Sdrawkcab

Teachers all over the world are learning how to teach math the way it is done in Japan. For those of us who are used to the 'old' ways, this method might come as a shock. It might even sound backwards to you because, well, it sort of is.

Instead of teaching a particular concept, giving practice questions and then slowly introducing more difficult questions, the process is done more or less in reverse. Students are given a problem and are left to their own devices (usually in groups) to try to solve it. The lessons evolve from how the children solve or attempt to solve the problem. The question is debugged, and strategies, methods and reasoning is examined. The thought is that once someone has tackled the problem, he is applying all of his prior knowledge so that he can build to a next step. It's as if you were to give someone a jigsaw puzzle already in pieces, and ask them to assemble the puzzle without having the picture on the box to guide them. It can be very frustrating. It can lead to struggling. And that's the point of the exercise. 

Does it sound mean? Unfair? Maybe even a bit cruel? Does it go against everything you feel in your gut? Are you feeling angst about it? Well, I did at first, until I began thinking about the whole idea.

More and more, educators are realizing that struggling with a problem is the key to finding an effective, if not creative solution. A challenge, a struggle, tends to be an impetus to achieve. The goal of solving the puzzle, in this case the math problem, becomes a game. It is here that striving for excellence is born. And when one problem is solved, the stakes rise, and more challenging math problems become the new goal.

I see how this concept might work in math, but can or does this apply in our day to day problems in life? Do we necessarily need to struggle with a problem in order to find the most appropriate, creative and best solutions?

Let's start with something simple--the morning Sudoku puzzle. Generally, my morning newspaper tends to have easier puzzles at the beginning of the week. As the week progresses, so does the difficulty of the puzzles. I tend to appreciate the simplicity of Monday puzzle; I'm too busy dealing with the thought of getting to work to have to suffer through a potential snag in a measly Sudoku. I zip through the puzzle, completing it before my toast pops. But here's the rub--even though I wouldn't have wanted to spend the time working on the puzzle, even though I got what I wanted and completed it post haste, I am left with a feeling of disappointment, a lack of fulfillment. Something inside of me, the same me who wanted to get the puzzle over and done with as quickly as possible, feels cheated that the Sudoku author didn't make the puzzle challenging enough. Conversely, on those days where I crack the sweat-inducing puzzle, the one where the author's sadistic attempt at outsmarting the free world  is foiled by my obvious brilliance, I'm on top of the world. The challenge pushes me to do my best, and causes me to come perilously close to being late for work.

It's a sad thought to think that the best things in life, the things that make us happiest, are those which we must work the hardest to achieve. After all, what's so wrong with the things that come easy? I think the answer to that question is: nothing. Nothing's wrong with the things that come easy. But it's precisely because those things come easily, they're not given the importance they deserve.

Challenges propel us forward. Whether it's a Sudoku puzzle, solving a math problem, overcoming an illness, financial burden or relationship gone wrong, facing a challenge and overcoming it is an incredibly satisfying feeling. It's important, however, to never overlook the things that come easy.

Waking up in the morning. That's a big one. The whole day becomes bearable knowing that I'm able to read the obits and not be in them. Hitting the snooze button is another one. Love those extra nine minutes. Hitting it again (decadent!). Realizing that I didn't run out of coffee yesterday. Or milk. What about that first sip of coffee--isn't that the best? A smile from someone I love (any time of the day). The sun on my face (SPF 30). Remembering the meeting I have first thing in the morning. The list goes on and on......

Sure, I love the fulfillment of life's challenges, but even though 'they' tell me not to sweat the small stuff, it's the little things that make my day special.

Long live my Monday morning Sudoku!

Who Got Higher?

A Grade 5 student approached a colleague of mine at recess very distraught. When the teacher asked what was wrong, the story unfolded. It seemed that the issue was that when playing a game with another child, the other child kept winning. "Ok, so...what do you want me to do about it?" asked the teacher. The student replied, "Make him not win all the time. It's not fair!"

