in paragraphs. This kind of weirds me out). My question to Carr was about the ADD brain, and whether it may be better adapted to this new information landscape.

Tom Hartmann's hunter vs. farmer theory of ADD/ADHD (which is by no means the definitive explanation) proposes the idea that ADD was, at one point, an evolutionary advantage. When we hunted for our food we needed people who were excited about the risk and pursuit of the kill—but also able to muster the hyperfocus necessary to hunt and track an animal. However, those skills are maladaptive in most classrooms and offices. But with media environments that call for us to not only switch focus frequently, but also have the ability to focus in on important information (you know, like if that rustling in the bushes is the wildebeest we want to make our dinner), is it possible that we’re coming back to a time when people with ADD are at an evolutionary advantage again?

His response was, in a word, unsatisfying. His response to all of our questions was, frankly, unsatisfying. Not because of the content of the answer, but because he seemed—both in that book discussion and in conversations outside of that formal discussion—unwilling to engage in ideas outside of what he had decided he wanted to talk about.

I may be assuming too much. Maybe he does engage and dig into ideas with other people in other contexts. But he was there specifically to talk about his book and the ideas in it. However, it became clear that he was there just to talk about the ideas in his book—not to apply his ideas to new information or contexts.

For someone who had written a book that had a basic premise of “people are no longer willing and able to engage deeply with new ideas”, his seeming unwillingness to engage deeply with new ideas was, well. . . surprising.

I would have loved to point that out to him, but I have a feeling he may not have engaged with that idea either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is the long version of the question I asked of Carr:

I work at a school for students with learning disabilities, primarily dyslexia and ADD/ADHD. Inattention, lack of focus, and distractibility are not unfamiliar topics for me. And while no one--particularly not those who have or work with those who have ADD—would deny that it presents a variety of challenges, there are unique strengths to the ADD brain as well--the draw to risk and change, the willingness to identify problems (even or especially when tact would make others hold back), the eagerness to respond in the moment, and when engaged in an issue that interests them, a laser-like focus that is unparalleled.

Tom Hartmann's hunter vs. farmer theory of ADD/ADHD, while not the definitive explanation of the roots of ADHD, does offer an interesting hypothesis for the evolutionary basis for ADD. The theory proposes that the high frequency of ADD in modern settings represents otherwise normal behavioral strategies that become maladaptive in environments such as the classroom or office. Traits that made it possible for our nomadic ancestors to survive can make life very difficult for our settled selves.

But not in all instances. There are still situations in which the ADD brain thrives. The
environment of video games you described yesterday--being asked to pay attention to multiple stimuli at once and respond to all--sounds a lot like the demands placed on an ER doctor--a role in which the ADD brain thrives.

There is one particular strength of the ADD brain that some of us might be rightfully
jealous of, and that is the ability to hyper focus. After all, being a good hunter was not just about risk and pursuit of the kill; it also entailed patience and persistence.

That intense focus on a topic, usually to the exclusion of all others, is something that many seem to want to do, but comes naturally to many with ADD when they are engaged in a topic about which they are truly passionate. This focus, combined with its impulsiveness, makes the ADD brain, in many ways, the entrepreneurial brain. And I don't think anyone would argue we don't need entrepreneurial brains.

The world shifted and changed in a way that made life more difficult for those with ADD,
but if now our technology is truly making us more distracted and distractible, are those
with ADD, and their ability to hyper focus, at an evolutionary advantage again?

UDL: The curb cut's cognitive cousin

2011-11-13T20:05:00.009-05:00

At a session at AASL—which was, ostensibly, about creating resiliency in students—the presenter said the following:

“There’s very little we can do that supports students at risk that doesn’t take away from other students.”

I was already, at that point, pretty annoyed by almost everything in the session (Someone else in the session had said that a good way to teach positive classroom behavior was to threaten students to hold them in for recess, and the presenter agreed that this was an excellent way to teach positive behavior, which almost made me lose my mind. Here’s a classroom management tip: if you, as an adult, would find such treatment insulting, chances are it’s not going to have the desired impact with students. How does that teach anything? How does it address the root of the problem? If a student is genuinely struggling in the classroom due to a hidden or undiagnosed learning disability—or for any number of other reasons—and that struggle is manifesting as misbehavior, how does holding a child in for recess address the issue? And if you hold the entire class for the misbehavior of one, you’re further ostracizing that child. It’s just awful, all around. /overly-long parenthetical rant) and had been trying to make my escape (it was sparsely attended and we kept having to talk to our neighbor, which made it a little awkward).

I’m almost glad, however, that I did stay to hear that, as sometimes I forget what an unfortunately pervasive attitude that is. So many teachers believe that you can’t help the at-risk students in your classroom without somehow taking away time/attention/focus/etc. from the other students in your classroom.

(When I mentioned my frustration with that session/presenter, another colleague pointed out that, yes, if you put an at-risk student in a class of 37 (a number based, sadly, on the reality of a friend of hers), it is going to take away from the amount of attention you’re able to give the other students. Which is likely true, but if you already have 37 students in a room you likely already have high needs students, and it’s also likely that there are many students not getting the attention that they need. There is only so much good pedagogy and instructional design can address.)

Anyway, this all is a perhaps overly-wordy way to introduce the Learning Commons session I presented at AASL (and since, apparently, this blog post is all about the parenthetical aside, I'm going to use this one to give a HUGE thank you to Buffy Hamilton for all her work creating an amazing learning space).

UDL in the Library

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Universal Design for Learning is built on the idea that the students in our schools vary widely in their abilities, and we need to design our curriculum in order to meet the needs of those learners. It is up to us to fit the curriculum to our students, not the students to fit themselves to our curriculum. Curricula that are designed from the outset to meet the needs of a variety of learners will meet the needs of far more students than one designed for the mythical "average" student.

I think of UDL as the curb cut's cognitive cousin. The curb cuts that are in all sidewalks were originally put there in order to make them accessible for people in wheelchairs, but those curb cuts are also useful for those of us pushing strollers or dragging wheeled suitcases. Sometimes--and I think this is especially true in the library--we don't know the individual learning profiles of our students. But if we design our curricula to meet the needs of a variety of learners from the outset, we don't need to worry about retrofitting to individuals.

I am, by no means, a UDL expert, and I don't think my library curriculum is perfect in that regard. But they are principles I strive to implement as I design instruction and select material.

Aimee Mullins, who I refer to in my slide deck, has an amazing TED talk about the views of dis/ability, and how much perspective matters:

Our perspective on students, and what they're able to accomplish, is what sets the tone in our libraries and in our classrooms and in our schools. By designing our schools to meet all learners where they are, we make them places of possibility.

Reference Question of the Day

2011-11-07T09:45:00.000-05:00

"What's a 404, and why can't they find it?"

A snow storm, the keys to the bus, and a teleporter

2011-11-01T23:26:00.001-04:00

I’m writing this from my parents’ house, on a bit of an impromptu mini-vacation, having fled Connecticut in search of electricity, heat, and hot water. Of course, power was restored to my school while I was driving here, meaning I will be turning around to un-flee early tomorrow morning. In a way I can’t quite put my finger on, this feels like a metaphor for my entire fall.

As frustrating as another multi-day power outage is (especially when it’s so cold!), it was nice to have an excuse, after a very busy fall and especially busy October, to cocoon myself in blankets and sleep for a very long time. My body and brain were both overdue for a little hibernation.

My job has changed a bit this fall, as I’ve found myself taking on more and more in the realm of technology integration. To be honest, the line between librarian and ed tech facilitator has always been a little fuzzy for me; frankly, I think the line between educator and ed tech facilitator should generally be a little fuzzy. All educators should be using and reflecting on the role of educational technology—and guiding students in using and reflecting on technology.

Over the years I’ve spent working here, and particularly this fall as we’ve launched our iPad program, I’ve found myself getting more and more directly involved with ed tech. Finally this fall I had a meeting with “powers that be” types and said, basically, “I’m driving this bus. I need the keys.” And they gave me the keys! Which is awesome! And overwhelming! But the other really great thing that came out of that meeting was knowing that my work in this area is noticed and appreciated and supported. Having recently spent time talking with colleagues in other schools who do amazing work that goes unappreciated by their supervisors, I know how lucky I am to have supportive administrators.

The first thing I decided to do in my official role as Educational Technology Facilitator was survey my faculty about their comfort level with ed tech and their professional development needs. The results in many ways confirmed what I had suspected—teachers want ed tech professional development to be iterative and hands on. Not a few days a year, but ongoing—and they also want the opportunity for one-on-one support and independent learning. I’ve been working on creating more and more tutorials, which also helps with the “I’ve answered this question a million times” feeling—now I have a ton of links I can send out when needed. I’m also trying to set up informal “drop-in” tech instruction times during the school day (as well as before and after). I’m hoping to do this a bit more now that I’m done with conference travel for a little while.

The survey also garnered a request to “learn all the things” as well as a teleporter. It’s reassuring to know that my colleagues have totally realistic expectations of what I’ll be able to accomplish in this role.

My next goal for this role (and I’m saying it here in the hopes that someone will hold me to it) is to institute a “23 things” style program for my faculty. While at AASL I saw a presentation about doing exactly that, and got some great ideas that I plan on stealing.

More AASL reflections (hopefully) to come in the next couple weeks. I have a feeling that things are genuinely going to slow down, but I have some ideas and reflections I’d like to share (including the slides from my Learning Commons presentation).

Tangentially related, if you haven’t already, please check out School Libraries: What’s Now, What’s Next, What’s Yet to Come, a collaborative ebook edited by Kristin Fontichiaro and Buffy Hamilton. I’m thrilled to be a part of it.

Why Do I Need to Find Multiple Sources?

2011-10-10T16:26:00.002-04:00

When doing research, students will regularly ask me, "Why do I need to find multiple sources? I can get all the information I need from this [article, book, website]." I always explain that if you only use one source, you don't know what you're not getting from other sources in terms of information, ideas, viewpoints, etc. Students are, generally speaking, convinced by my line of argument, but I'd been looking for a good analogy to explain it (I love a good analogy).

And I think I may have come up with one. Technically, it's not my analogy, but I'm pretty happy with the presentation, so I thought I'd share! I took the story about the elephant and the blind men, used flickrcc.bluemountains.net (my favorite source for Creative Commons images) to find images to illustrate the story, and put together a quick slideshow:

Why do i need multiple sources?

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I'll be trying it out tomorrow with a class coming in to find sources for a persuasive essay--a perfect opportunity to talk about the importance of getting multiple viewpoints.

On helplessness, learned and taught

2011-10-02T18:39:00.003-04:00

It is hard for me to write about this, because some of my frustrations are very, very specific, and this could easily become about venting rather than professional reflection. Not that I never vent about these frustrations (believe me, I do), but I prefer to vent a little less publicly.

I cringe (I try to keep it internal) every time I see a teacher model a learning behavior they would never accept from students. Saying, "I don't get technology," or "I can't figure this out, I'm not even going to try" or "Here, you do it, it never works for me." All things I've had teachers say to me in front of students.

It is really hard to keep that cringe internal, because when I hear teachers say these things in front of students it makes me angry. For a faculty that is very aware of the impact of learned helplessness, we don't always spend a lot of time reflecting on who taught that helplessness.

I can be guilty of teaching helplessness to my teachers, and I am working on recognizing and stopping that behavior. When someone asks me a question, I want to answer it; this is an instinct many teachers and librarians share, and I don't think it's always a bad one. But sometimes our drive to provide the answer can get in the way of teaching people how to find the answers themselves.

For example, a teacher recently e-mailed me to ask if a certain book was available via Bookshare. My first instinct was to look it up for her; but, I'd spent a lot of time this summer creating Bookshare logins for all my teachers so they could look up books and download them for students at the point and time of need (part of a larger effort to make assistive tech a little more seamless). It would have been much, much faster for me to just give her the answer. But I didn't. I replied with the URL to the site, reminded her how to login, and pointed her to page on the library website with details for how to download a book. Yes, that took much longer (especially since I looked the book up anyway just to be sure), but I'm hoping for a long-term payoff.

We are piloting a 1:1 iPad program with our freshmen and sophomores this year. Some teachers are struggling with being comfortable with the iPad and learning new apps. I struggled with a lot of it too, at first. But now teachers will seem amazed when I know how to do something, and ask how I learned it. To which I always reply, "I pressed something, and saw what happened. And then I pressed something else. There is no self-destruct app for the iPad." But still every once in a while a teacher will say, "I'll never figure this out." When they do (and as long as there are no students around), I've tried to get better at asking, "Would you allow a student in your class to say that?" It can make the conversation kind of uncomfortable. But that's kind of my goal.

One of the things we as teachers need to model is that it's okay to fail. It's okay to get something wrong. Getting something wrong is often an important part of the process. But that idea makes many teachers nervous.

It can be scary to admit you don't know something. To admit it in front of a room of teenagers who already think they know more than you do can be downright terrifying.

But we have to be willing to model not just that it's okay to not know something, but how to ask for help learning how to do something. To say, "the kids are better with technology, I'll never keep up," and use that as an excuse not to learn? Inexcusable. When you say that in front of a student, what's to prevent them from thinking, "everyone else is better at history/math/reading/writing, I'll never keep up"? Is that the attitude towards learning something new we want to model for our students? I hope not.

We need to model the right attitude towards learning--not, "I don't know how to do this, you do it for me," but, "I don't know how to do this, can you show me how?"

If what we're teaching by our model is helplessness, we can't be surprised when that's what our students have learned.

But if instead we model that it's okay not to know, but not okay to not want to know, we create an environment in which all kinds of learning are possible.

Accessibility is about more than text-to-speech

2011-09-24T13:52:00.001-04:00

I am, as I type this, on my way home from the School Library Journal Leadership Summit in Washington, DC. It was, hands down, one of the best professional development experiences I’ve ever had. I loved the intimacy and the intensity of the summit—it was a small group of people, and we were all in the same room, listening to the same speakers, and discussing the same ideas. It created an atmosphere very different from the large conferences I usually go to, where I’m running from session to session and always feel like I’m missing something—and have a harder time connecting with people who are focusing on similar ideas while at the conference and want to delve a little deeper.

The summit was exactly what I needed to recharge my batteries and give me new ideas and focus. I’m coming home with a lot of ideas to reflect on and implement (and unless I get completely overwhelmed at work the next couple weeks—ha!—I plan to write some more about it).

The theme of the summit was “The New World of Reading” and e-books, unsurprisingly, came up a lot. Friday morning was devoted specifically to speakers who had started e-book projects in their schools, districts, counties, regions, etc., as well as e-book vendors talking about the issue from their perspective.

It was kind of reassuring to hear that even many people who have started using e-books in their schools are still not necessarily 100% sure of the best way to do so; I admire their willingness to explore and jump in and see what happens. It was also reassuring to hear from Chris Harris, who admonished us not to buy e-books for our schools; specifically, he told us to develop ways across districts and curriculums to collectively purchase and share e-resources. Which I agree with, as I don’t have the buying power or the clout to purchase what I want and need on my own, but as an independent school librarian it also means spending time figuring out a consortium (though I’ve already connected with another independent school librarian in CT, and we have some ideas).

One of my major hesitations around e-books (and it was an issue I brought up as often as I could) is full accessibility for students with learning disabilities. One of the questions I submitted to the vendor panel was if e-books were being designed and created with LD students/UDL* principles in mind, and whether they would be fully accessible. The answer from most vendors was that many (but not all) e-books had text-to-speech built in; there was much nodding and smiling from the audience in response.

Sigh.

Yes, text-to-speech is good, and an important accessibility feature, but text-to-speech alone does not make a book fully accessible to all learners. For example, in many platforms where I’ve seen text-to-speech built in, it’s one giant mp3 file, with no navigational ability. How often do you read a book or article (particularly for research purposes) starting with title and author and then read the whole thing straight through without skipping or skimming?

But beyond the quality of text-to-speech, it takes more to make a curricular resource truly universally designed. It also takes more than a built-in dictionary. Yes, those are good things, and I’m glad they’re becoming standard, but I really don’t want them to be the end of these developments. I see so much potential for making more resources more available to more learners that I will be frustrated if we fall short of what I believe is possible.

A truly UDL e-book is like art or porn; I may not know exactly how to define it, but I’ll know it when I see it. And I haven’t seen it yet. Maybe there is something out there that does what I want it to do, and I just haven’t discovered it; if so, I hope someone will point it out to me. Even something close, so I can go to a vendor (my goal is to get better at talking to vendors about what accessible e-resources should look like) with specific suggestions. And, as mentioned above, I know my school and the population I work with in general is too small to have a lot of clout, but if a vendor designs a truly UDL e-resource they will have my undying loyalty and a solemn promise to sing their praises at every opportunity.

____________________________

* For those of you unfamiliar with UDL: I like to think of Universal Design for Learning as the cognitive cousin of Universal Design in architecture. The most frequently used example of universal design in architecture is curb cuts; they make sidewalks for accessible for people using wheelchairs, but they also help people dragging suitcases on wheels, or pushing strollers. The burden is placed on the space to meet the needs of those who will use, not on those using the space to adapt themselves to it. Similarly, UDL is based on the idea that it is the curriculum that should adapt to the learners, not the other way around. For a much better, much more thorough explanation (plus UDL guidelines), I highly recommend udlcenter.org.

An open letter to academic librarians

2011-09-18T22:22:00.005-04:00

Right around this time of year is when I start getting messages from last year's seniors. Each one is a little bit different, but in many many ways they all say the same thing: "I'm in college, and I'm doing research, and I need help." And the subtext is, always, "And I'm too scared to ask the librarians here, so can you help me?"

I'm not writing you to ask you to help my students; I know you will help my students. And that's what I tell them every time--that the best way I can help them is to direct them to all of you so you can show them all the resources (far beyond what I was able to show them) you have available.

But I have to admit, I am nervous, too. I am worried that you will judge my students for what I failed to teach them.

I did my best, I really did. But so many of my students come to me having been--for lack of a better term--abused by the educational system. They have been made to believe that they are stupid, that a failure is a reflection on them as people, not on the inherently messy process of learning. Many of them did not think college was in their future.

We did everything we could to teach them about who they are as learners, to give them the skills they need to engage with new material, to inquire, to understand both their strengths and their weaknesses, and to engage with the world while understanding that what matters is not the mistakes you make, but how you respond to them.

There is a lot they don't know about the nuts and bolts of research, but that is my fault, not theirs. Please do not hold them responsible for my shortcomings. I wanted them to see libraries as welcoming places, and librarians as welcoming people. I knew that I could never teach them everything they needed to know, so my hope was to foster the attitudes necessary to continue learning long after they left.

I know I am putting them in good hands. I know you will help them. And I thank you for teaching them the things I didn't.

On building relationships

2011-08-30T18:11:00.005-04:00

I was recently home visiting my parents in upstate New York. One night while sitting around chatting we somehow got on the topic of walking. I said something about how much I loved walking on the roads in their area not only because it was beautiful, but because drivers would actually move over in order to give you some room.

Then my dad started talking about walking to school in the mornings, which he’ll often do when the weather is nice. School is about 2 ½ miles from our house, if memory serves, and there are no sidewalks. At best there is a narrow shoulder.

He said that walking at that hour of the morning you see the same drivers every day. The first time drivers go past him, they’ll generally move slightly to the left—enough to avoid hitting him, but not giving a lot of room; my dad will then give a small wave of acknowledgment and thanks in return. The next day, the same driver—having received that wave of acknowledgment the day before—will move over a bit more.

And, in response, they get a bigger wave.

And so it continues—the drivers move farther and farther to the left, and getting bigger and bigger waves in return.

Eventually, the drivers are practically risking head-on collision ‘cause they know they’re getting that big wave.

The takeaway here is not that if we don’t spend time building relationships that we’re going to end up stranded in a ditch with a broken ankle.

It’s that small gestures have a pay-off. And that those small gestures, over time, can build something much bigger.

You don’t have to start with the giant wave/risk of head-on collision. That’s a lot to ask of either party at the beginning. But those first small gestures aren’t the end of it either—they’re the beginning. Each party in the relationship makes those small gestures at the beginning—and needs to see a return on their investment before willing to risk something more.

And that, over time, is how relationships of all kinds are built.

A whole new card catalog

2011-08-27T23:03:00.011-04:00

My library was automated about four years ago; in fact, I spent my first week on the job up to eyes in uncataloged reference books, deciding what to keep and what (like the encyclopedia set from 1981) was not worth keeping.

