We are officially knee-deep into summer. July tends to mark the transition out of the slothful period of recovery from the previous school year into the inspired period of optimistically planning the next school year. It is during this phase that I sunk into reading Ken Robinson’s latest book, Creative Schools.

Many educators know Robinson from his popular 2006 TED talk, “Do Schools Kill Creativity?” which has been viewed more than 33 million times. Some of us have even had the good fortune to attend one of his keynotes at an educational conference (I saw him a few years back at NCTE and still chuckle over some of his witty one-liners). Yet, somehow overlooked is his longstanding record as an educational researcher, writer, and reformer. He has been “in education,” as it were, for 40 years; he holds a PhD in Education, was a professor of Education at the University of Warwick, UK, and has written countless articles and books on cultivating creativity in schools. Heck, in 2003, he was even knighted by the Queen of England for his service to the arts. Suffice it to say, Sir Ken is an authority on transforming education. 

In Creative Schools, he addresses the paradox of teaching and learning in a standards-obsessed system that touts a desire to mold unique and creative students. Through a series of case studies of educators and institutions that are transforming the way that they “do school,” Robinson makes the case for bold and courageous change. “The challenge,” he writes, “is not to fix the system but to change it; not to reform it but to transform it. The great irony in the current malaise in education is that we actually know what works. We just don’t do it on a wide enough scale. We are in a position as never before to use our creative and technological resources to change that.”

Robinson’s opening chapters acknowledge that now is a time of great tension within the education community: tension between teachers who would sooner do anything except “teach to the test” and Washington bureaucrats who are embarrassed by the consistently low rankings American students score on international exams; between traditional teachers who question the rush toward technology in the classroom and their colleagues who think that understanding how to employ technology with purpose is a prerequisite for meaningful participation in contemporary society; between the antiquated arrangement of our public schools as the last remnant of an industrial factory model (complete with division of labor and factory-reminiscent bells) and a workforce that demands imagination and ingenuity.

These tensions have had a deleterious effect on the status of education today. Robinson contends: “Most industrial processes generate huge amounts of waste and low-value by-products. So does education. As we’ve seen, they include dropping out, disengagement, low self-esteem, and limited employment opportunities for those who don’t succeed, or whose talents are not valued in the system.” The solution to these problems (or perhaps more accurately, the solutions) is the focus of the remaining chapters of the book.

At the heart of Creative Schools is a call to action, hollered from the rooftops of schools that are doing something very right. He highlights the innovations of alternative learning environments like the North Star center and Minddrive, as well as the good work of leaders who transform learning within an existing system, like Dr. Laurie Barron of Smokey Road Middle School and Richard Gerver of Grange Primary School. He deconstructs what works at places like High Tech High School, a charter school in San Diego, where one of the first things to go were the bells. And he leaves readers with a lingering sense of purpose, established from even the first pages of the book: “Revolutions,” Robinson argues, “don’t wait for legislation. They emerge from what people do at the ground level. Education doesn’t happen in the committee rooms of the legislatures or in the rhetoric of politicians. It’s what goes on between learners and teachers in actual schools. If you’re a teacher, for your students you are the system. If you’re a school principal, for your community you are the system. If you’re a policymaker, for the schools you control you are the system.” 

As far as I’m concerned, that strikes me as best news in this book. Because it’s summer, I’m pumped, and that’s a system I can change.

I've been lurking on the #makeschooldifferent challenge for a few days now, really enjoying watching colleagues in my PLN post their lists of five things we need to change in order to, well, make school different (and, by extension, better). There's a lot of open, honest thinking going on out there in the twittosphere, and at the risk of jumping up on the collective soapbox, I'm going to add my five. I love that this challenge encourages us to share *not* what others may want to hear, but what we think must be said. Below are five of so many. 

When it comes to education, we need to stop pretending...

1. that expecting kids to learn challenging stuff at seven in the morning is reasonable, or even productive. Let's pay attention to research on human development and acknowledge that teens need later starts to learn and grow.
2. that expecting teachers to thoughtfully hone their craft through just a few days of lecture-based professional development is enough. We need ongoing opportunities for meaningful PD - time set aside in our work day (not added on top of it) to be in conversation with colleagues, administrators, and outside experts. The more we are in dialogue with one another, the more likely we are to move toward a more authentic, interdisciplinary approach to teaching and learning.
3. that teachers can grow in isolation. My door is always open - as are many of the doors down the hall. Let's get administrators and colleagues in our classrooms to observe and discuss so that evaluations are based on more than just hearsay, and more importantly, so that we can learn from each other. I'd love feedback on my lessons beyond what my students give me.
4. that piling on a boatload of homework is an effective way to extend our class periods and expand our courses. It's not fair to students. Sure, some may wonder what on earth kids will do when they get home from school; but then again, I don't want my students judging me for flopping on the couch after a long day and zoning out to NCIS reruns. Let's bring free time and family time back.
5. that technology is the be-all-end-all OR the enemy. Let's use it to connect kids with meaningful audiences outside of the walls of our classrooms. Let's use it to foster collaboration among students, and clear communication between teachers and kids. Let's use it to make our feedback more personalized and more timely. It's a tool. Let's use it well.