In recent years, the idea of competition at school has been down played dramatically. We have cooperative games, and cooperative learning. Marks are not given to the extent that they were in the past, as we now use either rubrics or a 1-4 scale, much like as in universities, which use a 1-4 grade point average. Come to think of it, we don't even give tests anymore, we give assessments. There aren't 'winners' and 'losers' anymore, there are simply participants. Everything is geared so that the child's self esteem will not be compromised. But when all is said and done, are we making a mistake? Are we doing more harm than good by ensuring that children never fail? Will these children be able to cope in the 'real world'?

I remember when I was in Grade 1. We had reading groups in our class. The groups had cutesy names. I don't remember them now, but it was something benign like chicks and ducks and geese. The groups could have been called the 'weak kids', the 'average joes',  and the 'smart kids'; everyone knew where they stood academically in the class, without anyone ever mentioning it.

There was also healthy competition. My friend and I were always going back and forth as to who did better on what assignment. I didn't suffer psychologically if she did better than I did. If nothing else, I was (a) happy for her and (b) spurred to do better myself the next time 'round. We would get our tests (not assessments) handed back, compare marks and then go out and play. But then again, those were the days when we were allowed to walk to school by ourselves, without the fear of....well...anything, because there really wasn't anything to fear.

With all the comment writing, rubric making and reworking of the marking system, children still know where they stand in a classroom. They know who to call on to find the correct answers. They know that if they receive a 2+, they are not close to receiving a 4....without anyone telling them. So, if not so deep down they know the truth, what's the secret we're keeping from them? Are we offesetting our mark-obsessed guilt ridden selves by softening the blow to our children?

Frankly, I thought so for a long time, but now I'm not so sure, and I think it has to do not with the marking system, but with the comments that accompany the marks.

Constructive comments give context to whatever style of mark is on a paper, be it an 'assessment' or report card. A child needs to know where he has gone wrong, but also know where he's gone right. And even that is not enough. The child needs to be guided as to what he needs to do to succeed to greater heights. He needs to be pointed in the right direction to not only correct his errors, but to soar.

I come from a place and time where it was considered a good thing to figure out what was wrong and find solutions independently. Feedback was an end result, not an ongoing act of development. Sure, learning anything needs some trial and error-even healthy frustration, but imagine the difference between learning something with constructive feedback as opposed to not getting anything until there's a final product, and then only getting a mark.

Whether it is writing a test, trying a new recipe, or talking through a problem with a friend, providing healthy, constructive feedback takes the mystery out of whatever it is we're attempting. Constructive feedback is like the kind lady's patient, unthreatening voice on the GPS when we go the wrong way. She knows (in any language or accent) that even though we're trying to get from Point A to Point B, and even though the machine is pointing out what to do, we can screw up. GPS lady doesn't yell at us or call us names, doesn't laugh at us or deride us. She understands that learning is a process, so the moment the mistake is made, she utters that obnoxious word, "Recalculating" and points us once again towards our destination.

Yes, we have to lose sometimes. Yes, we have to get a bit lost. We simply need people in our life who will tap us on the shoulder, whisper "Recalculating" in our ear, and guide us to the finish line.

I'll do it tomorrow

It's the most wonderful time of the year. I'm not talking about that. No, I'm talking about report card writing time. Why is it so great, you ask? Simple. This is the time of the year when my house gets really, really clean. What's the connection? If you have to ask, you're not a teacher, or you don't live with one.

It's all about the art of procrastination.

You see, report card writing sits at the summit of the Teacher's Pyramid of Disdain. Most of us would rather deal with a troublesome parent (troublesome kids are easy), or even prepare for an evaluation than write report cards. Which is where procrastination finds a solemn place on the teacher's mantle, and where cleaning suddenly becomes an activity of paramount, holy and dire importance.