In moving the library collection out of temporary storage and into the newly renovated space, the old card catalog got left behind. I would see it every once in a while, and kept thinking I should grab it, but it wasn't until last year when they were doing some other renovations that I finally stuck a note on it that said "Please move to library."

I didn't know what, exactly, I wanted to do with it, but I knew I wanted to do something. I mean, just look at it--clearly, in addition to being full of old catalog cards, it is also full of possibility.

My first plan was to turn the catalog into storage for frequently-requested supplies--markers, tape, rulers, pens. . . you get the idea.

Around the same time, however, I began playing with some ideas around providing readers' advisory--namely, coming up with creative ways to help students who came in looking for books and requesting mysteries, or science fiction, or "a book about someone with a messed up life."

The first thing I did was create some lists in the catalog in order to help me have an easy reference for those lists, but I wanted to find a new way to get those lists to students (outside of searching the catalog).

And thus an overly-ambitious project was born.

I decided to use the top row of drawers for catalog cards, but rather than traditional catalog cards these cards would feature a select list of books, and be designed as a readers' advisory tool.

I took my book lists, focusing on high interest fiction and non-fiction, and came up with genre names that were reflective of the types of books my students regularly asked for. Then I created a card for each book, using the cover image and brief blurb.

There will still some old dividers in the catalog, so I made some new labels for them.

And labeled the drawers.

This project was A LOT of work and A LOT of fun. It was a great way to both refresh my memory and become more knowledgeable about my collection. I can't wait to share it with students--my goal is to have them creating cards and contributing to our readers' advisory catalog.

The Introvert in Your Classroom

2011-08-16T19:10:00.014-04:00

I read Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain several weeks ago, and I am still reflecting on many of the ideas. Cain begins with a discussion of the development of what she calls the Extrovert Ideal--an ideal that many of us are, consciously or unconsciously, very familiar with. As an introvert, I have frequently felt pressure to be more extroverted, as many of the cultural messages we get assume that being extroverted is "right" and introversion is. . . well, weird. I have often felt like there was something wrong with me because I wasn't more extroverted

I know that my introversion has impacted my professional life. I'm terrible at networking. I find small talk conceptually confounding. I can do it, but not without a lot of conscious thought and effort, and I find it exhausting in every sense of the word. On the contrary, when I can connect with one person (or a small group) and delve really deeply into a topic I feel energized. But chit chat? Lost on me.

I could go on and on about this book, but instead I'm going to encourage you all to read it (it's perfect for introverts who could use some affirmation, or for the extrovert who just doesn't get it) and just highlight some ideas that resonated with me in terms of teaching and learning.

* The importance of asynchronous participation

L'esprit d'escalier is a lovely expression (generally translated as "staircase wit") that describes a feeling many of us have experienced; it's when you think of the perfect thing to say after you've left the room. Usually it's used to refer to that witty comeback that wakes you up at two in the morning, but for me it applies to all sorts of situations. That crucial question about a new project or initiative. An insight from past experience that would be useful to a colleague. The idea or input that's pertinent to the topic at hand. The feedback on an ongoing project. All of which I find next to impossible to offer up during most meetings. I am generally ready to speak up in a meeting precisely when we've moved on to a new topic--or after the meeting is over.

It can be hard for introverts to speak up in class. This is not even just about extending wait time after you ask a question (though that's always good). An extra five seconds isn't always going to cut it--some students will need an hour or two. Which is not really a reasonable wait time.

While it's an oversimplification, I've heard the difference between extroverts and introverts explained as introverts think before they speak and extroverts speak to think. The introverts in your classroom are busy absorbing information, sorting it for relevance, reflecting on it, and incorporating it into what they already know. Of course, the extroverts in your classroom are doing this as well--they're just doing it out loud.

This is where asynchronous participation becomes invaluable. The introvert who isn't ready to speak up in class may be ready to contribute to an online discussion later that night. Or do better sharing with one classmate rather than a whole group. Or asked to reflect on the previous day's discussion during the next class. It's important that the brilliant ideas that occur on the stairs have a place to be heard.

* It's not just about how much you participate

The person who comments on a blog or replies to a listserv with only the phrase "I agree" without adding anything more? I can pretty much guarantee that that person is not an introvert.

I struggled with this in graduate courses that required participation in online discussions. It was important to me that I not simply be reiterating the same information and ideas--I wanted to be adding something new to the discussion. Otherwise, what was the point?

For many extroverts, chiming in with agreement is a way to build community and show consensus, so echoing earlier ideas is an act of community-building. On the other hand, many introverts only see value in adding their voice to a conversation if they're contributing new information. Both motives have value, but it often means that it looks like extroverts are participating more.

This also happens in group discussions in class. We tend to value the input from people who are the loudest--regardless of whether they're the most qualified. Introverts' voices tend to be drowned out. Cain sites a fascinating experiment in which students performed poorly on a task (selecting and prioritizing resources needed if they had crashed somewhere) despite having an expert in their group--because that expert was an introvert and was easily shouted over.

Which leads me to my next big take away:

*Group work is not king.

During a library school assignment I described my ideal library as one with room for both active collaboration and quiet contemplation. I was particularly happy with this turn of phrase, and proceeded to overuse it as much as possible.

I deeply value many of my collaborative relationships with colleagues, but I think it's important to remember that collaboration and group work are not the only way. Cain points to several studies that show that we get some of our worst ideas when we brainstorm as a group. But group work has become the assumed ideal.

There is value in group work, and I think structured group work can provide an excellent venue for introverts to develop skills necessary to sharing their work in public and with their peers. But extroverts could also benefit from developing the skills needed to work independently and reflect deeply on a topic before sharing ideas.

*Sometimes it's okay when a kid sits alone. Really.

We will, sooner than seems possible, be welcoming new students to campus, and welcoming back our returning students. The first several days are a whirlwind of group activities and events. The mantra is that everyone must participate all the time. And I get that--having everyone together those first few days really builds a sense of community, and helps ensure that our new students make connections (and don't have too much time to get homesick). Introverted me is exhausted by these days, and my heart always goes out to the introverted students in the group. There is a lot of new information to take in during these days, and the more introverted students have a hard time finding time and space to process all of it.

Sometimes the kid sitting alone is not lonely, or distraught, or unable to connect with other people. Maybe he just needs a break to reflect on the day. And that's okay. More than okay. It's what that student needs.

*Extroversion is not the ideal. Neither is introversion.

We will have extreme extroverts and extreme introverts and everyone in between in our classes. It's important that we create environments where they're all able to not only use the skills that come naturally to them, but to safely and comfortably develop other skills. We can't "make" someone be introverted or extroverted, nor should we want to. But what we can do is try to better understand the different strengths we all bring to the table.

Further reading on introversion (in case I wasn't long-winded enough):
10 Myths About Introverts

4 Ways Technology Can Enable Your Inner Introvert

Are You Shy, Introverted, Both, or Neither--And Why Does it Matter?

Is Shyness and Evolutionary Tactic?

Poor Xerxes never stood a chance against those mice

2011-08-03T20:34:00.002-04:00

While I was on vacation on Cape Cod I went to the Edward Gorey house, which was just a ten minute walk from where I was staying. It was his actual house, and his cousin was the tour guide, which made for a much more intimate experience than most museum visits; more than facts everyone there got some great stories.

Like many people, the Gorey work I'm most familiar with is The Gashlycrumb Tinies, and the Gorey house had an absolutely wonderful scavenger hunt devoted to that book. All around the house were small displays representing each of the scenes/deaths from the book--some were very obvious, many were incredibly subtle. Our tour guide pointed out many of them, but I was excited when I was able to pick out a few on my own.

X is for Xerxes devoured by mice.

G is for George smothered under a rug.

N is for Neville who died of ennui.

L is for Leo who swallowed some tacks.

And of course, A is for Amy who fell down the stairs.

I thought this was a really delightful way to engage visitors in the displays, and I think it would translate well to libraries. You could do the Gashlycrumb Tinies, or another alphabet book, or pick out some distinctive items or scenes from any book. The Edward Gorey house had a checklist you could pick up and use as you walked through the house--it would be neat to have something like that in your library that students could pick up when they had some down time in the library. It might even bring them into areas they might not otherwise go!

It’s not about what we do, it’s about who we are

2011-07-20T10:54:00.002-04:00

At the end of one of the sessions I went to at ISTE (yes, this is me finally writing my ISTE reflection) I had an interesting conversation with two English teachers about perceptions of librarians. They were definitely pro librarian, and both expressed sympathy about how school librarians were getting “beat up” lately, and asked me why I thought that was happening. One mentioned that she had been to a session about finding research, and said that “library/librarian” was put near the bottom of the list of resources for finding good research sources (it wasn’t clear to me whether that list had been generated by the presenters or the audience, but either way--ouch). She wondered why so many people still didn’t “get it.”

I don’t really have an answer for that--well, actually, I have lots of answers for that, but no “one size fits all” answer. But one of the core issues is, I believe, about relationships.

One of the issues that this teacher raised was that so many students seem to gravitate towards sites that they often KNOW contains less-than-scholarly information, which is something I’ve seen as well.
I told her that one of my theories about why students like Yahoo!Answers (and other similar sites) is because they feel like they’re getting the info from a person--even if that person is demonstrably crazy. They want to know that they’re getting information from a person--they want a connection to the information source.

This echoed an idea that had come up in the session we’d just sat through (The “Yeah, Buts”: Answering the Top 10 arguments against change)--an idea that I thought was one of the most important and relevant ideas I’d heard discussed during the entire conference:

Successful change is not just built on rational arguments; it requires an emotional investment and response.

This was an idea I’d been looking to hear more of after Buffy Hamilton’s amazing, beautiful talk about enchantment (a video of Buffy’s talk, as well as her slidedeck, is available on her blog, and you should all go watch it if you haven’t already).

So often we get excited about new tools and new ideas, but neglect to build the relationships that will help us bring other teachers along on our journey. And sometimes our immersion in technology can, frankly, lead to a kind of arrogance. Every time I hear a librarian say something along the lines of “librarians are the ONLY ones in schools who know about X” with X being anything from emerging technologies, to reading, to (in an article I read recently) knowledge production and consumption, I cringe. Really? How off-putting. That assertion is often accompanied by some thinly-veiled resentment that their expertise is not more widely recognized or valued. Obviously I know that there are many librarians who don’t do this, but I’ve seen it happen enough that it seems to be a trend.

If I were a teacher working in a school with one of these librarians I would not feel like my own perspective and expertise were valued or welcome--whether I were new to these technologies and ideas and just trying them out, or had developed my own knowledge and was putting it to use in my classroom. When someone else in my building says they’re the “only” one who knows how to do something, I don’t feel like they’re going to be receptive to what I may have learned and discovered.

Assertions of our own expertise--insistence on our own rightness--cuts off conversation and limits the possibilities that can develop when we take the time and effort to build relationships. It may mean having to answer what we think of as obvious questions (though I’ve found that answering “obvious” questions helps me refine my own thinking), and it may mean admitting that we don’t something. But that means learning something new. We shouldn’t just be collaborating with teachers in order to improve student learning--we need to collaborate with teachers in order to improve our own learning.

Because, to get back to my earlier point, we learn best when we learn from other people. We want to feel a connection to the people we’re learning from. I can be interested in an idea I read about and stumble across, but when I get to discuss (or hear someone talk about) how they actually made that idea happen in their school--that’s when I get excited about trying something new. Likewise, I get more excited about a new idea of my own when I’m able to share it with others.

This is, for me, one of the most valuable things about conferences--spending several days sharing space with 13,000 other people who are also excited about new ideas and learning, and making real connections with those people

And this is the feeling we need to bring to our students and teachers. If all we talk about is the STUFF we do or have, we are never going to get as many people on board that we would if we focused on WHO we are. We need to sell not what we do, but who we are. All libraries have different resources to offer, but the one thing that should be consistent across all libraries is that there is value added by the personal interactions you have with the librarian--whether that’s a personal reference interview or the value that’s added by organizing and building a collection in order to meet the unique needs of that school.

We all know students and teachers who insist they don’t need the library because “everything is on Google.” We know we have more to offer, but unless we focus on building those relationships, no one else will.

What doesn't kill you, makes you a leader

2011-07-13T19:04:00.004-04:00

I've been meaning to do a wrap-up post on my ALA and Emerging Leaders experience; the EL day was my main professional development experience at ALA, and I want to share some of my reflections on leadership, but I haven't been feeling very leader-y lately. I've been feeling far more sit-on-the-deck-reading-a-book-y. That feeling is not conducive to writing.

But then someone (I think it was Andy Woodworth) tweeted a link to a post by Jenica Rogers of Attempting Elegance (I'm not going to tell you how to do it), and it got me thinking again.

I remember my first day teaching. I was very lucky in that I'd gotten a job in the same school I'd done my student teaching, and so already knew many of my colleagues. They were very generous with advice and support. However, what I wanted to know more than anything was not what I should say, but what the students' reactions would be. I wanted some book that laid out, "If you say/do this, students will say/do this in response." Because what came next (and next and next) would build off how students responded and how was I supposed to plan if I DIDN'T KNOW AND NO ONE WOULD TELL ME.

I was, it is fair to say, a little anxious.

And this is kind of what leadership is like. I mean, it's in the name. You're leading. As in at the front. If you're doing it right, you're often doing things that haven't been done before, and you have no idea how people will respond, and that can be terrifying. And exhilarating. And, when it works out, awesome. And, when it doesn't, fodder for some great stories over drinks with sympathetic friends--and a some hard-earned knowledge of how to go about things the next time.

And that, too, is the point. The first time out in front as a leader is the hardest. Whether you rock it or fall flat on your face, the next time you take on a leadership role is easier--either because you have confidence from earlier success, or first-hand knowledge that failure will not kill you.

My first day as a teacher I was terrified because I had no idea what came next. Several years later, within my first few days as a school librarian, I was leading a previously unplanned PD session on the library for faculty. I knew it was a new library, I was new to the school, and there were lots of new faculty--and I knew if I didn't get in there early introducing myself and my vision of the library, it would be even harder for me to build what I wanted to. The ink wasn't yet dry on my MLIS, and I barely knew anyone's name. I had very little idea of what the future would hold (and most of the ideas I did have were wrong), but I did know that doing SOMETHING was far better than nothing. I knew that it was unlikely to be a disaster, but that even if it was it wouldn't do irreparable harm.

That, in general, is my leadership style--I like getting in the middle of things and seeing how they work. I plan, too, but at a point I have to stop planning and just *do* something; just as I didn't know what came next in teaching because I didn't know what the students would do, I don't know what comes next in a project until I can see how the first step actually turned out. Think of it as "fire, aim, ready."

But then there's this post that another friend pointed out: Don't Start a Sentence if You Don't Know How it Ends. This is the exact opposite of my problem. It takes me a LONG TIME to formulate a response to things. I tend not to jsut think through the end of the sentence, but sometimes to the end of the paragraph (this happens in my writing, too--I think and think and think about a topic and then whoosh! I've written two pages).

One of my hesitations about taking on formal leadership positions is that I am very, very introverted. And things like networking--which tend to involve small talk--take a lot out of me. And I'm just not very good at it. I could get better, I'm sure, but I really dislike small talk, so I'm not very motivated, to be perfectly honest. I need to feel a connection with someone first, and I'm much better at building deep connections with a few, than large networks of more casual connections. And in some ways that's definitely a strength, but it does make it more difficult to build the large networks necessary for institutional leadership.

(I have, perhaps coincidentally, been finding a lot of great articles on introversion lately, including this one: 10 Myths About Introverts and thinking a lot about how introversion shapes my practice, and how introverts fit in an ever-more-socially-networked world. But, as you might imagine, I'm going to need to think about it a bit more before I share my thinking.)

I'm still figuring out where I want to be in terms of formal leadership positions. I know that I have far too many opinions--and get far too frustrated by inaction--to not take on some sort of leadership role, if only informally.

I know I have areas of weakness I would need to develop in order to take on more visible leadership roles. I also know that some of the strengths I have make me uniquely suited to less visible leadership roles--and the strengths I do have are often areas of weakness for others. Do I have more to offer by sharing my strengths, or developing my weaknesses?

I realize, of course, that this is a false choice. Whether or not I take on visible leadership roles, developing my weaknesses would be a net good--and my strengths are, well, my strengths, and likely to stay that way. I guess, really, the question is whether leadership is more about playing to your strengths or being willing to work on your weaknesses. And I think in order to be a good leader you HAVE to be willing to develop your weaknesses--how can you convince others to try something new if you're not willing to? Even if you focusing on developing your weaknesses doesn't make you stronger, anyone with leadership experience knows that it will, at the very least, not kill you.

Prisons, Hamlet, and Education

2011-07-11T10:34:00.005-04:00

On my run yesterday morning I was listening to an old episode of This American Life (yes, I know: most people listen to music when they exercise; I listen to NPR podcasts) about a group of inmates rehearsing and performing Act V of Hamlet.

I'd heard this episode before; if you haven't, I highly recommend listening to it. It's an amazing story in all kinds of ways.

While listening yesterday there was one moment that really struck me. Right around the 25 minute mark one of the prisoners/performers is explaining why he's involved in this performance group says, simply, "she makes us feel human, man."

Shortly after that Jack Hitt (the reporter) says, "One guy with a 3rd grade education level said he was surprised to find out he wasn't stupid, just uneducatated."

Those two lines--as part of this incredible story in which these men who have done truly awful things create a truly awesome (in every sense of the word) performance--really beautifully illustrated two of the fundamental things I believe about education:

1) If you treat someone like they are capable of something, they are more likely to believe that they are actually capable of anything.

2) In order to work in education, you have to believe that people are capable of change. Or, as I sometimes put it: if you don't believe people have the capacity for change, you have no business working in education.

The ALA/ISTE Marathon

2011-07-01T15:06:00.002-04:00

I am now two days and 20 hours of sleep removed from the ALA/ISTE marathon; I am, for the record, still tired. I have mostly unpacked but still have piles (literal and electronic) of notes and information to go through and follow up on.

I'll be writing more here as I do that, but I wanted to give a snapshot as my thoughts take shape. The conference experience was amazing, but also overwhelming, and frustrating in some ways.

Doing two conferences back-to-back is exhausting, both physically and cognitively. Well, technically ALA and ISTE aren't back-to-back--they overlap significantly, which means you can't really do both. I ended up missing several things I wanted to see at both conferences. And while I'll be able to catch up on some of those things online, that's not really the point--if I just wanted to catch up online, I wouldn't go to the conferences.

Some of the things I missed weren't entirely my fault; there were two sessions I really wanted to see scheduled at 8:00 Sunday morning--the same time as AASL's Affiliate Assembly, which I had to be at as a representative for CASL. To have three sessions for school librarians all at the exact same time--particularly when there aren't a lot of sessions for school librarians--seemed like really poor planning, and was very frustrating. I want to become more actively involved in leadership at ALA, but I also want to be able to get something back from my professional organization. I think it's reasonable to want to do more at conferences than go to committee meetings.

My approach to ISTE was a lot different than last year, when I ran around like a crazy person trying to see everything. After one day at the conference I was feeling kind of fried, and knew that my ability to absorb information was maxed out. So I made a not-entirely-conscious shift in my approach to the conference. I found myself focusing less on the "what" (new ideas), a little on the "how" (ways to implement ideas I've been playing with) and far more on the "why" (as in why I do what I do).

The "why," for me, is what conferences are really about. I can (and do) find a lot of information about what and how all the time, but I go to conferences to connect with people and to get a little philosophical TLC--to be recharged by sharing a space with thousands of other people who are excited about the same ideas I'm excited about.

Think, Create, Share, Grow at your school library

2011-06-22T15:52:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow morning, pre- crack of dawn, I leave for New Orleans for ALA and for the culmination of my Emerging Leader experience. It's been an amazing six months, and I've been lucky to work with a group of other smart, passionate, and creative librarians. It's been a lot of work, but also a lot of fun.

We were given the task of creating some promotional materials for Learning4Life and AASL's Standards for the 21st Century Learner. We decided pretty quickly that the best way to promote the standards was to highlight the incredible work school librarians are doing all over the country. So we wrote and distributed a survey using a GoogleDocs Form, and used the responses we got as the raw material for all of our projects.

