Kitchen Cultures and Classroom Cultures

“Mom, did you put chia seeds in the stir fry last night?” “Oh…I thought your sesame seeds looked different. No wonder the sauce was so thick!”

I could give a list of excuses: I’ve never used chia seeds before (they’re just starting to hit the health market in Japan). I figured maybe I just had forgotten what American sesame seeds looked like. I didn’t want to interrupt my daughter with yet another question about where to find stuff in her kitchen—I should be able to figure this out for myself. But that was really weird stir fry. 

I’m at an odd interlude in my life, living with each of my 2 daughters’ families for a month or so at a time (they live less than 2 miles apart). I’m thankful I can be here to help, to be part of my grandkids’ lives when we normally have the whole Pacific Ocean between us. To join in the 3-year-old’s elaborate dinosaur/shark roleplaying games. To hear the 1-year-old’s first word: outside. To rock the baby to sleep during Bible study. To cook dinner twice a week while one daughter takes online graduate courses.

It’s the kitchens that throw me off. I’m supposed to be the kitchen authority. The mother providing food for her children. And my children’s kitchens are sort of like mine, but different. And sort of like each other’s, but different. Every once in a while I get this weird Twilight Zone feeling of dislocation—now where is that rolling pin? I know I just used it the other day…or was that at the other house? Wait…is this the nut-free house or the meat-free house? 

My students must feel a bit of that dislocation, rotating from classroom to classroom—not once a month, but 7 times a day! What are the rules and expectations here again? They must differ from the math classroom to the English classroom at least as much they do from one daughter’s house to the other. That perspective motivates me to be clear and consistent with class expectations, culture, and protocols--maybe a mini-orientation every time students walk into the room, more anchor charts, and keep the daily agenda current--to be patient with extra reminders, and to have grace and maybe even humor when confusion and mistakes happen. It also gives me visceral understanding of the power of learning from failure: I will never again mistake chia seeds for sesame! 

But I do continue to be reminded of this perspective every time a new kitchen comedy occurs:

• “I’m afraid the tabouli salad is short on mint—the mint in your yard is so dried out I couldn’t get enough.” “Um…our mint is fine. Could you show me what plant you’re talking about?…Oh, that one? No idea what that one is. Our mint is over here.” 
• “I love just being able to go out in your garden and get stuff for dinner: tomatoes, kale, green onions.” “Um…we don’t have green onions.” “Hmm…I wonder what’s on the salad?”
• “I used up all your white flour in the noodles.” “Really!? No, look, there’s still a whole canister left. So what did you use?… Oh, that’s the high gluten flour I add to whole wheat flour to help it rise well.” “Ah…no wonder the noodles chewed like rubber!”

I'm glad I can laugh at and learn from my own mistakes as I bounce between the kitchen cultures of my 2 daughters. I'm glad my family can laugh at them, too. I hope remembering this can help me extend the same grace, humor, patience, and safety to my students as they bounce between many classroom cultures every day.

What's Most Important in Teaching: Who, What, or How?

Did you go into teaching because you love children or because you love a content area? Okay, false dichotomy. The choices aren’t mutually exclusive. So assign percentages that add up to 100%. “Children” sounds like the best answer. Who wants to hire a teacher who doesn’t love children? Sometimes I hear, “You don’t teach content; you teach students.” “Content area” sounds like the smart answer. But the word that both of those sentences share is “teach.” So I think there’s a 3rd leg necessary to support the stool of a teacher's efforts: pedagogy. 

Most veteran teachers who have sustained their passion for their profession answer the question “What is your favorite thing about teaching?” with something about seeing a student “get it.” The process or moment or result of learning. I’ve also discovered over the last 30 years that sometimes my students don’t get it no matter how much I love them or know about the content. At this point, I need to look at the times they do get it, figure out what it was that worked, and then intentionally structure my class to do more of that. I’ve come to be a studier of how learning takes place in my room, and how I can structure class so that learning is more likely to occur more deeply for more students. I have to know both my students and my content, and I have to know something else, too: how to connect the two.

This connecting students and content is pedagogy. I could say “teaching,” but I want to avoid that word because the traditional image of teaching is one person standing in front of a class delivering information to be assimilated by the students. That image makes it too easy to blame students when learning doesn’t happen. And while that may be true to a greater or lesser extent, blame doesn’t help. It lets me off the hook. It isn’t about the students we used to have or wish we had or used to be. It’s about the students in front of me right now. How can I increase the likelihood that learning will occur for them?  

In order to be a studier of how learning takes place in my room, I first have to answer the question “What is the learning I want to see?” As I define it, I need to include not just content and skills (like parts of speech and identifying irony) but also understandings (the importance of audience and purpose) and dispositions (curiosity and love of reading). We know now that what students learn depends greatly on how they learn it. Do they have a significant purpose? Do they have time to process the information or practice the skill? Are they engaged or merely compliant? 

How learning opportunities are structured affects not only the extent to which students learn what I think I taught, but what else they learn. In a worst-case scenario this could be things like the following: School is disconnected from life. This is boring. I can’t do it. Don’t get caught. Win at all costs. However, it’s also possible to structure learning opportunities so that in addition to the content and skills, students also learn things like this: The world is an amazing place. I can get what I need to learn. We are smarter and stronger together than alone.