The husband of a colleague of mine told me that he always knows when it's report card writing time, because that's when he finds his wife on her hands and knees in the living room, scrubbing the baseboards. The other day, another colleague of mine was bemoaning the fact that she hadn't finished her reports. She was mentally preparing a list of what she needed to do that evening and decided the order would be (a) wash the kitchen floor, (b) make dinner, and finally (c) if she felt satisfied that she had cleaned enough, write her reports.

Trying to wrap my head around why so many of us choose to clean as a method of procrastination, I turned to Google for help. I was led to a number of dissertations that prompted me to procrastinate finishing this posting, but otherwise left me dissatisfied. People talked about choosing a boring activity to put off something more boring. Others talked about cleaning as something which spawns creativity. I'm not convinced.

I don't know why anyone else goes through this ritual. For me, knowing that my chores are out of the way relaxes me. If my house is in order, then my thoughts will be too, which enables me to do the king of chores, report writing. Interestingly enough, I only get this way around report card time. Any other time of the year, cleaning plunges down the pyramid to the level of any other household, okay-I-guess-I-better-do-it.

So, here I am, admiring my clean place. Report cards are finished. All is right with the world. In the end, procrastination paid off. Now I'll look forward to the next set of reports, because I just remembered that I have some closets that need straightening.....

I'll take one from column A and....

Multiple choice tests drive me crazy. I know, some of you love them, but I don't. Oh sure, I can easily whittle the four choices down to two, but after that, I almost always choose the wrong answer.

My high school Physics teacher used to counsel the class saying, "When in doubt, choose the longest answer". I think he was simply having pity on me. I worked hard in class. I tried, but I was pitiful when it came to Physics. I used to beg (literally, on the bottom of every test) to pass, writing, "Please sir, I want to go to university. Please let me pass this test!", and he would write back, "Ok" and give me one mark above failure...every time. It was bad enough that I couldn't understand the work. When I had a 50/50 chance at a multiple choice question, I blew it, over and over again.

Which is why, I've decided, I'll never win the lottery. I think even if I let the computer choose my numbers, it will pick the wrong ones.

Here is a caveat for all of you who see me in the cashier line at the grocery store: do not stand behind me. I always choose the wrong line. For some reason, the person in front of me has an item which needs a price check, or the cashier's tape runs out just as my order needs to be processed, or the bundle of cash has to be sent up that magic money vaccuum machine (I love that thing).

When it comes to ordering in a good restaurant, I usually let the waiter make the ultimate choice. As in my multiple choice quizzes, I whittle my desires down to two, and then I ask my server which of my final choices of entrees he or she would choose. I must say that the tactic works; I'm rarely if ever disappointed.

The more I think about choice, the more it confouds me. It's amazing how the very thing that makes us free, can enslave us. We are allowed to choose, but what if we choose the wrong thing? How do we deal with making the wrong choice, be it answer (c) instead of answer (d), the wrong line at the supermarket, or even choosing the wrong person to share your life?

Let's Make a Deal was an iconic TV game show that capitalized on the dilemma of choice (fine, it was about greed, but humour me, please). A contestant would be 'randomly' chosen by the great emcee, Monty Hall. If the contestant could pull a hard boiled egg out of her purse, or knew his driver's license serial number off by heart, he would win a washer or dryer, a trip somewhere, or a piano. He would then have to decide whether or not to trade the whatever it was for the unknown something that would be lurking behind Door Number 1, 2 or 3. The choice would have to be made...keep the prize, or relinquish it for the possibility of something greater. Most of the time, that new appliance or lovely trip was forfeited. Monty would then give his command. Sometimes when the door opened, the lovely Carol Merrill would be standing next to a new car. Other times, the wrong choice meant that the sad sot would be leaving the studio hitching a matronly looking milking cow up to his car.

We're all familiar with a variation of the popular maxim, 'when life closes a door, somewhere a window is opened'. We use this phrase to allow people who are feeling powerless that new opportunities, and new opportunities for choice are possible and possibly imminent. At the same time, we caution university students not to 'close doors', because their choices will become limited. Keep the options open as long as you can, counsel parents and school advisors.