I created an Animoto using some images that school librarians shared, and included some examples of the standards in action:

Melissa Corey created a Storybird, which I just love:
Think, Create, Share, Grow at Your Library by melissacorey on Storybird

as well as a great GoAnimate video:
GoAnimate.com: Think, Create, Share, Grow in Your Library by melissacorey

Like it? Create your own at GoAnimate.com. It's free and fun!

Alicia Blowers made this great Xtranormal video:

and Kim Ha made one too:

Kim also made several great Google Search Story videos (seriously, making those things is so much fun):

And I would be seriously remiss if I didn't mention our other team member, Leah Ayers, who did a wonderful job compiling all of our results and getting things ready for our poster session.

Which reminds me--if you're going to be at ALA we'll be presenting our projects during the Emerging Leader poster session Friday afternoon at 3:00 in room 271-273 in the Convention Center and in the Exhibit Hall at 1:30 and 4:00 on Saturday.

You can also find our projects at our Diigo group, Emerging Leaders Group A, all of which have been tagged ateamproject. Also in the Diigo group are links to work that school librarians shared with us--there's some awesome stuff in there, and plenty of ideas I plan on stealing.

Local girl makes good

2011-06-22T15:39:00.004-04:00

Last week I gave a talk at my hometown library as part of their Wednesdays in Wadhams series. The topic was how to find what you're looking for when searching online--focusing specifically on how to use Google to its full potential (there's magic in the sidebar!), a quick look under the hood of Wikipedia, and highlighting some other great online reference resources.

It was a lot of fun. The audience was great (and I'm so grateful so many people showed up on such a beautiful summer night)--and it was awesome that there were so many people there my mom hadn't invited.

In order to introduce myself I made a resume of sorts using Google Search Stories

Here's the PowerPoint for the talk:

Google and beyond

View more presentations from kmthelibrarian

And a couple "action shots" my mom took:

Several people mentioned they'd like me to come back and give another talk, which I'd love to do--guess I need to start thinking of a new presentation!

This not about that WSJ article

2011-06-11T16:49:00.005-04:00

I had been planning a post about YA lit and why I read it and what I love about it, but before I could Meghan Cox Gurdon wrote that ridiculous article and I felt like if I was going to write about YA I had to respond to what she said--but I really, honestly don’t feel like it, for many reasons. One is that it’s incredibly infuriating and even thinking about causes a spike in my blood pressure. But the more time went on people responded to her article, saying exactly the things I wanted to say, but saying them far more eloquently.

Read Barry Lyga’s response if you want something viscerally satisfying: On the WSJ, YA, and Art
Read Gayle Forman on Wall Street Depravity if you want to know how such ridiculous “journalism” ends up in print.
And read Libba Bray’s tweets, because she says everything that needs to be said and gives a shout out to librarians, which is one of many reasons to love her.
For an excellent dissection of the original article--along with links to many other responses not included here--read Liz Burns There’s Dark Things in Them There Books.
Read Maureen Johnson for a wonderful Italian food analogy (and because I sat at the table next to her in an Italian restaurant Thursday night, and we both totally played it cool)
And if you want to feel like you’ve been punched in the gut in the best way possible, read Sherman Alexie on Why the Best Kid’s Books are Written in Blood. Actually, go read that one no matter what. Read that instead of this if you must.

But never mind all that for now.

Our graduation was about two weeks ago. This is my fourth year here, so this was the first group of four-year seniors I worked with. It was amazing and emotional in the way that all graduations are, but somehow more so. Knowing that we’d all started at this school together made me feel a special connection to these kids. And now we were sending them off.

It had me thinking a lot about potential (as in “these kids have so much potential’) and why I love working with teenagers so much--and also why I love reading YA lit. It is this really fascinating and frustrating time of life when ANYTHING--good or bad--seems possible, even likely. What I love about YA lit is what I love about working with young adults--there is, no matter how bleak, a sense of potential.

I don’t want to paint adult literature with a broad brush, as I am by no means an expert (I know, clearly, I shouldn’t let that stop me) but one of the reasons I often end up frustrated when reading a lot of adult literature (particularly realistic fiction) is that everyone brings so much. . . baggage to the story. There is a lot of past that needs to be sifted through, and the focus is often on that past and how it got them there. And even when characters in YA bring a heavy past with them to a story, they are more often looking to the future than the past. And I like that. A lot.

There are always more possibilities than past.

I remember a student I had my second year teaching. His girlfriend was his soul mate and the love of his life. As was the girlfriend after her. And the one after her. Yes, it was kind of ridiculous, but there was also something kind of. . . charming about it.

There’s something kind of awesome about the ability to believe with passion and intensity something that is the exact opposite of what you believed the day before. And that happens with love interests and political beliefs and sartorial choices, often with the same level of intensity.

The best teachers and YA librarians and YA authors I know have managed to hang on to a little bit of that mutability. I don’t know if it’s that people with that quality are drawn to working with teenagers, or if working with teenagers keeps whatever that is alive in you.

Meghan Cox Gurdon has made up her mind. No counter-argument (no matter how well-crafted or persuasive) will convince her otherwise at this point. And part of that is because she feels under attack (though I have a hard time believing she didn’t know she was picking a fight) and we all dig in our heels when we feel we’re under attack. And part of it is because the older we get the harder time we have shifting our perspective.

There is the old line about the older we get the more we realize we don’t know, but I think the counterweight to that is that the older we get the more absolutely certain we get that we are 100% correct about the little we do think we know.

And that’s the thing with adults. Most of the time, what you see is what you get. By the time we’re adults, we’ve pretty much made up our minds about who we are and how we act. Habits are ingrained. Sure, they can change, and life happens and we adjust and adapt, but a lot of who we are is set in stone.

Not so much with teenagers. Things are still shifting and forming and developing. Personalities are still being fine-tuned. So much about your life is still up in the air as a teenager; you can try on different personalities and world views with a lot more ease.

Literature can offer a way to try and on and experience different lives without having to take those paths yourself. You can see how other people live, and develop a sense of empathy. Sometimes we look to books to mirror our experiences and sometimes we look to books to experience another life completely.

Here’s the thing that annoyed me about that article that I haven’t seen discussed much--I give those books that Cox Gurdon derided as containing “hideously distorted portrayals of what life is” to students ALL THE TIME. Am I corrupting these students? Ruining their lives? When a student comes in looking for the latest Ellen Hopkins book am I supposed to turn them away and tell them I don’t trust them enough to know what they’re interested in reading? Am I supposed to say, “Sorry, I don’t trust you with your own development”?

I’ve recommended light books, dark books, and everything in between. What I recommend depends on the student and what they're looking for right at that moment. Sometimes my recommendation isn’t quite right, and a student comes back and we find something different. I’m not “bulldozing” anyone. Not to get all Ranganathan on you, but every book his reader, and every reader his book.

Adolescence is, mostly, about deciding who and what you want to be post-adolescence. You are full of potential, but still deciding what direction it will take you. And a lot of the time, reading is a lot safer way to try on those different lives than actually living them. Yes, teens need guidance and help and support--in everything, not just reading selections--but if we’re trusting them to become independent adults, can’t we trust them enough to let them chose what they want--and need--to read along the way?

"thank you for correcting my citations"

2011-05-27T12:30:00.003-04:00

I am (almost) done correcting the second round of spring research papers. There's a lot of good, a lot of almost good, and some. . . some with a lot of room for growth.

When I read some papers--papers where a student has pasted in the entire Works Cited entry into the parenthetical reference, or numbered their references and put the numbers throughout the paper, or (and this is my favorite) colored-coded their references and the information in the paper--I have to remind myself that when I started here four years ago the "official" reference style was some combination of Chicago, MLA, and a couple things some teachers thought "looked good."

It is a long road I am on, but I am making progress. I've got everyone on board with using MLA style. We're using NoodleTools, which makes a lot of things a lot easier. Students are telling each other how much easier NoodleTools makes things. And we've got a really solid research unit (that we'll keep developing and fine-tuning) that we do with sophomores that I think will keep paying dividends in the next two years.

I am, to be honest, a little worried about seniors; I know not all of them are fully prepared to do this independently. I wish I had another year with them, for all sorts of reasons. But I know that even if I got that one extra year with them, I would have two years worth of things I wanted to teach them. This is the first group of students I've seen all the way through--my first year was their freshman year. I feel some responsibility; it is hard to let them go.

One night a couple weeks ago I was thinking about this, worried that I hadn't fully prepared students, and that some of them just weren't getting it. I'd just spent hours giving feedback in NoodleTools--sometimes copying and pasting the same comments I'd made during the last round of feedback, which students had deleted without fixing or asking for help. I was having one of those "no one has ever listened to anything I've said" moments, and in my exhaustion feeling like nothing I was doing made any difference.

And then my e-mail pinged, and there was an e-mail from a student with the subject "NoodleTools." The body of the e-mail is the title of this post.

I almost cried. And by "almost" I mean I did.

This was not a student I had a solid rapport with, or worked with frequently--in fact, we'd had some less-than-positive interactions in the past. And what I loved the most about that message was the fact that I'd yet to e-mail students to let them know I was done looking at their citations. It'd been completely proactive on his part--seeking feedback, accepting it, and showing appreciation for it.