True to the genre of the Internet Challenge, I'm naming five awesome educators (all from KCI MERIT - woot! woot!) who I would love to have weigh in on the question: Diane Main, Roni Habib, Karl L-S, Lisa Highfill, and Lisa DeLapo (Sorry if you already did it and I missed your tweets. Retweet 'em!). This challenge came my way from Jen Roberts. You can read her post here. The original challenge came from from Scott McCloud, who has compiled a bunch of responses here.

The question of how learning works is foundational to my work as a secondary English teacher and instructional technology peer coach.  No matter how many books I read on pedagogy, approaches to instructional design, merits of one type of assessment or another, there is always another theory to consider.  And despite spending hours upon hours each day designing and implementing educational experiences aimed at increasing student learning, a concrete definition of the learning process still seems elusive.  At the end of the day, I find myself more able to define what learning is not, or why learning did not occur, rather than its positive counterpart.  Thus, my personal theory of learning is but a work in progress -- a snapshot of where I am right now as an educator, thinker, and student.

In my experience, learning is a process.  In this process, students try on new ideas, test new skills, grapple with discomfort, and become comfortable in the grey area of cognitive dissonance.  At some point in the learning process, the learner moves from not knowing to knowing, from seeing to doing.  Learning requires the learner to assimilate new information into an existing schema, and to build connections and access points to that new information.  A quick look around my classroom highlights my belief that learning is a creative process.  Posters read, “Wisdom begins in Wonder,” “Can’t...yet,” and “Mistakes are expected, inspected, and respected.”  Above the academic calendar, in big block letters, another quotation reads, “If you get tangled up, tango on.”  A colorful flow-chart hangs next to the student turn-in bins, depicting the effective effort and growth mindset cycle from Carol Dweck’s Mindset.  Flags with words like, “curiosity,” “openness, “persistence,” and “flexibility” hang along the back wall.  Each of these posters underscores the critical importance of respecting the process of learning, and of refusing to give up just because learning becomes challenging.  

Learning occurs when students are curious, engaged in the process, make meaningful connections to peers and to prior learning, and have the opportunity to take ownership of their education so that it is clearly relevant.  After all, this is how adults learn in the real world.  We have some need to know -- some curiosity that is piqued by necessity or interest -- and seek out answers.  Often, we process this new information with others: peers, colleagues, friends, family, even a book club.  Students learn in these same ways.  I have seen the transformative power of curiosity, engagement, connection, and ownership in my own students’ learning.  For example, at the end of the fall semester, my students voiced a concern that “reading for school” kills the book, and as a result, stifles their literacy learning.  Although I was distraught, I looked to my students for a model of how to re-engage them, considering how they express themselves, motivate each other, and explore new ideas: social networks.  Over the winter break, I offered extra credit for students to “joy read.”  We signed up en masse on Goodreads.com and created a group.  I stocked the digital bookshelf with contemporary books that tied into our course themes.  As they read, they posted about their learning online, commented on one another’s posts, liked statuses, and expressed joy in finally finding a book to love.  Literacy learning occurred in my students because I encouraged them to explore new topics (curiosity), engage peers in discussion (connection), and see the impact of reading on their future learning lives (relevance).

Practically speaking, educators know when students have learned based on how students perform on formative and summative assessments, including everything from a formal paper to an informal discussion at Office Hours.  Beyond reaching a certain score, I always look to see whether or not a student improved, and has internalized the content.  During any given class period, I make numerous checks for understanding before we ever get to the summative assessment.  I know a student has learned something when he or she can appropriate that learned knowledge to help solve a new problem, or understand a new situation.  Mastery of learning looks like adept and creative application of skills to new and challenging tasks.

Ultimately, my role as teacher is to influence the learning of my students.  I have been trained to approach that objective in a well-planned and reflective cycle: target the learning objective, collect data on different needs and styles, plan learning experience, execute, assess, and start back again with the target.  I feel confident in my curriculum designing skills as central to how I influence student learning, have a solid grasp of how to map scope and sequence in service to my students, and understand how those “big picture” objectives translate to day-to-day tasks that will positively influence the learning of my students.  I am always looking for ways to make content accessible to students of all learning styles, and believe that an organized approach to instruction benefits students with and without learning challenges.  I also believe that I have a positive rapport with my students, which engenders trust and students’ willingness to take a risk in their education.  While I firmly believe that a significant way in which I influence the learning of my students is through carefully planned experiences, and clean, backward-designed units of study, I also believe that I can influence learning by modeling what it looks like to investigate questions because of personal excitement.  Backward design is an immensely useful framework, but can feel static at times.  Influence also stems from the more dynamic approach of connecting with students, remaining flexible to their interests and questions, and creating a safe learning environment where they are free to fail.

At this point in my career, my personal theory of education is one that is student-centered, hands-on, and carefully planned, while remaining open to the organic influences of real-world learning.  I know that learning will look different for each of my unique learners, but that for all of them, it will be a process with no definitive finish line, and a number of creative detours along the way.  And at this point, I rather like that learning can still be messy, and if we dare, fun.  

What I'm reading:

• Miller, D. (2009). The Book Whisperer: Awakening the Inner Reader in Every Child. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass.
• Miller, D (2014).  Reading in the Wild: The Book Whisperer's Keys to Cultivating Lifelong Reading Habits. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass.
• Lehman, C. and Roberts, K. (2013).  Falling in Love with Close Reading: Lessons for Analyzing Texts--and Life.  Plymouth, NH: Heinemann.