Coming to terms with the doors we've closed allows us to open new doors wider. During our lifetime, we no doubt  walk through doors which bring us metaphorical brand new cars. Other times, it seems like Carol Merrill is in her overalls, pigtails and painted-on freckles, dealing us a milking cow. Our task is to try to understand what leads us to make the decisions we do, so that when that new door opens, we'll be thrilled by what's behind it and not disappointed.

As I get older, I try to laugh when I realize I've chosen the wrong line at the supermarket yet again. I've decided to embrace the familiar. I take the opportunity to chat with the frustrated person in front of me. I warn the person behind me never to stand behind me in a line again because the curse follows me.

Sure, I might have chosen a better line at the grocery store, but it's nice having the chance to chat with the people around me in line every once in a while. Choosing those wrong answers on my tests forced me to get help from my classmates, which strenthened friendships. And I almost always get the best dessert in the restaurant. You know what? Door Number 3 is not such a bad choice after all!

What time did you say it is?

Standing out on yard duty in the middle of the winter, braving sub-Arctic temperatures with the wind blowing is not what I call fun. I'm chilled to the bone. Insanity dashes in front of me in the form of a bunch of boys running around the playground in their t-shirts. On those days, I stand and wonder as my teeth chatter how fifteen minutes can possibly be such a long time. Why is it that sometimes time passes so slowly, and other times it flashes in the blink of an eye?

My grandmother used to say that the older you get, the faster time passes. She was right, unless of course we're talking about waiting in supermarket line-ups, traffic jams, or waiting for water to boil, to name just a few.

I used to play a game with my Grade 3 class, to demonstrate how long one minute is. I'd have the class stand and turn with their backs facing the classroom wall clock. I would be the timekeeper while the children's task was to sit down when they thought a minute had passed. The child who came closest to sitting down at 60 seconds was the 'winner'. Each time I played this, I was fascinated to see how quickly the children sat down, thinking that time was up. The children, too, couldn't believe how long one minute truly is.

Yet, time passes so swiftly. I remember the first time the passage of time kicked me in the face. Sure, everyone knows that we're constantly aging, so that's no surprise, but we don't really notice it because generally, the people we associate with are doing the same things at more or less the same time as we are. Life milestones such as getting married, having the first baby, sending your first off to school are done with others who are doing the same. We coast along together, sharing these events, but not really realizing the ticking of the clock.

It happened when my oldest was in her first year of high school. A bunch of her friends were coming over to the house for a barbeque. Since these were new friends from a new school, I told her that I didn't need names, only an idea of how many friends were coming. The day arrived and there was a knock at the door. I opened the door and couldn't believe what I was seeing. This was no ordinary duo. The dad was an old friend of mine from my teenage years who I hadn't seen in a very long time, standing with his teenaged son. At that moment, time stood still. I looked at the four of us and wondered what had happened to the time. Wasn't I just a teenager myself? Wasn't that father not the father but in fact the boy he was standing with? I was baffled. Where did the time go?

I often chuckle to myself in the morning as I'm putting up the coffee. I'll stop and wonder, didn't I just do this? Yesterday went by so quickly. It seems like mere minutes since I padded into the kitchen to make my morning java. How did that happen?

And now it's 2011. It will take me 3 months before I write the year correctly on cheques and on the chalkboard. Sometimes time will still seem to pass slowly. Yard duty in the winter will still seem longer than yard duty in the spring. And water will still take a long time to boil. But before I know it, I'll be writing final report cards. June will be here in a blink of an eye. Another school year will be over and there will only be 6 months left of the year.

Time marches on. This year, I hope to make the best of my time, use it wisely, even waste it wisely. And to all of you who take the time to read my musings, I thank you so much, and wish you a year filled with wonderful times.