And that let me know that--even if every senior still has some (or a lot) to learn--that I've done something right in the last four years. That when these students go to college next year it is with a different impression of libraries and librarians than the one they came here with. That the library is a place where they can ask for help and find it. And if I had to choose between them knowing that and them knowing everything there is to know about MLA format. . . well, the choice seems pretty clear to me.

~~~~~~~~
This is unrelated, but not. The student from my last post about mistakes? I was nervous about the next time he'd be in class in the library and wondering what he would be like. Would he show up? Would he be engaged? Would he not want to talk to me?

Well, he showed up. And he stayed engaged the same way he'd been up until then. He was already done with his own paper, so he was working with his peers, helping them find sources, and take notes--and referring them to me for help with citations. It was like nothing had changed, but also like something really powerful had. That really incredible act of forgiveness on his part made it easier for me to forgive myself. There's plenty of people willing to talk about "kids these days" but some of them are kind of amazing, you know?

Everyone Makes Mistakes (So Why Can't I?)

2011-05-21T17:51:00.009-04:00

First, a trip down memory lane:

I made a terrible, awful, horrible mistake on Friday. I was working with a student, reviewing his paper for citations, and I overheard another student saying something awful. One of those things that takes me to a very angry place very quickly. I responded without thinking and I yelled at him. Loudly. I just. . . snapped. And when the student tried to explain, I was still too upset to let him finish what he was saying.

Thing is, I misheard him. He'd said nothing like what I thought he'd said. I yelled at a student, and made him feel awful, for doing exactly nothing wrong. And the guilt is eating me up.

As soon as I realized what a horrible, terrible mistake I made, I apologized. Profusely. And the student, very graciously, accepted my apology. I don't think any long-term damage was done to our relationship. But still, it's eating me up.

This is not, by any means, the first mistake I've made while teaching. Not the first mistake I've made this year. Probably not even the first mistake I made that day (and it probably also wasn't the last).

I've been thinking a lot this year about resiliency and reflection and how to make students more comfortable with mistakes. I've always believed that learning is a messy process in which failure is inherent; most days I take the Red Queen's approach to impossible things and apply it to mistakes. I try to think of myself as someone who can make a mistake, admit it, fix the problem, and move on. I admit that I've sometimes had difficulty empathizing with students who hit (what seems to me) a small roadblock and completely shut down.

And so, in light of this encounter, I've been thinking about how we think about mistakes--whether a mistake is something you DO, as opposed to a mistake being something you ARE. And whether there are some mistakes that hit a little harder at our core.

As long time readers of this blog (or people who know me personally--hi Mom!) know, I work at a school for students with learning disabilities. Sadly, many of my students come to our school having been badly abused by the educational system; they've been treated as if their difficulty with learning--and the mistakes they make as a result of that--says something about who they are as people. And it's not a nice thing.

I pride myself on my ability to build relationships with students, to talk to them about difficult subjects, to guide them through a subject (whether that's the Battle of Gettysburg or the use of respectful language), and to do some calmly and rationally. Which is, I think, why this mistake is hitting me so hard. It hits much closer to my self-perception than using the wrong keywords for searching.

I know, ultimately, that this mistake is not all that defines me as a teacher, but it's been a good reminder of how debilitating a mistake can seem. It is helping me get a better understanding of how my students feel when they make a mistake while learning. When a mistake seems to be about who you are as a person, it's hard to simply move on. I still don't know how to help students with this process, but I feel better equipped to empathize with them as they move through the process.

____________________

P.S. If you have found your way here from the Salem Library Blog awards, welcome! And thank you! I'm overwhelmed and flattered to even be on such a list.

Summer Reading; or, It’s Not About the Books

2011-05-17T00:36:00.003-04:00

Today, I held my first-ever Summer Reading Book Fair. Also, Seth Godin said something about libraries. At the beginning of the day, I did not think these two events would be related, but I wouldn’t be true to my English major roots if I wasn’t able to draw connections between seemingly unrelated events.

I announced the Summer Reading list during a all-school assembly last Friday (and this year the video played with sound, which was exciting) :

You can see my entire Summer Reading webpage here: Summer Reading 2011
(Have I ever mentioned that Summer Reading is one of my favorite parts of my job? If not, I’m mentioning it now. If I have, I’m mentioning it again.)

formanlibrary - summerreading2011 via kwout

This year I’m working with our local independent bookstore to help students order the books they want to read and have them before they go home for the summer. And so I organized a Summer Reading book fair where students could come check out the books on the list and get help deciding which books they might want to read.

Eighteen students showed up--and I know 18 doesn’t sound like a lot, but trust me, it is. My school only has approximately 180 students, and about 50 of those are seniors. Which means about 14% of the students who will be participating in the Summer Reading program showed up (unless I’m doing the math wrong, which is possible, but I’m generally pretty good at percentages).

But more than the number of students who showed up, it was which students showed up. There were a lot of students there who not self-identify as avid readers--or even as readers. But they came and they wanted to know about the books. Some spent very little time, but several spent a long time--asking questions, debating between different books, and sometimes demanding I tell them which book they’d like better. One student came with his own personal short list of books he’d come up with after reviewing the list on the website. And students were talking with one another--recommending books and deciding on which books they both should read.

And this all got me thinking about Seth Godin’s post and Buffy Hamilton's amazing response to it and the bits and pieces of discussion I was able to follow on Twitter today.

The book fair was not a success because I had the books on display, or had computers set up for students to look up more info on the books, or because there was a Google form embedded on the page for me to gather feedback from students. It was a success because it brought people together in a particular time and space to talk about and get excited about books and reading.

If librarianship, in your mind, is about things (whether those things be books or computers or e-readers or the next shiny new toy), you’re doing it wrong. Librarianship is about people, and it’s about ideas, and it’s about bringing ideas and people together.

I admit to not having been as fully immersed as I am used to being (and would usually like to be) in the larger professional conversations that are happening lately; part of it is the time of year and the many projects I have going on, and part of it is that some of these discussions suck the energy right out of me, and I need all the energy I can hold on to in order to work on all these projects.

I know how important those larger conversations are, but they do often happen in an echo chamber where we argue about the trees while those outside are unaware of the forest (to brutally mix a metaphor). As Melissa Corey very eloquently pointed out, the changes we’re talking about need to be happening everywhere, not just in some libraries. But these changes do happen one library at a time. And right now I’m focusing on making those changes in my library.

I know that the teachers I work with have a different ideas about libraries and librarians after working with me. And I know the students I work with have different ideas about libraries and librarians after working with me. Everything I do is about changing expectations about what librarians can do and what libraries can be. And it’s not about the books, or the computers, or the physical space I work in. It’s about connections. It’s about people.

Then and Now

2011-05-02T22:57:00.003-04:00

On September 11, 2001 I was alerted to the news by the phone. I was living in DC at the time, and my friend and roommate (who worked a block from the White House) called. She called several times, as I was still unemployed and not exactly a morning person. If I remember correctly, she left a message on the answering machine (yes, answering machine. Not voice mail.) My other room mate and I got up and turned on the TV; a TV that had an antenna made mostly from coat hanger and foil.

On May 1st, 2011 I was also alerted to the news by my phone. I was about to go to bed when I checked my Twitter feed and saw someone saying something about the President making an announcement at 10:30. So I turned on my TV (which is probably older than the TV I had in 2001, but is connected to cable). Throughout the evening I kept checking Twitter and Facebook while flipping channels for different coverage.

Ten years ago I turned to my friends to hug them and cry and wonder what was happening and fear for the future. We dialed family and friends over and over till we could finally get through. We talked to neighbors we hardly knew.

Last night I tweeted, "Almost 10 yrs ago I was unable to turn away from the news and feeling like I didn't know what to think. This feels like that, but different." I was alone, but still able to turn to others for conversation.

Ten years ago we did not go online to get information. We still had dial-up, and it was hard enough to get through on the phone lines to friends and family.

Last night I was on Twitter and Facebook and Wikipedia and CNN.com and NYTimes.com and myriad other sites looking for information.

Ten years ago I sat on my couch, with my arms wrapped around my knees, trying to figure out was happening and wondering what the larger implications for the world were.

Last night I sat on my couch, with my arms wrapped around my knees, trying to figure out was happening and wondering what the larger implications for the world were.

The technology has changed, but the emotions are the same. The channels for getting information are different, but the need for information is the same.

I am not the expert

2011-04-23T14:14:00.001-04:00

I’ve been trying to catch up on my GoogleReader and Instapaper links (still to tackle--my Diigo Unread items. I love that technology has created a variety of ways for me to keep track of what I’m missing), so if you’ve been staying current these stories might be old to you (and, full disclosure, I started writing this post almost a week ago. You don’t even want to see how behind I am on doing my dishes).

There have been a few posts I’ve read that have really resonated with me as I try and keep my head above water in the craziness of spring research season

The first is Seth Godin’s post Moving beyond teachers and bosses:

If you view the people you work with as coaches, and your job as a platform, it can transform what you do each day, starting right now.

I have a friend and colleague who I talk with a lot about the idea of coaching, particularly when it comes to working with students with executive functioning issues; she is way better versed in these topics than I am, and I’ve been working on incorporating her ideas into what I do.

A lot of students--and not just those with executive functioning challenges--see the teacher as the “gatekeeper,” the person who says “stop” or “go” (sidenote: every time I use the word “gatekeeper” I think of the movie Ghostbusters. Just FYI). I sometimes get frustrated with students who won’t or can’t take the next step in an assignment without first getting clearance from someone else, but then I remember that a lot of schooling trains students to not trust their own judgment about what’s right, what’s wrong, and what comes next. It’s a hard habit to break. So even though I know “what comes next” I try to make that a collaborative discussion with the student, to have the answer come from them. You would be amazed (or not) at how much resistance students put up to the idea that they might be in charge of the next step of the process. We (and by “we” I probably don’t mean “you”) train students to believe that they can’t make decisions about their learning, and then get frustrated when they refuse to take charge of their own learning. Why they aren’t more annoyed with us I don’t know.

Next I read Doug Johnson’s excellent response to Godin’s post; the reactions in comments about content expertise are also very interesting, but I think focusing on defining who the content expert is kind of misses the point.

It’s not about who the content expert is. No ONE is the content expert. EVERYONE is the content expert.

Learning communities are wholes that are greater than the sum of their parts. It doesn’t matter how much you know unless you have someone to share it with--someone who wants to know, and will ask you questions, and will push you farther in your own learning.

It’s not about the information, it’s about what you can DO with the information. Knowing a lot of facts does not make you an expert. If all you have to offer your students is a list of facts, you are not a teacher. You are an encyclopedia set. Probably an outdated one.

My professional goal is to make myself obsolete. Okay, not really, but kind of. If I, as the librarian, am seen as “the only one” who knows about finding sources, evaluating information, creating citations, creative commons and fair use (and so on) then not only am I overwhelmed with trying to teach everything to every student on my own (and not having it reinforced in the classroom), but then students see it as a specialized, localized skill--something you only have to do in the library or when Ms. K-M asks. But if it’s something that’s happening in all classes all the time and being practiced and reinforced by teachers, then it’s a “real” skill.

One of the reasons I love being a librarian so much is because I teach skills, not content. And the skills I need to know and be able to teach are always changing (which is why I don’t think I’ll ever really be obsolete). I learn from colleagues in other libraries (through blogs, and Twitter, and professional journals, and conference presentations and you get the idea), and share with colleagues in my school, who share with their students, who share with each other. . . and who sometimes discover something new to share with me. And then I share that with my learning community. If I didn’t think it would delay this post even longer, I would draw some sort of diagram to illustrate this idea.

The structure that Godin alludes to (and that I think many picture when they picture schools or workplaces) is strictly hierarchical, with the “expert” at the top. But expertise is, I believe, more of an iterative process; if you believe you’re the expert, at the top of the hierarchy, you cut yourself off from the opportunity to learn from others. An expert is not someone who has learned a lot, but someone who is always learning.

I love that moment when something clicks for a student--when they figure out how to do something, whether it’s navigate an advanced search, organize resources, or create a way to showcase a new understanding of a topic. And often these are things I know how to do and could easily have shown them, but if I simply lead through the steps all they’ve learned is that I, their teacher, knows how to do something. When we give students the opportunity--and responsibility--to develop their own expertise, we are making them active participants in their learning.

Silence in the library

2011-04-16T11:19:00.002-04:00

I have not been doing much writing lately, not because I have not had things I wanted to write about, but mostly because I have not had (or made) the time for reflection; writing, for me, is often how I bring clarity to and organize my thoughts. And while I have a lot of ideas bouncing around my brain (and it does sometimes quite literally feels like they're bouncing around), spring is also the busy season in the library, so between that and several other side projects going on, there's very little time to sit and reflect and write.

One of the projects I've been occupied with is helping students organize our Day of Silence, which we held on Thursday (the national Day of Silence was Friday, but we had parent-teacher conferences). I had five classes that day, so staying completely silent myself was not a realistic option, but I instead chose to stay silent during the optional speaking portions of my day--between classes, lunch, etc. (though I was not perfect on that count, I did try. Talking is a hard habit to break).

When working with students who were staying silent, I usually stayed silent myself. And while I don't think this is usually the best way to work with students all the time, just staying quiet while working with a student definitely has its advantages.

There is value in pausing both before asking a question, and before answering one. If a silent student had a question, they would usually take more time on their own to figure out what to do next, rather than asking right away. I work with a lot of students who, at the first hint of uncertainty, ask for help. And while I'm glad they ask for help rather than give up, it's also gratifying to see them take the few moments of extra time and figure out the answer for themselves. The silence seemed to create a permission to pause.

I also ended up taking more time to answer, and by staying silent there was less temptation to just give the answer--I really needed to guide (and point and gesture) students to where they were going. I know we all know the importance of giving time for students to answer questions, but I hadn't thought as much about giving myself time to answer questions. Taking time and how we use and organize our time has been on my mind lately as I read and think about executive functioning (more on that later as I wrap my head around some ideas).

My library can be a noisy, active place (particularly when there are multiple classes in here doing research), but with so many students staying silent on Thursday, it was a much quieter space--even though it was quite crowded. And while I love the activity and bustle of students working and being noisy, the relative quiet created an environment where it was possible for students to immerse themselves in what they were doing with little interruption. I have always thought of school libraries as a place for both collaboration and contemplation; unfortunately the physical layout of my space makes it difficult for both types of spaces to exist at the same time, and it was nice to have a day where the focus was more on contemplation.

Many students talked about how hard it was to be quiet all day, and even though I wasn't silent all day, I understood what they were talking about. I have, as I mentioned above, been feeling kind of disjointed lately, with no time to be quiet and reflect. Finally having that time (even in short bursts) was kind of unsettling. When I had a new thought or idea I had to just. . . sit with it, rather than sharing it immediately. And while it was challenging--and sometimes frustrating--it was also a nice change of pace.

I also thought about the ways we communicate without talking. By staying silent we do lose out on the opportunity to share our ideas and develop new ideas collaboratively, but I believe we also gain a lot by focusing so much on what others are communicating non-verbally. The words students took the time and effort to write carried more weight. I also had to tune in more carefully to hints like posture and facial expression to let me know how a student was doing. There are a lot of things our students tell us without words, things that matter as much if not more than the words they use.

And outside of the implications for teaching and learning, there was a lot I got out of the day. Forty-one students participated, almost a quarter of the student body, and many more showed their support in different ways. My first year here (which was not that long ago), one student participated. It's hard for me to put into words how powerful that was, and to listen to students reflect on the experience.

It has me thinking a lot about how, on an ongoing basis, we can create that silent space, the space to listen, and the space to have your voice heard.

I get knocked down, but I get up again

2011-03-16T00:34:00.002-04:00

Apologies in advance to anyone who now has that Chumbawamba song stuck in your head; if it’s any consolation, you’re not alone.

Several weeks ago I was working with a student who had quite vocally declared that he was “done” with research. He’d hit a few roadblocks early in the process (he wasn’t connecting to his topic, as a result was having a hard time finding articles, was frustrated with citations, etc.) and had just decided to give up. As I kept trying to encourage him to stick with it, change topics, etc., he also made it quite clear that he felt like I was “picking on him.” I was coming at it from as many angles as I could think of, but nothing seemed to be working.

That encounter (along with many others) got me thinking again about resilience, a topic never far from my mind. I’m always trying to figure out ways to make my students more resilient in the research process. And as much as I know you can’t make somebody be something, I know that it’s possible to create environments in which it’s possible for students to develop these skills.

A crucial part of that process is, I believe, using formative assessments, which I do, but I don’t do enough. It’s hard when I’m not part of the day-to-day classes, and each teacher has different routine that they use, and levels of collaboration vary, but I know those are not particularly good excuses. So as I look ahead to spring research, I’m also looking at more ways to incorporate formative assessments into the research process.

This goes hand-in-hand, of course, with the issue of making students comfortable with failure that I’ve been struggling with. Many of my students see any roadblocks as a permanent state of fact, rather than as a temporary setback. In large part that's because this is what they have been taught to believe about themselves for years--that any failure is a reflection on them, not a reflection of the inherently messy and difficult process of learning.

Which of course makes me think of this excellent TED video, which is about remaking math classes, but I think there’s a solid argument that we need to do away with the paint-by-numbers coursework Meyer talks about in ALL of our courses.

Learning is messy--the learning I’ve done since leaving formal schooling is far messier than anything I did in school, and I am sometimes frustrated that my formal education mostly focused on finding the answer rather than creating good questions (with some notable exceptions, of course).

Luckily, I am a fairly resilient person. “I don’t know” is a starting point rather than a stopping point for me. And that’s part of the challenge for me, and I think for many other teachers; we are drawn to teaching because we are “good at school”--we like learning, and even if things don’t come easily to use, we like working at it. How do you teach a skill--like resilience--when you’re not sure how you learned it yourself?

But I need to figure out something, because it’s crucial to success. A friend posted this article from Wired, and while the researchers identified grit as the quality that's key to success, I think a solid argument can be made that the Venn diagram of how resilience and grit overlap pretty much looks like a circle (if you, like me, would prefer it if more of your world was explained via Venn diagram, I highly recommend thisisindexed).

The paper (which I haven’t read yet) referred to in this article focused on competitors in the Scripps National Spelling Bee, and came to the conclusion that grittier competitors (as Lehrer defines it, “those with grit are more single-minded about their goals – they tend to get obsessed with certain activities – and also more likely to persist in the face of struggle and failure.”) fare better.

That “persistence in the face of struggle and failure” is the bit that really resonated with me. I can help students identify and connect with what they’re interested in and passionate about--but how do I help them stick with it through the ups and downs? After all, frustration and struggle are pretty integral parts of the learning process.

And then another friend posted this article: The Right Way to Respond to Failure. I’d need to quote the entire thing in order to do it justice, so you should just go read it.

The crucial role of empathy really resonated with me; when I’m frustrated (with a project, with a colleague, with a seemingly unsolvable problem) more often than not I don’t want someone offering up possible solutions--I want someone with a sympathetic ear who will let me vent and acknowledge my frustration as legitimate.

Which brings me back to the student I was talking about at the beginning (remember him?). The real breakthrough with him happened when I joked with him that as soon as I was done picking on him, I was going to go pick on all his friends about the work they needed to be doing. It was like a light bulb went off for him as he realized that EVERYONE was struggling and frustrated--and getting “picked on” by me. It suddenly became clear to him that the frustrations of research were not unique to him--they were a part of the process that everyone was experiencing.

This kid did a complete 180. He changed topics to something he was really passionate about, and needed no prodding from that point on. When I offered corrections to his citations, he made them without complaint. He was well ahead on note taking and synthesizing information--and cheerfully so.

Now, my interaction with this student is not indicative of how these things usually go, but I took a powerful lesson from it.

I believe that empathy is important--crucial, really--to helping students become resilient. We need to acknowledge that their frustrations are real and valid. But beyond that, we need to help them broaden their perspective--to look around and see that the roadblocks they’re running up against exist for everyone.

In doing that, maybe we can help them develop a little empathy for their peers, and a little resilience of their own.

The Word (and what it means)

2011-03-04T14:03:00.005-05:00

This is not, technically, library-related, but it’s been occupying a fair amount of my brain space and I wanted to share.

A couple weeks ago, at the end of evening study hall, I was in the library finishing up working with a student; another student, his friend, was waiting for him. The friend was, I think, coming downstairs and banged his knee on the banister.

And then proceeded to call the banister a fag.

Which, yes, makes no sense, but the ridiculousness of what he said came a distant second to my shock that he had said it at all.

This was a good kid. A nice kid. A thoughtful kid. Not a kid who I thought I would *ever* hear say that word. Immediately, my heart sank. And anger rose.

In the moment I was angry and upset (and already feeling kind of fried), and I knew I was going to either tell him to leave, or scream at him. And I knew I didn’t want to scream at him, so I said, “You need to leave right now. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I could tell by the look on his face that he knew he’d crossed a big line with me, and that I was upset. It became even more clear 20 minutes later, when I got his apology e-mail. I thanked him for his apology, and we set a time to talk the following day.

When he showed up the next day I wasn’t sure how the conversation would go; I’ve tried to talk to students before about how hurtful that word can be and its loaded history. Those conversations have mostly been less than productive.

But that was not the case this time; he came to the conversations both genuinely apologetic and genuinely curious about why I’d been so upset when he said that word. While we were talking he said, “If a kid’s my age and he’s gay, it doesn’t make any difference to me. If he’s open about it I have even more respect for him, ‘cause it means he has confidence.” And that’s when I knew--and I told him--that what he’d said the night before was a mistake, and that what he’d just said was far more of a reflection of who he really was.

He also shared that one of the reasons the word had been in his head at all was because he’d been around another student who had been using the word a lot--which, as a friend pointed out, is another compelling reason to address every instance of bullying language; every time a student says it, another student hears it. And becomes that much more likely to repeat it.

Since then I have had an ongoing discussion with this student about language and its use. Our conversations have been wide-ranging; every time he finds out something new about humanity’s less than-perfect-record in dealing with difference (burning heretics, the history of the KKK, the origins of the pink triangle) he pinches the bridge of his nose and looks kind of exasperated with the human race. I find myself wanting to protect him from finding out about the existence of the Westboro Baptist Church; I don’t want him to think any less of people.

A couple days later he came to me with another question--if a faggot was a bundle of sticks, how on earth had it come to be a derogatory term for gay men? Most kids who know that faggot meant bundle of sticks try to use that as a “get out of jail free” card when they get called out for using that word (“What’s the big deal? I was just calling him a bundle of sticks.”), but he instead wanted to know more about the history of the word. So we found out more. *

The next day he wanted to talk again; now that he knew more about the word, and his attention had been called to it, he said he was hearing it everywhere. And it was pissing him off. And while it doesn’t make me happy that he’s hearing it a lot, it does make me happy that it bothers him enough to want to do something about it. He’s inspired me to re-double my efforts around working with faculty and implementing a Safe Zone program. And as much as I think it’s important for faculty to address anti-LGBT language (and bullying or harassing language of any kind), the fact is most of that happens out of earshot of teachers; if we want it to stop, we need kids like this who feel fired up about responding to it themselves.

Based on all of these conversations, he decided to write a paper for his English class on the history of the word fag, and its misuse. He--a student who does not generally enjoy writing--sat down and easily wrote over two pages. As he told me, he feels that now that he knows the real meaning of the word it’s up to him to educate other people.

There is, of course, an obvious lesson here about how students are motivated by topics that they have an authentic interest in. But we all already know that’s true (we all know that, right?).

There is also the lesson about the importance of education, and the value in having honest conversations about difficult issues (we all know that, too, right?).

The bigger lesson, for me, is this:

For all we hear about this generation having no manners, or being disrespectful;
As much as we sometimes worry about the future, and who will shape it;
As much as we bemoan the decline of civility in our culture;
And as much as I sometimes feel like I’m banging my head against a brick wall when I try to talk with students about being more thoughtful in how they talk about other people.

I look at this kid and think: We’re going to be just fine.

________________________________

*From GLSEN:
During the European Inquisitions, "faggot" referred to the sticks used to set fires for burning heretics, or people who opposed the teachings of the Catholic Church. Heretics were required to gather bundles of sticks ("faggots") and carry them to the fire that was being built for them.
Heretics who changed their beliefs to avoid being killed were forced to wear a "faggot" design embroidered on their sleeve, to show everyone that they had opposed the Church. Since it was hard to live with such a bad reputation, people began to use the word "faggot" to refer to anything that was considered to be a burden or difficult to bear. Unfortunately, the term quickly became a sexist insult, as people used it to disrespect women in the same way the term "ball and chain" is used today.
The word "faggot" appeared in the United States during the early 20th century. It was used to refer to men who were seen as less masculine than people believed they should be. During the course of the 20th century, the word "faggot" became the slur most commonly used to abuse gay men and men perceived to be gay. In fact, "faggot" has become a general insult that is often used to humiliate any men. Since many people are biased against LGBT people, being called "faggot" is the biggest fear of many heterosexual men, and thus the easiest way to hurt them. Considering the long and violent history of the word, it’s important for people to understand its meaning before they use it so carelessly.

Reflections on Research

2011-02-25T08:46:00.004-05:00

We're nearing the end of the first go round with the collaborative research unit I talked about a while back. And as I mentioned in that post, we're on a modular schedule, which means we'll be starting the same project from the beginning. Which, of course, means revamping based on our experiences this first time around.

In talking with teachers about revamping things, they have sometimes lamented that it's unfortunate that this first group had to act as guinea pigs--but I point out that usually all students have to act as guinea pigs, and we have to wait an entire year in order to test our new ideas again. I'm excited about being able to re-do this unit so soon, and get more ideas for how to make it better.

And boy do I have ideas for how to make it better. I love this project, and I think many things worked well the first time, but there are definite areas for improvement. One big change will be where in the process we explicitly introduce the writing of the thesis statement (speaking of which, have I mentioned how very, very much I love Tom March's Online Thesis Generator? 'Cause I really, really do). We talked with students from the beginning about the need to form an argument and write a thesis, but we didn't do much direct instruction until late in the process of finding sources--and many students discovered that the sources they had were not helpful to their thesis, which was very frustrating for many students.

For our next go round, we'll be asking students to find a certain number of sources on their topic in order to establish their background knowledge and get an overview of their topic. Then write the thesis, then find additional sources in order to specifically address the subtopics of their thesis. This is one of those ideas I have that makes me feel kind of foolish for not having thought of it the first time around.

As frustrating as citation has been, I'm nerdily excited about deploying my citation map to its full effect. And I have to remind myself that I no longer see Works Cited pages that simply list "www.google.com", so progress is being made. There have been some interesting mistakes, and I think understanding those will help me help students avoid them in the future (for example, one student entered a magazine article from a database as a radio broadcast, because he'd used the database's built-in text-to-speech feature (which, by the way, much UDL love there) to listen to the article). (Did I just do a parenthetical aside within a parenthetical aside? I think I have a problem. . .) And inspired by Buffy Hamilton (a statement which could be true of about half the things I do), I'm going to work on some citation guidesheets to help my students move through the process from finding a source to creating an accurate citation. While I love NoodleTools (and eventually many of my students come around), many of my students struggle with identifying what type of source they have and how to answer the questions in NoodleTools. I want to help them get things right at the beginning, in order to limit future frustrations.

And after reading Kristin Fontichiaro's recent post about reflection it occurred to me in that "why didn't this occur to me before?" kind of way that while I regularly checked in with students on their progress and got a good sense of what they were struggling with and what was going well, it would be good to ask students to reflect in a more formal way on their own process. So I created a form asking students to reflect on each part of the research process--from topic selection to citations, and which parts were easiest and most difficult for them. This will help in adjustments for the next go round with this project, but I'm hoping that it will also help students realize how much they've managed to accomplish.

There are also lots of little tweaks, and I'm sure after the next time I'll have even more ideas for how to adjust. I don't know if I've ever taught the same unit the same way twice, and I think it will be a long time before I do. If I ever do. Which is just the way I want it to be.

The World of Citation

2011-02-24T20:18:00.006-05:00

I was going to start this post by saying, "Citation is one of the hardest things I teach" but then I thought about it and realized that there's nothing I teach where I think, "Hey, no problem, everyone understands that immediately." But citation is definitely one of the most frustrating things I teach, because it can be such an abstract idea for students. Why, they want to know, do they have to include all those details? And why would anyone care what order the information was in? Can't they just throw in a title and a URL and be done with it already?

Students do seem to have a sense of why it's important to give credit to their sources, and I do use (and love) NoodleTools to help them with the citation process, but I was still getting a lot of push back on the "why" of the details citation. I was struggling to come up with good way to make it click for my students ("just because" wasn't cutting it, explanation-wise, and for good reason).

I love teaching with analogies, and I had managed to develop several good analogies to explain different parts of the search process (most of them involve food. I know my audience), but a citation analogy eluded me. Until, out of nowhere (probably while processing books, which is when I do some of my best thinking), it came to me.

A citation is like the source's address.

Of course! I put together a quick presentation for students the next day--after all, I was convinced the idea was brilliant, but it might fall flat with students. I started by putting up the school's address, but all jumbled up, and asked if they could tell me what it was. They knew it was the school's address, of course, but also recognized it wasn't in the right format. No big deal, of course--unless someone tried to send them a care package to the messed up address, and it never got here because the post office couldn't figure out what was going on.

I then put up a jumbled address from somewhere in New York City. It was easy to tell it was a New York address; then I revealed it was the address of the LEGO store in Rockefeller Center. If you were able to decipher the address, you'd be able to get somewhere awesome.

It seemed to be clicking with students, and I've been working on the analogy since. Most kids have seemed to connect with it, and it's provided a good way to frame discussions about what needs to be in a citation.

Why do they need to include the year of publication? Because it's part of the address.
Why don't they copy and paste the URL from a database source? Because it's bad directions.
Why do we need in-text citations? They're a sign post for your reader.

Then I hit up my Social Studies department for a spare map (I was too impatient to order one). I was hoping for a US map; they only had a world map, but I think it worked out even better. I also had some giant thumbtacks I'd gotten for Christmas, which makes the display 3-D (sort of). The slides below are a more refined version of my presentation, including pictures of my World of Citation display.

World of citation

(This is, for the record, also the first time I've used SlideShare.)

This is, in my humble opinion, the most awesome citation-themed bulletin board ever. It's also getting lots of attention and questions from students, which is really cool. Who ever thought a display about citation could be a conversation starter?

On the Internet, no one knows you're a Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus

2011-02-07T22:57:00.003-05:00

A colleague recently posted a story titled 'Tree octopus' is latest evidence the Internet is making kids dumb, says group on the CASL listserv. You should go read it, too, particularly because it's much more reasonable and balanced than the title would lead you to believe.

The researchers concluded that the fact that students fell for the tree octopus site meant that students weren't prepared to critically evaluate information they found online. Which is likely true, but that, I don't think, is the real takeaway lesson from this. What struck me is that the students' biggest mistake was not in trusting the information they found on the tree octopus site--it was in trusting that the researchers had steered them in the right direction.

Around the same time I read that article, I saw this one from the New York Times, about the proliferation of Q&A sites on the Internet. As more and more information is available, the harder it is to sift through it all on our own; we rely on other people to either help us sift through it or to answer our actual questions, not the ones that the SEO spam that is creeping more and more into Google search results thinks we're asking.

Wanting to know and trust that there is a person behind the answer--no matter how qualified or unqualified that person might be--is, I believe, part of why sites like Yahoo! Answers and WikiAnswesrs (and Wikipedia itself) are so popular. As much as we love having so much information at our fingertips, we don't trust information. We trust people. When people get starry-eyed talking about how the Internet has changed things, they seem much more likely to be talking about how it makes it possible to connect to people, not to connect to more information.

The students in this study fell prey to the most natural instincts of all learners--when you're learning something new, you turn to an expert. When I'm trying to learn something new, I don't start from scratch--I see if any of my colleagues have experience or expertise to offer. I search for what other librarians have done. I consult professional journals and listservs. As a very last resort I'll try random Googling, but if it comes to that I know I'm in for a long road ahead.

This, too, is what I try to teach my students about searching. If you want to make life easier on yourself, use the pathfinder I've created for your class, use the library catalog to find websites, and above all, ask for help. While I hope my students develop a bag of tricks for doing research in high school and beyond, more than anything I hope they develop the ability and the confidence to know when to ask for help--and who to trust when they ask for that help.

How (not) to make a book recommendation

2011-02-02T15:03:00.004-05:00

I have a few other blog posts I've been thinking about, but this whole BitchMedia/100 Young Adult Books for the Feminist Reader snafu has gotten my hackles up, and nothing inspires writing like raised hackles.

I had seen a couple comments about the 100 Books for the Feminist Reader, but hadn't had a chance to check it out yet. I generally enjoy lists like that, however--I use them in deciding what the read or order for myself and my library.

And then Bitch Media got a few complaints about a few books and pulled three books from the list (power of your convictions FTL!) and then everything exploded. There are some really thoughtful and eloquent comments on the article itself (including several by YA authors asking to be removed from the list), which I was reading last night until the mansplainer troll showed up, and I had to stop because I value my health.

I won't get into how aggravating and lame Bitch Media's waffling on this issue has been, as that's already been said much better here and here. If you want a more thorough overview, or if you feel your blood pressure is too low, go read those posts.

I had been assuming that the list had been made by someone who had actually read the books she was recommending, which ended up being a less than accurate assumption. Which, in my book, is a cardinal sin of book recommendation. You can not recommend something you haven't read. It's like saying, "Those shoes are really comfortable, I saw them in a magazine once" or "That restaurant's excellent, I've seen the sign they have."

The only book list I create in any official capacity is my Summer Reading list. And I AGONIZE over it. Seriously, I lose sleep. I'll usually start with an initial pool of a hundred books and eventually winnow it down to twenty, carefully trying to balance the list. And I'm never sure I've gotten it just right. So I tweak and tweak and eventually have to set a final list because having your Summer Reading list come out in September is ridiculous. This is for an audience of about 180 students.

I take book recommendations seriously. I haven't read every book in my library (though some students seem to think either I have or I should), so when it comes to recommending books to students I rely on my catalog and reviews I've read in order to fill in the gaps. If I can recommend something I've read, great. But when I put a book in a student's hands that I haven't read, I say "I haven't read this, but this is what I've heard about it." Because recommendations carry weight, and they are about trust. A student asking me for a book recommendation is trusting me to help them with a decision. And yes, one book choice is a small decision, but relationships--with me, with reading, with libraries and librarians--are built on decisions like that.

That's how seriously I take recommending one book to one student. It's a fairly limited audience. I'm fairly certain Bitch Media has a larger audience than that, yet they don't seem to take that responsibility very seriously.

Bitch Media--and anyone else interested in making a list of recommended books, for that matter--if you don't have the time or interest in taking this responsibility seriously, find someone who will. There are lots of us out here who do this kind of thing professionally, and we'd be happy to help.

What my choice of footwear has to do with my being a good librarian. (Hint: Nothing)

2011-01-16T16:26:00.003-05:00

Full, unsurprising, disclosure: I was never a cool kid.

Which may be why articles like this about the invasion of the cool librarians get my hackles up. Librarianship was supposed to be a place where I wouldn’t have to be “hip” in order to be taken seriously, a place where my substance mattered more than my style.

I have met “young, hip” librarians who are very, very good at being young and hip. What they’re not so great at is being librarians. Being young and hip doesn’t make you good at anything else besides being young and hip. So go be a trend-setter or work on Madison Avenue. But don’t act like, ipso facto, it makes you a better librarian.

I am playing post-conference catch-up with my GoogleReader, so you may have already had your fill of discussion of this article (whether or not that's true, you should check out The Librarian Kate’s excellent post on the subject), but since it still has me saying "and another thing!" while I make dinner, I figured I'd add my $0.02.

My students don’t like me because I have cool shoes, or tattoos, or like the same bands they do, ‘cause none of those things are true. I do keep up with general pop culture trends; even though I won’t be adding A Shore Thing to my collection, I am aware of Jersey Shore. I think it’s important for me (for anyone who works with teens) to be aware of what my students are interested in, and what’s important to them; it doesn’t mean I have to be interested in the same things, or find them as important.

So if I don’t have the latest style, or the same iPod playlist, why do my students like me?

Because I can help them find the just right article for the paper they’re writing.
Because I can find a book they’ll love to read--and then find another one that they’ll love just as much.
Because I can help them figure how to open the paper they e-mailed to themselves (and that’s due in five minutes)--and show them how to avoid the same problem in the future.
Because I can explain how to cite a source for the millionth time with the same level of patience as I did the first time.
Because I will sit and guide them through the research process for as long as it takes.
Because I find and create ways for them to find success as learners.

These, and many other things I do, make me objectively good at being a librarian, regardless of how subjectively “cool” I am.

I know that many of these articles about “hip” librarians are probably a well-intention attempt to push the librarian stereotype in the other direction. But stop it. Seriously. Just stop it.

I’ve written about this before: no matter what the stereotype, our patrons do not judge librarians collectively, they asses us as individuals. And while public perception does matter, it will not, ultimately, be changed by broad generalizations; they will be changed by each of us, one at a time, working with the people who come into our libraries.

But, despite the agita this gives me, I know, ultimately, that none of these articles matter. Just as we know the shushing librarian stereotype is nonsense, we know this is nonsense. And, more importantly, so do the people we work with. So who I am, and what I do, matter far more than any fluff piece.

Be my online friend, in real life

2011-01-13T20:39:00.004-05:00

I met Abby Johnson at a reception Monday evening by saying, “Hi, I know you. My name’s Sara.” ‘Cause even though I’d never talked to her before, I did feel like I knew her; I read her blog, I follow her Emerging Leaders list on Twitter, and we (along with 80 or so other people) had spent an entire day in the same room on Friday for the official start of our ALA Emerging Leaders program.

The same feeling of knowing people I hadn’t met had been a common theme that day and throughout the rest of the weekend. And despite several such encounters, I never really mastered the protocol of introducing myself to someone I felt like I already knew.

Anyway, Abby and I were talking about how nice it was to be able to meet people in person before starting work on the virtual teams that are part of our Emerging Leaders project; as much as we (and by “we” I mean people who write about these things on the Internet) talk about how great it is to be able to work virtually and long-distance (and I’m not arguing that it’s not), I think those experiences are better and more productive when they’re built on real-world relationships. I know that being able to put names, faces, and conversations about Exhibit Hall strategy to the people I’m collaborating with virtually makes them far more real to me than if we’d simply exchanged Twitter names and e-mail addresses.

It is, I think most can agree, all too easy to forget that the people we connect with virtually are dynamic, real people unless we have a real-world connection to them. And I’m not just talking about being rude, or saying hurtful things, or assuming the worst of someone’s motives. It’s simply about being more able to give someone the benefit of the doubt because you have a real person’s image in your head. It’s a lot easier to empathize with someone when they’re more than just disembodied text on your screen.

Making virtual connections more real can work in the opposite direction as well. I’ve tried, unsuccessfully, several times to explain Twitter to my mom. I was able to explain how things worked, but a grasp of the “why” eluded her. Until I told her about #strandedatala, the hashtag a group of us whose flights had gotten cancelled used to organize ourselves while we were still in San Diego. Tuesday night I ended up having dinner with 18 or so people I’d never met—and never would have met if we hadn’t been able to use Twitter to organize ourselves. And, given that it was mostly East-coasters who were stranded, I made connections with several people from Connecticut. These real-world connections would not have been possible without an on-line connection—and those real world encounters will be made stronger as we continue to communicate on-line. And yes, it’s distinctly possible I could have made these connections strictly online, and made a professional relationship that way. But if I’d never had a real-world encounter with these people on-line, I think something would, inevitably, be missing from our on-line communications.

I’ve noticed, too, over the past several years, the value that communicating via Facebook or Twitter has added to long-standing offline friendships—even friendships I have with people that I see regularly, but even more so with people that I see less often. I know everyone complains about mundane status updates, but knowing about the details of day-to-day life is important to a friendship.

Think about where some of your most intense—if not long lasting—friendships happened. College, right? Living in a dorm? Where you couldn’t help but be immersed in the day-to-day mundanity of your friends’ lives? I don’t think that’s a coincidence. And that, too, is likely why not all college friendships—even the ones that seem most intense—stand the test of time. When you’re not immersed in the day-to-day, you lose that level of shared experience that contributes to a friendship. Online social networks make it possible to stay connected to the day-to-day of your friends’ lives.

I would also be remiss if I didn’t note that when I posted about multiple flight cancellations, and worrying about being stranded overnight or having to unearth my car when I got home, friends responded immediately with offers of a place to stay or a ride. To have friends reach out with offers of help, especially from so far away, especially friends I hadn’t been in touch with for a while, was, well. . . the word “awesome” comes to mind.

I know this blog is, ostensibly, student and learning focused, so I’m gonna try and bring it around to that. The chances are pretty good that our students will need to work virtually—both with people they do know in person, and people they don’t. This is the value in having students who are in the same school and in the same class work on projects that involve virtual communication; students can learn how to build on-line working relationships that are built on the foundation of an off-line relationship. And knowing how to do that is a crucial step in learning how to communicate productively with someone you don’t have an off-line relationship with.

Do teenagers always behave themselves when communicating in online environments (whether for school or not)? No. And we already know that. But they’re not going to magically figure it out either. Their world—our world—will involve virtual communication; isn’t it a good idea to teach them how to go about doing that? And where better to teach them in a classroom, where not only are they answerable to their peers, but there is a teacher to guide everyone through the process.

Travels with iPhone

2011-01-09T10:58:00.000-05:00

I recently fell victim to the siren call of the smart phone. More specifically, a friend

recently upgraded to an iPhone 4 and gave me her old phone.

I recognized pretty quickly that having an iPhone was changing my behavior in small but

noticeable ways. My laptop (which is so old it's practically a desktop) gets turned on a

lot less frequently. My e-mail responses--those that are sent from my phone, anyway-

-are a lot more terse (though not always, as it will take more than a radical shift in

technology to curtail my verbosity).

And while having this phone means I'm checking Twitter and Facebook and my e-mail a

lot more frequently than I used to, in some ways I feel less immersed in (some kinds of)

information. I'm still not crazy about reading anything of significant length on the small

screen, so I find myself either not reading (or marking as to read later) links that I would

likely have clicked on if I was checking from a regular computer.

But traveling this week is when I really noticed the change the phone had made in how

I approach things. I am a very type A personality traveler. Before I go somewhere new

I have all my flight and hotel information printed out, a plan for getting between airport,

hotel, and other spots I'm going to (including, but not limited to, maps, addresses, public

transit info, and turn-by-turn walking directions), and a print out of my schedule if I'm

going to a conference.

This time, I have none of that.

What I have, instead, are apps. A conference schedule app, along with my personal

calendar for other events and details. A San Diego map app, as well as a conference

map saved to my home screen. A few other pages of info I'll need are saved there as

well. Everything else I'm planning (hoping) to access through my email.

This is very, very unlike me. And while I kind of like not having to carry and organize a

sheaf of papers, the fact that I don't have all those papers is kind of making me nervous.

I'm not ready to make any generalizations about my future behavior ('cause it's likely

one of the reasons I feel so unprepared for this trip is the non-packing, non-trip prep

work I had to do before I left), let alone anyone else's, based on this one experience.

And while I do have a lot of info for this trip on my phone, it is nowhere near well-

organized. But it is interesting to see yourself making such a significant change about

how you do something in such a short period of time.

A Whole New Research Project

2011-01-04T22:35:00.001-05:00

Every year the sophomores do a major research paper in their history class. And every year it is a disaster.

Okay, okay, disaster is too strong a word. Let’s just say that my vision of how the process will go and the way the process actually goes have less in common than I would like them to.

But every year it is a disaster in a slightly different way, and every year we tweak it and change it and try to make it better. Having done this several times, we’ve been able to really hone in on the areas our students really struggle with:

Most of the time students are learning the PROCESS of research at the same time they’re learning new CONTENT for their class. Trying to master (or even manage) both is overwhelming. Trying to synthesize everything into an essay? Oy.
Students are often so focused (and stressed) about the end product, that they want to rush past the process and right into writing the paper (they do a lot of the things I mentioned in my post about why I want to teach a stand alone class).
We usually require students to find and evaluate X number of sources; students then find X (or sometimes less than X) number of sources, enter them all in NoodleTools, read 1 source, and get all their information from that one source
Thesis statements? *sigh* Well-integrated evidence from their research to support that thesis complete with appropriate citation? *sigh times a million*

I realize, of course, that none of these issues are unique to me or my situation, which is some comfort.

However, this year we have a whole new schedule which is going to allow us to do something entirely different, and I’m really, really excited about it.

We’re on a modular schedule this year. Our year is divided into 8 mods; students take classes A-D during mods 1, 3, 5, 7 and classes E-H during mods 2, 4, 6, 8. Classes are 75 minutes long, as well, which I love (in years past students took 7 classes--all of which met all year long--and classes were only 40 minutes long; with that schedule it was hard to both introduce a skill and have students get meaningful practice with it). Also, this year all sophomore are taking Thinking & Writing, a class which I think pairs very naturally with teaching the research process.

Today, I met with the chairs of both the Thinking & Writing and History departments, as well as the other teacher of sophomore Thinking & Writing, about collaborating across all three departments on the research project. We wanted to make sure students we’re able to grapple with the whole process of research from topic selection to finished project, while also hitting all the steps in between.

So. In the 5th/6th mod (depending on individual schedules) students will, in their Thinking & Writing class select a topic for their History research paper, develop research questions, find and evaluate sources and then create an annotated bibliography of all their sources (this bibliography will also include a sentence about how they found and selected each source). We’re doing this to emphasize to students that gathering information from multiple sources and viewpoints is a crucial part of the research process. By the end of the mod, having done this initial research, they will develop a working thesis for their paper.

Then, in the 7th/8th mod in their History class, students will, building upon the research and thesis from their Thinking & Writing class, refine their thesis, find additional sources as needed, outline, and write their paper. Students will be able to focus on taking the information from sources and integrating it into their paper in order to support their thesis, using information to build a well-supported argument. Students will also create a presentation about their research findings (we talked briefly about doing some work on avoiding death by PowerPoint).

Time devoted to process, and time to devoted to content, honoring all parts of the research paper writing experience. I think this will help, too, students better understand that the habits of mind involved in the research process are not isolated to one project or one class; they really exist and are applicable across disciplines.

We’d been playing with and talking about this idea from the start of the year, but things really crystallized today and we were EXCITED. I came to the meeting prepared to try and coerce these teachers in to doing things the way I wanted, but they brought even better ideas to the table. I’ve been working with the History chair on this project all four years I’ve been here and I feel like I am reaping the benefits of having really invested time in building that collaborative relationship; I honestly believe that I could not have made this project happen two years ago.

Also out of this discussion came the idea (also from the teacher) that we should develop a research paper rubric to be used across all classes in the History/Social Studies department, with increasing levels of complexity in grades 10-12, and with separate areas for the content area teachers to assess and for me to assess. This is something I’ve been wanting to move to for a while, and to have the idea come out of someone’s mouth besides my own feels like a major victory.

I’m either starting from scratch or totally revamping everything for this project, but I think it will provide a great way to try out some of my ideas for the class I’m teaching next year. It’s going to be a lot of work, but after years of trying to shape the research process to look more like this, it’s exciting to see it really take that shape.

Why We Read

2010-12-30T15:09:00.002-05:00

There has recently been much discussion about Grant Wiggins’ proposal to ban fiction, which has, of course, got me thinking a lot about reading and fiction.

I had read (quickly) the original post by Grant Wiggins about banning fiction and had intended to return to it and read it more thoroughly but couldn’t find it again. Which, it turns out, is because Wiggins didn’t really mean it. (Note to aspiring satire writers: satire is a good way to make a point, but it’s not always as easy as The Onion makes it look)

His attempted point about needing to revisit the materials we use in the classroom is a good one, and one that Nicholas Provenzano makes far better than Wiggins did, and since I’d just be repeating everything he said, I’ll just tell you to go and read what he wrote.

But the other point--the one about students needing to be prepared for the mostly non-fiction reading they’ll be doing in the future--is the one that won’t stop rattling around my brain.

Reading and thinking about this issue I was reminded of a conversation I had with a colleague at the beginning of the year. She was returning Gayle Forman's amazing If I Stay, which she had checked out and read because it was on my summer reading list. I was excited to talk to someone new about what they'd thought of the book, so I asked her what she thought of the book. Her response (not completely verbatim):

"It was okay. The vocabulary wasn't very sophisticated."

I was floored. I just stared at her blankly for a moment and then said, "You and I read books for very different reasons."

'Cause seriously. I was so completely absorbed by If I Stay that it didn't even occur to me to pay attention to the vocabulary level. I was there for the story. I was so caught up in Mia’s decision that I completely failed to notice whether or not the words she was using would also appear on the SATs.

I’ve also had a teacher ask me if I could contact the editors of short story publications to ask them to use more standard grammar. I neglected to follow through on that request.

Reading fiction is about far more than learning new vocabulary and studying grammar in its natural habitat. One of the most critically important skills we develop by reading fiction is the ability to see and understand a world and viewpoint completely different from our own.

Reading fiction helps us develop our ability to empathize. Seriously, it's been studied (go read that article, right now). Being able to put yourself in another person's shoes is an invaluable skill for reading fiction, non-fiction, and, you know, interacting with the world at large.

This has been at the forefront of my mind as I've recently started reading Jason Ohler's new book, Digital Community, Digital Citizen. In the introduction he talks about helping students learn to balance the rights and responsibilities of interacting with people in a digital environment. Understanding your rights is relatively easy--you only have to understand your own perspective; but when you start talking about understanding responsibilities, you need to be able to understand the world from someone else’s perspective.

The concept of empathy is at the core of so much of what we, as librarians, are trying to teach. You want credit for the work that you do? Then give credit to others. Don't want to be bored to tears by a boring paper or presentation? The don't create a boring one yourself. Don't want to be harassed online? Don't want to be misled by false information? Want to be respected? You get the idea. It is hard to thoroughly grasp the underlying concepts that make these things more than just actions and turn them into attitudes unless you have developed an ability to empathize--particularly the ability to empathize with people completely unlike yourself.

You can't directly teach empathy. There's no way to say, "Look, this is how you empathize. Now empathize with problems 1-6 on page 43 for homework." What we can, as educators, do is to create an environment in which students are routinely exposed to views and lives that are completely foreign to them. That's a skill that they will need when reading non-fiction that discusses lives and experiences that are completely foreign to them.

Then there's this article, from a while ago, which I found both interesting and really, really obnoxious. First of all, could we please have an article about teens and reading that either a) mentions books other than Harry Potter and Twilight (I’m starting to get to that point with Hunger Games, too) or b) better yet, doesn't mention them at all. I know they are the "big titles", but teens read LOTS of other things, and any time I read an article about teens and reading that mentions only those two series I can't shank the feeling that the writer is less than well-informed about the real landscape of YA lit.

Things like this paragraph:

So they are in fact not about what is it to be an adolescent, but what it should be, since, perhaps unconsciously, adults want to instruct young people and guide them into adulthood. So images of adolescence in YA fiction are images of what adults want teenagers to believe. It’s a very powerful ideological tool.

make me so annoyed I cannot even articulately respond with anything beyond wondering if Maria Nikolajeva has read any YA lit, or if she was ever actually a teenager.

Though, in fairness, I will point out that she redeems herself significantly when asked what parents should do about teens reading dark literature. Specifically, "Nothing." :

So it is important to let young people be exposed to all kinds of literature and culture, dark and light, serious and entertaining; and it is always a good idea to talk to kids about what they read, watch or listen to.

Anyway, slightly ranty tangent aside, the major takeaway from that article (for me, anyway), is that what we read effects us. Which is both an excellent point and a major duh. Obviously what we read affects us--and it affects us differently at different ages, because we read it through the lens of different life experiences. I read The Great Gatsby in high school and HATED it. A lot. I re-read it at 23 because I was going to have to teach it and LOVED it. And understood why 16-year-old me thought it was awful; there was no way I could relate to that story in any meaningful way. Knowing that did not make it any easier to teach it to a room full of 16-year-olds (one of them, quite memorably, said the book made him want to forget how to read).

Anyway, yes. What we read affects us--good, bad, in between. It changes both how we see ourselves and how we see the world. This is true of both fiction and non-fiction (one of the reasons I read so many blogs by people in my field is that I love being able to learn from their experiences and see problems--and solutions--in a new light). I believe that I would not be as adept a reader of non-fiction without hours (and hours!) of fiction reading under my belt. Good fiction makes it easy to imagine yourself in someone else's place--a skill that is vital to effective reading of non-fiction, particularly if you want to learn anything from it.

And learning, really, is what it’s all about. And if we want to learn about people other than ourselves (and I don’t think anyone is arguing otherwise, even satirically), reading fiction is an indispensable part of the process.

Every Brain is Different

2010-12-21T14:39:00.004-05:00

photo © 2009 Janine | more info (via: Wylio)One of the most common misconceptions I encounter about learning disabilities is that they all affect everyone the same way--every student with dyslexia is the same, every students with ADD is the same, every student with executive functioning issues is the same, every student with X is like Y. And oh if it were that way, education (and life) would be so much easier. But every student with dyslexia/ADD/whatever is very, very different. These are big umbrella diagnoses, and there's a lot that fits under them.

Think of it like being diagnosed with allergies--everyone who has allergies is allergic to different things, reacts in different ways, and is best treated by different methods. There's overlap, sure, but it's still a highly individualized diagnosis. So it is with learning disabilities--there's overlap, sure, but what works for Dyslexic Student A is by no means guaranteed to work for Dyslexic Student B.

Which is why I find the research reported on in the article Dyslexia: Brain scans predict reading skills so fascinating and so, so important. Not only does it give us a better understanding of what is going on in the brain, it could help us fine-tune how we work with individual students.

These are the two paragraphs that resonated with me the most:

In contrast, the battery of standardized, paper-and-pencil tests typically used by reading specialists did not aid in predicting which of the children with dyslexia would go on to improve their reading ability years later.

“Our findings add to a body of studies looking at a wide range of conditions that suggest brain imaging can help determine when a treatment is likely to be effective or which patients are most susceptible to risks,” says study leader Fumiko Hoeft, associate director of neuroimaging applications at Stanford University.

Paper and pencil tests (or any standardized test, really) will do a good job of telling us what a student doesn't know or can't do--but they fail miserably at telling us why. And the why could be any number of things, depending on the student--even a student who we think fits in a particular box because they have a particular diagnosis. I think we're a LONG ways away from having up-to-date brain scans on every student (and I'm not sure about how I would feel about that, though my initial reaction is ew), but research like this will, hopefully, lead to discussions about the fact that there ARE differences in why and how students struggle with information, even if they're struggling with the same information.

If I haven't already recommended Maryanne Wolf's absolutely amazing Proust and the Squid a million times, I am severely negligent. You will come away with a new-found amazement at the sheer complexity of process of reading, and learning to read (and it's the most accessibly written book about neuroscience you'll ever read). Of particular resonance for me was the final section, on the dyslexic brain and how it doesn't learn to read--but does learn to do many other things. Wolf raises an excellent (but currently unanswerable) question about whether the over-development in certain areas of the dyslexic brain is a cause of or effect of struggles with reading--and also asks us to think about the talents that many dyslexics have that those of us with "normal" brains couldn't conceive of. If you're interested in this topic at all, you should go read it, like, right now. I'll wait.

We owe it to all our students--diagnosed, undiagnosed, misdiagnosed, undiagnosable--to do our best to understand and believe that having dyslexia, or ADD, or dyscalculia does not put them in a particular box. The same goes for "smart" kids--the ones who typically do well in school. If we tell them (through words or actions) that we think they can/will only learn a particular way, imagine the crushing defeat when that way just doesn't work for them. For resilient kids, or the ones for whom school usually "works", chances are they'll find or ask for another way. But LD kids generally won't--because, sadly, they've gotten the message that they just can't "do" school so many times that one more failure doesn't seem noteworthy. So it's up to us to notice, and adapt, and change, and work with them to find the how and why that DOES work.

Even if we don't have an fMRI in every classroom.

"Whatever you are, be a good one"

2010-12-11T10:36:00.004-05:00

I will potentially catch flack from my mother, several friends, and a number of colleagues for sharing a blog post with this title and agreeing with most of what is said, but I'm going to do it anyway (I live life on the edge, clearly):

My Job is Not What I Do, It Is Who I Am

During my first year as a librarian I remember a colleague asking me how things were going, and when would I be done and able to take some down time. And I remember saying, "There's no point at which I'm 'done.' There's just a point at the end of every day when I say 'enough for today' and I stop."

That is, I think, the nature of working in education (and in a lot of other fields, I know; it's just that most of my experience is in education). I get frustrated with colleagues who want to do something "like we did it last year." Even if a project went perfectly (ha!), I always want to try something new, make something better. And every year we're working with new students who bring different strengths and weaknesses to the table. No matter how good a lesson or unit is, it never feels "done" to me.

Which is not to say I never drag my feet through a day, or want to do something that's just "good enough" or get frustrated or feel like work has consumed my entire life to the exclusion of the possibility of social interaction. 'Cause I do. But 9 times out of 10 a positive interaction with a student (whether that's working with a kid on a major project or someone just stopping in to say hi and ask for a book recommendation) will bring me back to where I need to be.

This is, I think, part of how I'm wired. Even when I worked in, um, let's just call them "jobs not crucial to the future of our nation" I often spent too much time at work or thinking about work. I'm not very good at just leaving half-done things aside at 5:00 and not thinking about it till the next day. And I took any feedback on my work--good or bad--to heart. Often too much so. So I suppose it's a good thing I'm in education, as leaving half-done things aside at 5:00 is never really an option, and taking critiques of your work--good and bad--to heart is incredibly important.

Like the quote that is the title of this blog post (attributed to Abraham Lincoln, who I think it's fair to say took his own advice to heart), whatever it is I do, I think it's important to be--or try to be--good at it. But I've come to realize, too, that being good at what I do also means taking time away from work; it's important to create balance, and perspective. Spending all my time immersed in and consumed by my work creates a kind of myopia that is counter-productive when it comes to actually improving.

My job is who I am; there is no way I could feel as passionate about my work, or unbegrudgingly give over so much of my life to it if it didn't speak to something deep within me. But it's not ALL of who I am.

Going it alone

2010-11-21T14:03:00.002-05:00

When I first started as a school librarian I was, if not 100% opposed to the idea of doing a stand-alone information literacy class, at least 93% opposed. I believed, in the way only someone fresh from a grad school program can believe, that the only really, truly effective way to teach information literacy skills was through collaboration with classroom teachers.

And I still believe that that is a GREAT way to teach information literacy. I just no longer believe it is the only way, and in my particular case I'm no longer convinced it is the best way.

I'm going to say what's obvious to any librarian working alone without a clerk--trying to collaborate with 40 different teachers in multiple subjects with various levels of expertise and interest is hard. Finding the time to really plan collaboratively is challenging, and doing that planning is difficult when the teacher you're working with isn't familiar with the skills/concepts you're trying to teach. And yes, I want my teachers to know and understand what I do, but when we only have an hour to plan it's hard to decide between teaching the teacher and planning the unit.

The other time difficulty is in scheduling classes; if Ms. X wants to bring in her A-block class during the first week of November, great. Well, until Mr. Y also wants to bring his A-block class during the first week of November. We're on a modular schedule this year, which I love for lots of reasons, but it makes shifting projects a week here or there very difficult, if not impossible. Shifting a project means shortening the time allotted to it, which means radically altering the project--and often short-changing the process.

And let's not even get into the issue of trying to make sure you're reaching all students using this approach. Depending on class schedules and teachers and courses of study, it's not uncommon for a student to either miss a skill completely, or get a double (or triple) dose of it. And while I suppose it's not awful for students to be taught the same skill twice, it's frustrating for them, and it makes it hard to hold their attention and focus (even when I try and give them more advanced skills to practice, they have a hard time differentiating those skills from the ones they see their classmates doing, and when I'm working one-on-one with students practicing these skills for the first time it's hard to find the time to get over to the student who may have been in the library learning this just last week. And they often know enough to be bored, but not enough to be able to help their peers. Frustrating). What I'm concerned about is students who somehow never get these lessons. The senior who claims they've never done in-text citation before. The junior whose website evaluation consists entirely of the words "it looks legit." The student who has never used a database for research. The student who "knows" never to use Wikipedia because "anyone can edit it" who then cites Yahoo! Answers in their research paper. Everyone's moving at a different pace and in a million different directions, and there is no way for me to keep track of it.

And then there's what is, really the biggest issue for me. Much like the "everything in one book" syndrome, it's the "everything in one project" syndrome. Students need to develop search strategies, find and evaluate information, organize, take notes, cite AND often learn new information related to their core course, synthesize it and create a paper/presentation. It's a lot to ask of one project. It's too much.

Many students are so overwhelmed by the idea of the final product of a research paper that they can't properly focus on the process. The product is, for them, what matters, and the process is what's standing in between them and that product. And while I offer to (and beg and plead with) teachers to grade different components of the research process, not many take me up on it, and ultimately I have no say over how different parts of the process are weighted and graded.

In one of the latest projects I worked on with a class, I asked a student to close her laptop while I was giving a brief overview of the resources that would be helpful for this project. She scoffed, "I'm writing the paper." For an assignment that had been given the day before, and on which she'd done no research. I asked another student how he was doing with finding and citing sources, as I'd noticed that he hadn't entered any information into NoodleTools. He told me that he was going to do what he always did--write the paper (on a fairly nuanced and detailed topic) and then find some sources that he could plug in. For those students--and many others--the product was the point; the process was an afterthought (at best).

And so, all that (which was was way more than I intended) being said, I have gone to the powers that be at my school with a proposal to teach a stand-alone information literacy course. And gotten a very enthusiastic response. It's very early in the process, but I'm excited about the possibilities. You'll definitely be hearing more about this as planning moves forward.

Do any of you school librarians out there teach a stand-alone information literacy class? What do you love/like/hate about it? Things I should keep in mind as I start planning?

Struggling with citation

2010-11-16T23:29:00.003-05:00

Last night I dreamt of citations. I spent my sleeping hours much as I did my waking hours--dragging students through the process of creating a citation in NoodleTools, and then begging, pleading, and cajoling them to use in-text citations. It’s not a traditional nightmare, but I would have much preferred to spend my sleeping time being chased by a bear. I feel like it would have been more restful.

I am struggling mightily with the teaching citation this year. I am amazed and a little appalled by the number of juniors and seniors I have who claim they have never had to create citations before (most of whom I know for a fact I’ve taught how to cite). Several want to just be able to print a list of URLs (the quality of some of the sources students insist on using--and their reluctance to even try a database--is a topic for another day). Even students who are on board with creating citations are either flummoxed by or giving me push back on creating in-text citations; several claim to “just know” very specific statistics, and have no source to cite.

To be fair, there have been a handful of new students who, upon going through the steps needed to create a citation in NoodleTools, have said, “Well, that was easy!” And even students who are getting a refresher (willingly or unwillingly) do well with the process when they actually start it, many of them needing very little guidance.

So what’s the stumbling block? I think there are several. I don’t think students are universally held accountable for the need to cite; they think of it as something you do for the research paper in History/English/Science class, but not something you have to do unless it’s part of the requirements. Or only for certain teachers or assignments. I think we need to have students cite regularly and consistently on assignments big and small, just so they get in the habit. And the consequences of not citing need to be clear and consistent; if a student is handing in a major research paper with no citations, that’s a big problem that needs to be addressed.

I know many students also simply struggle with the format of citation, even using NoodleTools. It can be hard to figure out what information is which and where it goes and why or even how to classify the source you’re citing.

I have really good analogies (usually involving food) to explain almost every part of the research process, but I have yet to come up with something for citation that clicks with most students. The biggest issue seems to be helping students understand WHY they need to cite. I’m less interested in having perfectly formatted citations (and can empathize with students who get frustrated with the details of creating a proper citation); there are tools that will help students with that. But getting students to really grasp when and why to cite? That’s the really important part, and harder to teach than what goes in which part of the NoodleTools form.

I also wonder how much of this difficulty with the concept of giving others’ credit for their work comes from a lack of students’ investment? pride? ownership? (some combination of those three words embodies the idea I’m trying to express) of their own work. If they don’t feel like they are authors (with a real, genuine audience, and pride in what they have written and created), why would they understand that another author might want credit for their own work?

Citation is, in a way, about empathy; it’s about understanding that someone would want credit for the work that they’ve done. And if you can’t imagine yourself as creating anything that someone would read and use, how can you put yourself in the shoes of someone who has? I think a big part of fixing the issue with citation is helping student come to see themselves as authors and creators of work that worth sharing and getting credit for.

Murder in the library!

2010-11-09T18:35:00.003-05:00

When I got home from the wonderful CASL Conference on Monday, I walked into my library to find the following:

Crime tape blocking off the second floor!

Shell casings left on the floor!

Bullet holes in the shelving!

More bullet holes!

And more! Someone was a really bad shot. . .

But the killer eventually hit his mark!

I, of course, knew this was coming. My friend Shawn, who also teaches Forensics, wanted to stage a crime scene, and I eagerly volunteered the library. I wanted to play the victim, but my teaching schedule didn't allow it--maybe next time!

How do you make students comfortable with failure?

2010-11-06T16:39:00.006-04:00

Seriously. I'm asking how.

I'm working on an I-Search project with the 9th grade Thinking & Writing classes; kind of a "get your feet wet, learn the basics" project. We've talked about defining a topic, identifying key words and ideas, where and how to search, evaluating sources, and citations. It's a good way for me to get to know more about them as researchers (so future instruction can be better designed), and for them to both explore a topic of interest and get a bit more comfortable with the research process.

But many of them are struggling. And I'm struggling. Not necessarily with the process or the ideas or the few things about research that are nice and neat and linear--just the parts of research that aren't nice and neat and linear. Which is, you know, most of them.

Research, I think many of us would agree, is an iterative process. You search, there's new questions and dead ends and unexpected turns, so you regroup and refocus and re-search. And that's difficult and uncomfortable, especially when you're just starting out as a researcher, but you get better at it--and, if you're anything like me, you begin to enjoy the journey of research almost as much as the answer you find at the end (assuming you even get to the "end"). I know not everyone comes to enjoy the process of research, but my hope is that students at least become comfortable and confident with the ups and downs of the process.

Only that's really, really not happening for a number of my students, and a lot of their frustration is kind of heartbreaking for me.

For those of you who don't know, the school I work at serves students with learning disabilities--dyslexia, ADD/ADHD, executive functioning disorders, etc. These are kids who, oftentimes, have been really and truly beat up by the educational system. They have been made to feel stupid. They have been exhorted to "just try harder" when they really are trying their hardest. They have often been denied the supports they need to learn. And a big part of what we do here--particularly in the first couple years--is put in those supports and help them learn how to learn the way they learn best. We take what had been a messy, unknowable process--learning--and give it structure and sequence.

Only that doesn't work for research. There's no way I can create an authentic research assignment that also proceeds in a linear fashion. Throw in website evaluation and citation and you have three often messy, confusing processes.

Frankly, sometimes I'm surprised that more students don't break down in tears or give up in frustration.

And I don't know what to do. I know that I need to create authentic research opportunities for my students. I know that they need to get comfortable with the ups and downs and ins and outs of the research process. But when they experience initial failure, they often shut down--and I get it. Years of being made to feel like you can't learn will wear a kid down. And it breaks my heart when I see a smart kid who assumes that they're struggle with research is a reflection on them, and not a reflection of the fact that it is a difficult process for everyone.

So how do we make students--particularly students who believe that failure means there is something wrong with them--comfortable with the idea of failure being part of the process?

School librarian bingo

2010-11-04T17:41:00.002-04:00

In recent weeks::

I had a Twitter conversation with Buffy Hamilton
I received a congratulatory e-mail from Sara Kelly Johns
Doug Johnson complimented a comment I left on his blog
Gwyneth Jones commented on my blog--and follows it!

I feel like these are key squares on the school librarian bingo card.

Also, my picture was in AL Direct this week, which is all kinds of weird and awesome. Mostly because they used the picture from this blog. You know, where I’m dressed up as Super Librarian. The other librarian pictured (Alicia Blowers, the other AASL-sponsored Emerging Leader) looks like an actual professional adult. I look ridiculous. Particularly because you can’t see the cape.

On display

2010-10-22T13:08:00.005-04:00

I 0nce turned down a job offer to teach 4th grade because--in addition to being completely, totally and woefully unqualified to teach 4th grade in any way, shape, or form--I felt like my bulletin board creation skills were not good enough to work in an elementary school. I preferred high school, where I could tack up a few posters and call it a day; and during my three years teaching high school I was a teacher on a cart, so I never even had my own room with bulletin boards to worry about (which, really, is the only perk of being a teacher on a cart).

That changed, however, when I went back for my MLIS. One of my friends from grad school (well, he's still a friend, but I met him in grad school) used to joke that I was getting a degree in arts and crafts every time I had to create some sort of display for class. (He also used to sneak up behind me while I was working in the computer lab and try to give me a hear attack. With friends like these. . .).

I really enjoyed those assignments where I had to create a display; I'm pretty good at presenting information in text, but not so good at presenting information in pictures, and it was good to develop those skills. Students are a lot more likely to respond to something that's visually appealing; turns out I was more than a little off-base in my assumption that by avoiding elementary school I was avoiding the need to create bulletin boards.

Now, despite (or more likely because of) not having a conventional display space, I really like creating new book displays. I don't get to rotate displays as often as I'd like (though, thanks to a friend and colleague wh0's working with me in the library this year, it's a lot easier), but I did want to show off a couple I've done this year.

First up, my Banned Books Week display:

I was pretty proud of the number of frequently challenged books I already had in my collection; I added glaring omissions to my next order. The signs are lists and charts of frequently challenged books by title and reason for the challenge.

I was considering a Halloween display, but I feel a lot of pressure from seasonal displays, given that there is a definite expiration date. I wanted something I could keep up for a while, swapping books out as needed. So I came up with "Get Carried Away by a Book":

And then I decided to do a small Halloween display anyway, as I had a bunch of decorations from a previous display:

On the circulation desk I have my friend Courtney Sheinmel's first book, My So-Called Family, which I finally read and LOVED:

But no matter how many displays I make, or how good I get at it (or even if I ever get a "real" display space), this:

will always be my favorite kind of display.

In the news

2010-10-17T20:49:00.004-04:00

In completely unsurprising news, I am, in a word, exhausted. The start of the year has been very, very busy. Mostly in good ways, but not in ways that have provided a lot of time that would naturally suit itself to sitting down and reflecting and blogging. I feel like I'm constantly playing catch-up; I tell myself if I can just catch up, I'll be able to make time to write. But in the midst of getting caught up, a whole other list of things to do is created, and it begins again. Which, I am aware, is not exactly a novel observation.

In expected news, the new schedule--and figuring out how I fit in it--is a big part of this "caught in a whirlwind" feeling. I LOVE having long blocks in which to work with students, but it does mean redesigning all my lessons. And I'm also getting a bit more assertive in terms of "this is how these skills need to be taught, and this is the time I need to do it." All the teachers I'm working with are very receptive, but it also means more reconfiguring of things. But I'm very happy with the new lessons I'm designing, and feel like I'm getting a better handle on the big picture in terms of curriculum writing.

In exciting news, I've been selected for ALA's Emerging Leaders Class of 2011! You can find more about the program (but not my name. . . yet), at this link. And if you're one of my Facebook friends or follow me on Twitter, you'll be sure to know when my name is there. I'm also being sponsored by AASL, which is pretty cool. I'm not always crazy about how ALA functions (for reasons that look a lot like this), but in another not exactly novel observation, I don't think they're unique in being a large organization that is often weighted down by bureaucracy. I debated a long time before deciding to apply, but a good friend helped me figure realize that I can't really just sit on the sidelines and wait for the organization to change; I need to be an active part of making that happen. And given that I'm already involved via CASL and being a part of AASL Affiliate Assembly, I should go ahead and jump in with both feet. So I'll be headed to San Diego in January (don't feel too bad for me) to get started with the program.

In completely unrelated news, I did have an experience the other day in which I had to teach, explicitly, the steps necessary to e-mail a link. In the very basic, "copy/paste/send" sense of the word. Which has me thinking, as I often do, about how carelessly we throw around the idea of "digital natives", and the students who get left out/left behind when we make those assumptions. One of my goals for the year has been to write something and submit it for publication, and I think this might be that something. So I'm going to work on that. When it doesn't get published, I'll be sure to share it here. (My goal is to submit something; the publishing decision is in someone else's hands, so I'm not thinking about it.)

And finally, in other news, Amazon recently recommended The Boxer and the Spy to me, which I would like to offer as conclusive evidence that our computer overlords are not yet all knowing. Amazon also thought I might be interested in men's skinny jeans, which I offer as evidence that we don't need to be that worried about how soon our computer overlords will be all knowing.

Swearing at students

2010-10-11T17:33:00.002-04:00

The other day (note: I use “the other day” to refer to any day in the previous 3+ years that is not today. This particular “other day” was about three weeks ago) I was booktalking for a 9th grade English class. I had several booktalks that I’d written, and a handful of books from which I’d selected passages to read; one of those books was K.L. Going’s fantastic Fat Kid Rules the World.

I’d read over and over the booktalks and passages in preparation; I’d tweaked my booktalks, selected passages carefully so they started and ended at just the right spots. I’d practiced reading everything several times. And yet, somehow, I didn’t notice in until I was in the middle of reading the passage and saw it lurking on the line below.

Fuck.

Not a “damn” or a “hell.” Not even a “shit.” A full-fledged “fuck,” just sitting there, waiting to be read aloud to a class of 9th graders.

Time slowed down. And as I continued to read the sentence that I was already in the middle of, heading full steam ahead towards that fuck, my internal monologue went into overdrive:

Do I skip it?
Do I replace it with a more innoccuous choice? Frickin’? Flippin’? Eff’n? Doesn’t that just make it more obvious that I’m not saying it?
Who am I to make that choice? This isn’t my book. The word is there. Do I say it? Why would I *not* say it?
What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s just a word.
No, it’s not. I mean, yes, it is “just” a word. But it’s not a word I use with students. It’s a word I actively discourage students from using in front of me. Is it hypocritical if I use it?
Well, it’s not really me using it, it’s the character using it.
That’s a cop-out.
No, it’s not. I selected this book because I love the characters. And Troy says “fuck.” And he uses it for a reason. Who am I decide that he really should have said “frickin’”?
It’s two words away. . . make a decision.
It’s not my role to decide what something “should” be; I can only share what something is.

“. . . I’m a fucking 300-pound teenager. . . “

And then it was done. A couple students giggled nervously, but then we all moved on. And that was the experience in every class. Yes, I read it again. Same passage, same word. Because I’d selected that passage for a reason; to switch passages because of one word (a word that I’ve, *ahem*, used once or twice before) felt. . . wrong. The language--in the entire passage, not just that one word--was true to the characters and true to the story; to not read an entire passage because of one word seemed as ridiculous to me as challenging John Green’s Looking for Alaska over one scene about a blowjob (which is not, when it comes right down to it, *about* a blowjob), or challenging Sherman Alexie’s The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian because of “profanity” and mentions of masturbation.

It’s one passage, one word. And if it fits with the book, fits with the story, fits with the character--authentically and in such a way that when you see it in context you think, “Yes, that makes sense. That feels true”--none of us have any business trying to take it out. Least of all me, even if I am standing in front of a group of 9th graders. *

I’m always bothered a little bit by the argument that swearing/sex/violence etc. are okay in books because “kids hear a lot worse in movies/in the hallways/from their friends.” The arguments seems to be that it’s okay only because it’s “too late” to protect kids from these images and words (it bothers me, too, that the natural extension of this logic leads to people challenging The Hunger Games; if they don’t read/hear/view violence then everything will be just fine). But what if I want to work with students to be more civil AND suggest a book with the word “fuck” in it? Am I allowed to do that?

If students don’t watch those shows/live those lives, is it not okay for them to read these books? Are we only allowed to see our own experiences mirrored in what we read? Or do we read to experience lives that are often completely unlike our own--in ways both good and bad? You can probably figure out my answer on that one.

And so I recommend fantasy and science fiction and horror and realistic fiction where characters live difficult lives and bad things happen and sometimes people swear. And I recommend humorous books and adventure stories, and light-hearted books where the conflict has less than life-or-death stakes. I make recommendations based on what the student is looking to read; not based on whether or not I think the student has existing first-hand knowledge of all the plot points and themes in the book.

And for all the talk of “sex/violence/profanity” sells. . . no one checked out Fat Kid Rules the World. But someday one of them probably will. And I bet they’ll be too wrapped up in the story and the characters to notice one little word.

_________________________________

This was one of the many things that bothered me about The Boxer and the Spy; there’s a scene in which an adult apologizes for using the word “crap” in front of a 15-year-old girl. Really? Crap? I’m all for being more civil with our language and how we talk to each other, but in the context of conspiracies about murdering teenagers to cover up crimes, apologizing for the word crap seemed a little forced. Of course, he did use it in front of a girl, and you know what delicate lavender-lined paper using creatures we are.

Maybe people use the word "antediluvian" all the time, and I just never noticed

2010-09-27T10:40:00.005-04:00

Okay, my hackles were clearly already up, but as I was finishing The Boxer and the Spy last night I was so distracted by some of the ridiculousness (it's like he was taunting me!) that I couldn't help but grab a stack of Post-Its and start flagging.

Suzi looked like she was planning for her wedding. Her eyes were bright. She was excited. Suzi was adventurous, Terry knew. For Suzi this was fun.

And for an adventurous girl, what could be more exciting than planning her own wedding?!

Later on that page, Suzi is described as a "sexpot." Suzi is fifteen and has, allegedly, been kissing boys.

While in the middle of an intense conversation about an intricate conspiracy that they believe lead to the murder of a classmate:

Nice legs, though, Terry thought, for her age.

This was the umpteenth time this character's nice legs (despite her being all old and gross) were mentioned; I think we could have skipped it during the whole "we suspect you of being involved in a murder" conversation.

There are also many obnoxious references to Terry not knowing the meanings of "hard" words (because, you know, boys have muscles but are kind of dumb), but this one seemed over the top:

"He laughed at me," Mrs. Trent said. "He is a troglodyte. Some sort of antediluvian beast, I think."
A couple other words he'd have to ask Abby about.

Now, I love big words, and I use them a lot. I have used "presumptuous" in a text message before I even had a phone with a QWERTY keypad. I've used "troglodyte" in casual conversation. But "antediluvian"? Seriously? And just four words later? It doesn't seem to fit the character at all, making its only purpose to point out that Terry doesn't know the meaning. And go ahead and accuse me of setting low standards, but I think it's perfectly okay for a 15-year-old to not be familiar with the word "antediluvian", particularly when used in such a stilted fashion.

I did finish the book last night, and while I did enjoy the story, it was really frustrating to be so regularly pulled out of the story by such bizarre and obnoxious gender stereotyping.

Is lavender-lined white paper something I, as a girl, should know more about?

2010-09-26T18:14:00.003-04:00

I don't normally write about what I'm reading, mostly because I can barely even manage to update my GoodReads more than once every three months, but I feel compelled to write about Robert B. Parker's The Boxer and the Spy. And not for good reasons.

I am, for the most part, enjoying the story, and I will be booktalking it in the near future. But some the language Parker is using is just a) taking me out of the story and b) ticking me off.

First, "crap" is used and referred to as if it's a big bad word, which wouldn't seem quite as ridiculous if the main character didn't use the word "fag" quite so casually. But I'm not going to say much about that, as I have another post I'm working on that's all about swearing (you might want to skip that one, Mom).

The thing that pulled me right out of the book was a reference to the female lead taking out "a piece of lavender-lined white paper" and then, just a few pages later, using "a Sharpie with lavender ink that matched the lines on her notepaper."

Really?

I, of course, Googled "lavender-lined white paper" to see if this was really some sort of cultural phenomenon that was sweeping the nation. For that exact phrase I got exactly one hit. I'll let you guess where it came from. When I broadened the search a bit I found some more references, all to papers that included pictures of fairies, or were lavender scented, or had a pattern of lavender flowers. I did find a couple references to using lavender-lined paper in a special writing project in a middle school. But no indication that there was any particular reason why the lavenderness of the lines on the character's paper (and her matching Sharpie!), needed particular emphasis.

Except, of course, to point out that she's a girl! Who's taking notes! And isn't that adorable!

Abby, the character, is otherwise fairly well-drawn and dynamic. She's smart and assertive and can go toe-to-toe on multiple levels when talking Terry, her male counterpart. And this whole lavenderosity seems thrown in to remind us that she's actually feminine--as if those other traits of hers are somehow not feminine--and that's why Terry is in love with her. There's a very "girls can be smart, but it's even more important to them that things have pretty matching colors, and that's really why boys like them" tone to it. Barf.

I may have been a bit more tuned into these language choices because I was reading Maureen Johnson's amazing blog on gender and reading earlier (which you need to go read right now. Seriously. I'll wait. She says everything I've ever wanted to say on the subject, only better), but I've come across this before, and it's always just so. . . obnoxious. If pointing out the color of the lines on a piece of paper is the only way you can think of to point out that the character is a girl, you need to outsource the writing of female characters to someone who understands that many girls have favorite colors that aren't pastel.

Reference Question of the Day

2010-09-14T13:38:00.000-04:00

Student: I don't mean this to be offensive or anything, but were you, like, a nerd in high school?

Me: Still am, honey, still am.

Student: I know. But were you, like, an even bigger nerd?

New year, new blog post

2010-09-09T22:59:00.001-04:00

I have several half-started (but nowhere near half-finished) blog posts that I haven’t gotten around to actually writing and posting; now is the time of year when I switch from not posting regularly because not much is going on, to not posting regularly because too much is going on. As a reader, your experience is pretty much the same. I’m all about consistency.

I’ve been back for over three weeks now (two weeks of an intensive Professional Development Institute, and then the regular week-long inservice), but today the new students arrived, making it feel like a real “first day of school.” More significantly, it is the first day of my fourth year at this school. Which is, for the record, the longest I’ve worked anywhere. Which is both exciting and kind of weird. Don’t get me wrong--I love working here, which is why I’m still here, and I’m really excited about many of the changes that are taking place, and the ways in which my job is developing. And I really like the idea of being somewhere for a length of time--establishing myself, building a program, becoming the person that can answer the new teachers’ questions.

Also, this year’s four-year seniors have never known another librarian at this school. I still can’t quite wrap my head around that.

Many exciting things on the horizon for this year (I’m aware that I keep using the word “exciting.” I do know other words, but they are stored in the less tired parts of my brain, to which I do not currently have access). My big goal for this year is to write a real, actual curriculum--beyond the big ideas of what students learn, to a year-by-year, “when and where” do they learn it plan. On one level it seems straightforward, and on another there are too many pieces for me to wrap my head around. But realizing that this year’s seniors have only had me as a librarian has lit a fire in me in terms of really taking ownership for the long-term shape of the information literacy curriculum.

We’re also doing a big push with assistive technology this year, taking what we’ve been doing and making sure it’s implemented consistently across the disciplines. This has, for a while, seemed to be a Sisyphean task (yes, I can come up with “Sisyphean,” but not a synonym for “exciting”), but momentum has finally gotten to the point where real, school-wide change is almost inevitable. I’m psyched and overwhelmed; AT is one of those things where I feel like I know enough to know what I don’t know. But I’m working with a great team of people, and we have built connections to experts who can help.

We’ve switched to a new website portal. . . thing (not to get too technical), and the state of the library website is sort of in limbo. I still have the wikispaces site I’ve had for the past three years, but at some point the library will get folded into the larger school site, which is exciting. I’ve always been a bit frustrated with the wikispaces site; I love that it makes it possible for me to have an easily editable website, but I hate that it’s not really that professional looking. It feels separate from the rest of the school website. Probably because it is. However, that integration hasn’t happened yet, so I’m kind of in between the old site and. . . something new. I don’t know what it will look like or what I’ll be able to do. I am using this experience for building my “making peace with uncertainty” skills.

In a related story, regular readers (hi Mom!) will recall that I had gotten some. . . less than enthusiastic feedback on the summer reading program. Well. In the past few weeks I’ve gotten several e-mails from students who are excited about the books that they’ve read, and are asking good questions about the summer reading projects. And they are doing some cool projects. I can’t wait to see them. In fact, one student showed me his book trailer for Carl Hiassen’s Flush this afternoon, and it was obvious (underneath his “too cool for school” exterior) that he was proud of what he’d created--and he is not the type of student I would have necessarily expected that from. I know there will still be grumbling, and I know that every student didn’t necessarily buy in, but just based on the initial feedback I’m thinking that this new program was a success. So there.

I also did a new student orientation today, which went well, but I’m not really thrilled with what I did. I’m not sure what I would have changed (if I knew, I would have fixed it beforehand); it just seemed lacking in some way. But, one of the prefects did introduce me to a new student as “the coolest librarian you’ll ever meet.” So, I got that going for me.

Why YA: Or, links to people who say so better than I can

2010-08-11T20:39:00.004-04:00

This article from the New York Times on adults who read YA lit has, predictably enough, been making the rounds; and I am, predictably enough, late to the party (though slightly less late than usual). I enjoyed it and was annoyed by it for many of the same reasons Gayle Forman was, and she said it better than I could, so I'll just tell you to read what she has to say.

It drives me nuts that when people talk about reading YA fiction it is often ever-so-subtly juxtaposed as being different from, you know, "real" fiction. That adults read. (Which is somewhat analogous to the distinction that's set up when people talk about "women's fiction." As if it's somehow. . . other.) And even in the NYT article there is a bit of justifying of reading habits. It's okay to read YA because they're discussing it and analyzing it. What if they were just, you know, enjoying it? I enjoy discussing books as much as the next girl, and I love being able to share such a solitary pursuit with my friends by gushing about the great books we're reading. But that is not, at the core, why I read. I read because I love stories. And I don't have to analyze the book in order to justify the time spent reading it.

I regularly get asked why I prefer YA fiction (sometimes with a tone that suggests, "Defend yourself!", though not always). And there are lots of reasons (and as much as I don't like it when YA is distinguished from "real" fiction, I do think it is a distinct genre--one with many sub-genres, but this thought it getting too big for a parenthetical), many of them having to do with why I love my job. Basically, I like reading YA for the same reasons I like working with teenagers: there is the sense of possibility. There is someone who is at or near the beginning of something. Everything is big and new and incomprehensible. There is more of an excuse for acting like a complete jerk, as you're still too young to know any better. There is the potential for change. There is none of the navel-gazing mundanity of a mid-life crisis. Reading YA fiction helps me remember what it's like to be a teenager, which helps me understand my students--and the incomprehensible ways they behave--better.

Again, there is someone who says it much better than I do--this time it's Sarah Rees Brennan, over at The Book Smugglers (a post which I discovered via Bookshelves of Doom).

She sums it up really well in this section:

YA is about your first time. And not just that first time, though that’s often on the table as well.

It’s about the first time you ever get betrayed by a friend. The first time you fell in love. The first time you realised, on a bone-deep, gut-deep level, that the world was unfair, that something terrible and irreversible could happen to you, that nobody was coming to save you. And the first time is a really intense time – it’s shocking, it cuts deep. The world never comes as such a surprise again.

. . . but you should read the entire post, if only so those of you who know me in real life will understand why "assbucket" is being added to my lexicon.

For the record, "How's your summer been?" would have been a better way to start that conversation

2010-07-27T15:11:00.006-04:00

To paraphrase Charlie Brown, nothing takes the taste out of your veggie burger quite like being told that "every" student thinks the Summer Reading program you spent hours and hours and hours on is a joke.

I don't want to be as bothered by this as I am, 'cause I know how students are, but it just completely deflated me.

This information was given to me by a colleague at a cookout this afternoon--a cookout I was hoping to enjoy, as it would be an opportunity to catch up with some colleagues I hadn't seen all summer. According to her, students think the Summer Reading program is a joke because English teachers "never" follow up on it or collect the essays or anything. Which I know isn't true, but I also know isn't completely false. And, apparently, unless there's a test or paper or something, what's the point of reading a book? I did point out to my colleague that the Summer Reading assessment had changed this year, and students would need to show up with a completed project. That did not seem to matter.

Part of me wants to say, "Fine then. We'll make it super rigorous and give a test and make you write a super long essay. Happy now?" Part of me wants to passive-aggressively "apologize" to these kids for trying to make the Summer Reading program enjoyable. Part of me wants to tell the English department that if they're not going do the follow up on Summer Reading in the fall, then I'm not going to put so much work into developing and promoting it. Part of me feels super depressed at the idea of having spent three years trying to change the Summer Reading program into something that is less about work and more about enjoying reading, and seeing I haven't made a dent. Part of me is even more depressed that there seems to be a significant population of students for whom the idea of "reading for pleasure" is, essentially, meaningless.

It's a lot of parts. But all of them kind of want to cry.

~~~~~
ETA: Just to be 100% clear--I am in no way mad at or frustrated with anyone in the English department, regardless of how they've handled Summer Reading in the past. The whole idea is that it's not assessment intensive. I'm just feeling frustrated and deflated.

Nauseating

2010-07-26T12:49:00.003-04:00

If this story doesn't convince you that education funding in this country is completely, totally--and possibly irrevocably--broken, nothing will.

What happened to that principal, that school, and mostly those students--and the Obama administration policies behind it--makes me sick to my stomach.

Identifying the cart and the horse (and then putting them in order)

2010-07-15T16:03:00.004-04:00

Right as the closing keynote at ISTE was beginning I found out that my ride home from the airport had flaked out on me, which sent me into a bit of a panic. So I was one of those awful people who texted through the first part of the session, trying to arrange a new ride. I felt awful, but given that I was leaving for the airport in about eight hours, I also didn’t have many options. Luckily, I was able to arrange for a new ride very quickly and then devote my undivided attention to the speaker.

And I’m glad I did. The speaker was Jeff Piontek, the Head of School at Hawaii Technology Academy, and he was fantastic.

I’m going to do this in “what he said I what I thought” style again.

Too often we give children answers to remember rather than problems to solve

There’s a larger statement about educational philosophy in this idea, but there’s also day-to-day feet-on-the-ground implications. Oftentimes when we want to try something innovative or new in our teaching we “can’t” because we have too much material to get through (often with a test or semester end in mind); the pressure of the “can’t” comes from both internal and external forces. But are students really learning more if we manage to give them more facts within a certain time frame? And if there are—as I believe there are—certain core skills students need to be successful, what’s to say those skills can’t be taught—and better learnt—when contextualized in a problem-solving exercise? If students need to learn these skills to be successful in the real world, don’t just tell them that—open the newspaper and show them how these skills apply.

No one really knows what’s going to happen in 5, 10, 20 years.

His second point doesn’t really jibe with the rhetoric we usually hear when talking about education. We tend to hear “Kids need to be able to do X,” or “We’re preparing kids for jobs where they’ll do Y.” Which may be true, but is just as likely not to be true. So do we want today’s students to know certain facts and ideas, or be able to implement a set of skills? Which lead really nicely to this point:

Robotics is not about the robots; it’s about critical thinking, team building, problem solving.

At the pace things move, any robot a student learns to build in 9^th grade will be beyond obsolete by the time he or she is in college—let alone starting a career as an engineer. But the skills they learn—critical thinking, team building, problem solving—will never be obsolete. These skills can be used for everything from robotics to surviving the zombie apocalypse (well, that and the double tap)

Standardized testing vs. portfolio assessments

It is, as Piontek said, the difference between one 8x10 photo vs. an entire scrapbook. Which gives you a better sense of a student’s achievement? But, as he readily acknowledged, it is pretty much impossible to do meaningful portfolio assessments when you teach 100 students. You just can’t do it. So what do we do? Well, the current answer seems to be standardized testing, which I think pushes the pendulum too far in the other direction. And as much as we would love to see it, I don’t think hoping for teachers’ course loads to be cut in half is realistic. Is there a middle ground?

Students and teachers want to be engaged with other people. It’s why we go to conferences—in order to engage with ideas and questions

Learning is, inherently, collaborative. Yet so much of what we do in schools requires students to work independently. And that, again, is driven in large part by our need to assess students and their individual progress. And knowing how each student is doing is important—collaborative work can’t become a way for struggling students to fall through the cracks. But there are meaningful ways to engage all students in collaborative work that are neither rocket science nor radically new. There is also something in this about the importance of teaching and planning collaboratively.

I also really appreciated, especially at a tech conference, the need for human connection that is a significant part of our learning. Many of those connections become easier with online communications, but there is something about face-to-face communication and learning that is really important—and we can’t lose sight of that for ourselves or our students.

STEM to STEAM

STEM is the shorthand used to refer to Science, Technology, Engineering and Math; Piontek argued that we need to add Arts to that acronym in order to truly prepare our students for the challenges they will face. We need to bring back creativity and make it an integral part of what we do—and what we encourage our students to do. As Piontek said, you can teach math and science skills, but you NEED innovation. It’s the unGoogleable skill.

I would say I don’t like to criticize, but honestly I do.

I would take his brand of thoughtful, reflective criticism any day. The phrase “constructive criticism” is slowly becoming meaningless—it’s a way of saying “you’re doing it wrong, and I know how to do it better.” Sometimes I like the type of criticism that doesn’t pretend to have all the answers, but is instead interested in unearthing all the questions.

There’s no longer an excuse not to know how

This goes back to something I was writing about one of the ALA sessions—basic know-how is no longer a high level skill. I was thinking of this the other day I was trying to figure out a new knitting pattern; I didn’t understand how to do the stitch I was supposed to use, but I was able to quickly Google a video of someone demonstrating that stitch. That does not make me an expert knitter. Knowing how to find something on the Internet is not a “21^st Century Skill;” 21^st century skills are not the same skills we’ve been teaching for generations, just done on a computer. The finding information part is now easier than it’s ever been; the real new skills we need to be teaching are what we do with that information once we have it. And sometimes we won’t know—but our students will have ideas, and we need to encourage that. As Piontek said, “Tip over the boat, even if you don’t know how to swim. Your students will teach you how to swim.”

All children should be able to give it a go. All children should have access

I wasn’t sure whether to stand up and clap or weep for joy at this. In part because you could tell he really, truly genuinely meant it. This is one of the issues that comes up a lot working with students with learning disabilities; there is this notion that we need to spend all our time on “the basics” and that we can get to this other stuff if there’s time—but this extra “stuff” is really the core of what we should be doing—particularly with LD students. These “extra” skills are what they’re really good at, and are their entry into learning the basics. When talking about basic skills versus 21^st century skills, many argue that we need to be sure not to put the cart before the horse. I agree. I just think we’ve misidentified which is the cart and which is the horse.

It's the students, stupid

2010-07-14T15:01:00.004-04:00

ISTE was amazing and overwhelming and I learned a million and six different things, but in the interest of finishing my thoughts on this year’s conferences before, you know, next year, I’m going to condense a significant percentage of the conference down to “I learned a lot; it was cool” and spend my time reflecting on the two keynote sessions I attended.

I missed the opening keynote session (though it was, from what I hear, a “death by PowerPoint” experience, so I’m not exactly heartbroken). Tuesday morning there was a keynote panel titled "Innovation and Excellence: Buzz Words or Global Imperative." Speaking on the panel were Karen Cator (Director of the Office of Education Technology, U.S. Department of Education), Jean-Francois Rischard (former VP of the World Bank), Terry Godwaldt (Director of Programming, Center for Global Education), and Shaun Koh (a student from Singapore). Despite having the least “impressive” title, Shaun Koh was the speaker I found most interesting, and would gladly sit through as many speeches as he cared to give. Not that the others weren’t interesting, but his perspective and forthrightness were the most engaging.

Anyway, their thoughts and what I think of them:

Terry Godwaldt

21^st century skills require deep understanding of basic skills

Again, it’s nice to hear this emphasized; these new skills don’t replace the other skills we need to teach, they build on them.

You don’t have to invent projects; you can just open the newspaper.

Want to make learning relevant? Then don’t invent a project that’s like the real world; use a project from the real world.

At Google and 3M, they trust employees. We need to trust teachers

An obvious applause line, but a good one. This is, I think, a big part of why teachers rail against standardized tests—the implicit message is, “We don’t trust you to know what’s important to teach, or how to assess it.” It’s the problem with over-aggressive Internet filters, and administrators who push back when teachers try to do something new and innovative. The message is: We don’t think you know what you’re doing, and we don’t trust you. It’s really hard to keep moving forward when you don’t feel like your supervisors trust that you know where you’re going. And then people complain that teachers don’t do anything new or innovative. It’s enough to drive a person crazy.

Why did you work to solve these problems? Because they were there.

We need to instill in students the same kind of drive to achieve that got Mallory to the top Everest--I have to tackle this problem not because someone told me to, or because I’m getting a grade, or because it will look good on my college application. I need to tackle this problem because it’s there.

Jean-Francois Rischard

The dictatorship of the standard test doesn’t allow much wiggle room for innovation.

It was nice to hear someone outside the (sometimes insular) world of education acknowledge that we are stuck between two very demanding masters—we need to make sure students get high marks on standardized tests , and we need to make sure that students develop critical thinking skills and the ability to learn independently. Which are two diametrically opposed goals. It is possible, and I’ve seen teachers do it, but it’s not easy and it generally takes the kind of effort you see in those “teacher as super hero” movies wherein it’s made clear that all you have to do to be a good teacher is give up absolutely everything else in your life.

Karen Cator

Stay on questions longer

There is a time pressure that exists in education. Idea not working as quickly as you hoped? Students not finding the answer or finishing projects at the pace you've established? Then move on! Or, you know, not. It takes time to build momentum and get really engaged, and we tend to switch gears right as we reach that point. So take time. Really engage with big questions. And it will take a while for you and students to get used to that pace, so have patience with that as well. But in order to keep students really engaged with problems, we also can’t be using the same types of “find facts and regurgitate them” projects; they need to tackle real “real world” problems.

Education is the most reticent system, but change is possible. We need to start where we are

Not where we wish we were. We can’t talk about reforming and building upon the education system we wish we had; we have to work with the one we actually have, thorns and all. Just like we want our students to wrestle with real world problems, we need to do the same.

Shaun Koh

Technology is just an enabler. Don’t forget why you started teaching; technology makes that come alive.

There is no technology on the planet that will turn a bad teacher or a bad lesson into a good teacher or an interesting lesson. Good technology used ineptly is not good technology. I can’t remember if I heard it in this session, or another one, or only saw it on Twitter, but someone at some point said “The killer app for 21^st century learning is a good teacher.” It really doesn’t get more complicated than that.

Listen to and watch your students--keep an open mind to ideas your students have

We are, as teachers, often afraid of letting go of control. And I feel comfortable saying this because I’m not completely comfortable with letting go of control myself. But I’ve done it, and you know what? The world did not end, and I learned something. It’s okay to say, “I don’t know,” but it’s even more okay to say, “I didn’t know; thanks for showing me.”

Testing sucks the passion out of learning

Another obvious applause line in a room full of teachers, but you can’t exactly argue the point. There is this conversation going on about how, in order to give time to subjects that are now getting short shrift due to standardized testing, we need to start testing those subjects as well. Ugh. No. I know I’m probably preaching to the choir here, but what we need to do is disabuse ourselves of the notion that the only way to measure learning is through standardized testing. Yes, it makes compiling statistics easier. But those statistics are a) essentially meaningless and b) completely and totally useless to the students who we are supposed to be educating. It’s not about us or our need for data. It’s about students. I think we need to revive the “It’s the economy, stupid” signs, but replace “economy” with “students.”

Why books still matter

2010-07-11T17:56:00.004-04:00

I am sure there are several posts about David Brooks' recent column lurking in my GoogleReader, but since they're amongst the 300 or so other unread items in my school account, I haven't read them. Which is probably good, as I'd like to come at this without everyone else's opinion rattling around in my brain. I know, from the snippets of discussion I've caught on Twitter, that much is being made of his discussion of Internet use; I find that part of his argument interesting and thought-provoking and occasionally annoying, but I'm going to leave them alone.

I want to talk about the books.

The study he refers to reminds me of a couple studies I remember reading about in library school; I'm going to be a little light on details, as all of my notes from grad school are in my office, and even I don't have unhealthy enough a work-life balance to go into the office on a Sunday in the summer.

Anyway. There were two studies, about reading and about having books in the home. The studies showed that children with more books in the home had higher educational achievement, but the gains did not necessarily seem to be tied to more reading. Children whose parents took them to the library and read to them frequently did not show the same kinds of gains. While reading to young children was important and had an impact, it seemed that in order to get the full effect you had to actually have the books physically in the home.

And of course there are all sorts of socioeconomic factors in a study like this that you can't isolate for that point to other reasons why children who had books in the home fared better educationally.

But it would seem that having books--physical books--matters. Why? I think Brooks gets it right by saying it wrong here:

But there was one interesting observation made by a philanthropist who gives books to disadvantaged kids. It’s not the physical presence of the books that produces the biggest impact, she suggested. It’s the change in the way the students see themselves as they build a home library. They see themselves as readers, as members of a different group.

So, yes. The physical presence of the books matters. 'Cause you can't see yourself as building a home library unless you physically have books in your home to put in that library.

For all the arguments about "digital natives" and kids being "wired differently" these days, it seems that some things haven't completely changed yet. I know plenty of students who read a lot--articles, blogs, Wikipedia, etc.--online, but who still don't think of it as "real" reading; they talk about themselves as readers when they pick up a physical book. Will that change eventually? Probably. But it hasn't yet.

And maybe my students--for whom print presents such a barrier--are different. For many of them, printed words have for years been something inaccessible;they stayed away from words out of frustration, or shame, or because when they tried--and struggled--they were called stupid. And the words that they were denied access to were printed in physical books. So granting access to the words--more so than words on a screen--was a mark of significant achievement.

When I talk with colleagues about the role of the library at a school for students with learning disabilities, the word dignity comes up a lot. And it's a word that I take seriously. Students know that "real" schools have libraries, and having a "real" library at their school--a library with books, a library where they are welcome--matters to them more than I can explain.

So why is it that students seem to think of themselves differently--and appear to achieve at higher levels educationally--when they have books?

Part of it is self-perception, and part of it is the perception of others--or really, a student's interpretation of how others perceive him. If, for years, you've gotten the idea that others don't think you're worthy or capable, giving you a book--particularly one that comes with the understanding that the giver believes you are fully capable of reading it--changes things. It's a vote of educational confidence.

The Internet is, compared to the book, in its infancy. While there is a lot that is of educational value available online, most students' primary interactions with online content is not educationally-focused in the strictest (or even loosest) sense of the word. It just doesn't (yet) carry the same weight as a printed book.

And until it does, the printed book will still have a very important--even if primarily symbolic--place in education.

What happens in the library

2010-07-09T19:13:00.000-04:00

After making a quick escape from my first session in order to avoid someone I recognized but did not feel like reminiscing with (based on seeing her in action in the session, I could tell she was pretty much the same as she’d been in college, which was as much as I needed to know), I headed to Ballroom B for the AASL’s Presidents Program, which featured Allison Zmuda. She was a great speaker—lot to take in, and I’m glad she offered to share her PowerPoint slides, as there was a lot to read and take in and I know I missed a lot.

One of the ideas that really resonated with me, however, was the idea that while we may have limited sphere over which he have control, we need to do what we can to really exert our influence within that sphere—in fact, it’s imperative that we do everything we can to exert the influence that we can.

I spent a lot of time at ALA (and in the past ten years) thinking about and having discussions about the education system as a whole, battling the “it only matters if it’s tested” mindset (and that the only way to make something matter is to create a way to test it), the seeming decline in critical thinking, the “no one reads any more/death of print” storyline, etc., and the discussion always revolves around what we can do to change, you know, everything. Which we can’t do. As Zmuda spelled out, there are things we can’t control, things we can influence but not control, and things we can control.

And while I think it’s important to keep having the discussions and exerting the influence we do have on the “big picture” stuff, for me that idea really drives home the importance of being active on the local and state level, even more so than on the national level; that is where our influence is really felt, and that is where momentum builds.

But even more than that, it speaks to the control we have and must exert in our own libraries, particularly when it comes to instruction. You can’t say, “I had to do this project/assignment, because it’s what the teacher brought me.”

Often we do it with the best of intentions—it’s a way to make less willing teachers feel comfortable, it’s easier to coordinate when you don’t have to start from scratch. And oftentimes teachers will come with a fully formed unit plan and just want you to show students “the research part.” Even when the research assignment they’ve written looks nothing like something you would create in order to teach the skills students need to develop. Such unit plans also often keep the librarian out of the creation of the final project; and, as I wrote yesterday, we need to stay involved for the information integration part of the process.

But going along with a. . . not necessarily “bad” plan, but not necessarily a good one either, is a cop out. And I say this with full recognition of the fact that I’ve done this. A lot, particularly in my first year. When you’re new and someone comes to you with a project they’ve been doing for ten years (which, yikes) it’s more than a little awkward to try and tell them to change everything. But if we want to truly be collaborating with classroom teachers—and not just be a drop-in lesson on skills that seem disjointed from the lesson—it means taking ownership and having challenging and productive (if sometimes awkward) conversations with our colleagues about creating and teaching units that integrate information literacy skills.

We don’t want what happens in the library to just stay in the library; the skills we teach impact not only other academic areas, but areas outside the school walls. And if we want what we teach to have an impact beyond the library, we have to take full control of what happens in the library.

How do we teach students not to put tomatoes in fruit salad?

2010-07-08T17:57:00.004-04:00

Now that I’ve been home for a week, and ALA has been over for even longer, I suppose it’s about time that I finally write about everything I saw there. I’m going to try to break it into multiple posts covering different sessions, both in order to pace myself and to avoid a post the size of a book.

Saturday morning I went to a session on sequencing instruction from kindergarten through college, which seems like a pretty difficult task. Even if you manage to keep students in one school district for K-12, ensuring they go through a complete information literacy curriculum, it seems that the channels of communication to post-secondary schools are not always great, never mind the different expectations different colleges have (or the disagreements between—or within—different departments at the same school).

While I am working to prepare my students for college (and try to stay familiar with general info lit trends at the schools my students frequently attend), students arrive at my school from all sorts of different backgrounds. Some have had excellent research instruction; some have had almost none. Which is one of the challenges in writing and implementing curriculum; there’s no one I can coordinate with on K-8 instruction.

Rather than attempt a cohesive narrative (my brain’s half on vacation), I’m going to bullet point ideas that resonated with me, and explain why.

Dr. David Loertscher started the session with an overview of what we’re trying to do.

Information literacy instruction used to just be about the research process; now, it’s more about critical thinking and content creation

Students need to be doing more than simply trying to absorb a lot of information; it’s getting to be a trite observation by now, but the ability to memorize and recall facts is simply not as useful or impressive a skill in the Google age. The skills students need are different—can you locate the information, can you assess it, can you make sense of it, can you integrate it into what you already know, can you build upon that knowledge and share it? It’s way more complicated than remembering a set of tasks in sequence

“You only learn 21^st century skills in order to deepen your content understanding.”

I wrote “YES!” next to this when I was taking notes in the session. Too often I see people talking about “21^st century skills” (by which they usually mean the latest technology) as an end in and of itself. Sorry, but learning how to build a wiki, or record a podcast, or write a blog or use an e-reader are not ends in and of themselves. Unless they are coupled with real content, they’re just toys. Technology divorced from content (i.e. context) is just as meaningless as try to teach content without context.

Understanding how Wikipedia happened will help us solve the dropout problem

Okay, I left out a few steps in his logic, but for me that was the basic point. We need to center our work around engaging with real problems and involving students in knowledge creation. Students who have a voice and an audience and see the real-world context and application for what they’re learning are students who stay engaged in what they’re learning. And engaged students stay in school.

Knowing how to research does not mean you know how to think

Word.

So how do we change research so students have to know how to think in order to be successful? And how on earth do you teach someone to think?

Once students find information, it’s now up to teachers to show them how to do something with it; we need to put ourselves back in that process.

This goes to the root of the whole “research is not thinking” issue; we need to be working with teachers on the WHOLE process, not just send them back to the classroom once they’ve gathered information.

K-12 schools and colleges/universities need to work together; better trained teachers create better undergraduate students.

If nothing else, naked self-interest means that librarians in K-12 schools need to communicate with colleges about what new teachers (many of whom are not information literate themselves) need to know.

You are no longer amazing just because you taught a kid how to use a database

Students can find information. That part of the process keeps getting easier, frankly. What they do with the information? That part will never be easy.

I also really liked several of the points Valerie Diggs of Chelmsford High School presented.

It is very difficult to move teachers away from “information regurgitation” projects

So, so difficult. Part of that is because that’s how they’ve always done things, and part of it is, I think, because teachers think students need to master “the basics” before they can do more “advanced” research. Except a) students are bored to death by these projects, and so b) they don’t learn anything either basic or advanced. So we do another “information regurgitation” project. . .

We need to focus less on finding and evaluating sources, more on how they use the information they find

This was reassuring to hear, and I think ties into the point Dr. Loertscher made about teaching kids to use a database. Finding an evaluating sources is important, but it can’t be the core of what we do.

The final presenter was Ellysa Stern Cahoy, a librarian at Penn State.

We’re teaching skills students think they already know

Anybody who has ever tried to teach anybody anything can relate to this idea. No matter how little they actually know, students are convinced they know everything about the research process (and sometimes everything about the topic they’re researching). The challenge of over-confidence is particularly tricky, as researching requires resiliency, and you need some confidence in order to be resilient enough to make it through the research process—never mind sharing what you’ve learning with a larger audience.

How does the research make it into the final product? Students find good information, but they don’t integrate it

I cannot tell you how many times a student has told me that it doesn’t really matter if the information is correct on the five other sources on their Works Cited, ‘cause they got all the information from one source. In order to get students to integrate information , we need to rethink the entire research process; right now each step is not clearly tied to what comes next in a causal way. It’s find your sources and then evaluate them and then take notes and then etc. In a way we need to take students to the final project and then show them how to scaffold back to where they need to start; they need to see how each part ties into every other part, rather than viewing each step as discrete and disjointed.

How do you keep the fun of technology from interfering with the critical thinking process?

I’ve seen students spend more time selecting images for the cover page of a report (a cover page that is rarely if ever required) than doing the research for that report. I’ve seen them spend more time on backgrounds and text effects for a PowerPoint than creating actual content for the slides. Add in the possibility of video clips or sound effects and critical thinking goes right out the window.

The title of this post is a reference to a quote I recently discovered (and have been unable to find authoritative attribution for): "Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad." This, as I see it, is the big shift in information literacy instruction at every level of schooling. Finding out that a tomato is a fruit is no longer the point; knowing what to do (and what not to do) with the tomato is the point.

Why I needed more than one carryon bag on my trip back

2010-07-04T11:26:00.004-04:00

I promise more substantive posts are coming within the next several days (a bad case of dehydration and general exhaustion took me off my stride while I was away). In the meantime, a comprehensive (I think) list of all the swag I came home with:

20 books
11 Pens
8 Totebags
6 T-shirts
4 Test prep DVDs
4 Badge ribbons
3 1/2 Inches of handouts
2 Flashdrives, one of which is also a bracelet (be jealous)
2 Bracelets, one of which is also a flashdrive
2 Squeezeballs (for lack of a better term), one of which is in the shape of a brain
2 Zombies vs. Unicorns buttons (one zombie, one unicorn)
2 non-Zombie vs. Unicorns buttons
2 Miniature computer mice
2 Luggage tags
1 Mini flashlight
1 Noisemaker/Bubbles
1 Mousepad
1 Bandana
1 Foldable cell phone stand
1 Insulated lunch bag
1 12-month subscription to Webspiration
1 Lindt chocolate bar (consumed)