I became a teacher 30 years ago because I loved the content. That was probably 80% of my motivation. Basically, I decided I’d rather spend the bulk of my college credit hours reading and writing than in a science lab. Teaching was a way I could make my living having taken that course of study. I wanted to love kids—though introvert that I am I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with them. My first year I was terrified that I’d made a horrible mistake in career choice and wasted 4 years of college. 

In the last 10 years what I’ve discovered is that there is this whole extra leg of pedagogy—better ways to structure learning opportunities. And I am happiest and most effective when I’m growing in all 3 legs of my teaching: content knowledge, love for students, and pedagogy. I grow in my content knowledge by reading and writing. I grow in my love for students (see my blog "Relationships Aren't the Frosting on the Cake of Education"). And I grow in my pedagogy by reading professional books, engaging in book discussions, forming a virtual professional learning network, and reflecting on my teaching through my own blogging.  

Why did you become a teacher? What keeps you teaching?

What I Learned in 4 Years as a Curriculum Coordinator

Two things to start with--not big, I used them probably every day:

• Don’t apologize for taking people’s time—that devalues the thing I’m taking their time for. Thank them for using some their valuable time to do this really important thing. This helps me value both the task and the person.
• If 2 emails haven’t clarified an issue, walk to the person’s office or classroom (during a free period) and address it in person. This seems like it takes a lot of time, but in the long run, not nearly as much time as 15 emails back and forth and the frustration engendered.

Four years ago I went into the curriculum coordinator job feeling not entirely qualified (see last week’s blog), but also with a small seed of hope. I might be able to help someone experience the same increase in joy that I had gotten from discovering that it is possible to grow as a teacher, and from seeing a class buzzing with learning resulting from planning meaningful curriculum and engaging instruction. Some of what I’d learned about doing that in English class must be transferable. But preparing for professional development meetings I’d psyche myself out thinking, “There will be 25 people in here for 1 hour. That’s 25 man-hours. That’s over 1/2 a workweek. Is what I have for people worth that?” 

I ended up learning mountains of stuff that I’d never really thought about (like grappling with standards for 12 different subject areas!). My least favorite part: figuring out how to administer all of the school’s online textbooks. Why does every publisher run their platform differently? There was one publisher I never did fully figure out. Greatly increased my appreciation for the librarian in my previous school who did this task! My favorite part—exactly the same as in the classroom—seeing growth: teachers excited about helping students learn even more effectively. 

In the long run, while I absorbed a lot of information and ran a lot of meetings, my biggest takeaways were as follows:  

• I’ve learned something in 30+ years of teaching! 
• There is always more to learn. 
• Learning is a community thing—my attitude and practice in my own learning shapes the learning of my colleagues and my students, and, like I tell my students, we are smarter together than alone.

It seems that it really is all about the people—the small learnings and the big ones. I ended up enjoying my time as a curriculum coordinator. I'd do it again, if it were needed, but I'd also be happy just working with students. Either way, it was an experience that shaped and grew me. Thanks to all the colleagues who walked with me through it and helped me learn. I wouldn't be the person I am today without you! 

Falling into Leading

Things I’ve said at various times in my life:

• I would never want to be a teacher.
• I would never want to be a department chair.
• I would never want to be a curriculum coordinator.

Things I’ve been: a teacher, a department chair, a curriculum coordinator.

I’ve been sucked into each position by a vacuum. I’ve felt at first like an imposter, scared of being found out. I’ve gradually grown into each role. (Here’s my reflection on growing into my teacher role.) How? I believe the key to all 3 is the same: becoming curious, a student of pedagogy and of my students (whether they are children or colleagues) as well as of my discipline, focused on the learning rather than the teaching—which is just structuring whatever experiences and environment cause the most learning—finding the courage to experiment and the community of like-minded peers for encouragement. 

Still, I don’t really feel like a leader. All I really want to do is to explore ways to make learning come alive for the kids in my classroom. But even then I am being a leader in my classroom. And I also want to share that journey with other teachers—look how life-giving this can be! What is life-giving for you in your classroom? Here’s this idea I think would be great, but I need help figuring out how it works and a community that won't let me forget it. 

Here are some things that have helped me along the way to think about a style of leading that may possibly be me:

• Being a “first follower” to transform a “lone nut” into a leader and begin a movement: While I don’t feel like a leader, Simon Sinek’s concept of “first follower” resonates with me. (Watch this 3-minute video for a great demonstration.)

• Hearing other educational leaders’ personal stories of being authentic, vulnerable, empathetic, and wise to help others be their best selves in schools. One great resource for this is Lead with Grace: Leaning into the Soft Skills of Leadership by Jessica Cabeen which I just finished last week. For the research, graphics, mnemonics, and variety of specific component skills, I’m going to circle back and read 2 other formative books for me (see the next 2 entries). 

• Being truly curious about other people’s perspectives can transform threatening conversations into productive ones. Crucial Conversations is the first book that helped me think about conflict in positive ways. I’m currently revisiting this book that I read and discussed with colleagues 7 years ago (see blog here). One of the skills I picked up then has even embedded itself into a literature unit as an essential question for A Doll’s House: "Why would a reasonable, rational, normal human being do that?" 
  

• Understanding that authenticity, curiosity, vulnerability, and empathy can be sources of strength rather than weakness when practiced with courage and wisdom. Brene Brown has helped me here. I’ve read 2 of her books in the last year and plan to re-read them sooner rather than later (Dare to Lead: Brave Work. Tough Conversations. Whole Hearts; Rising Strong: How the Ability to Reset Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead). For a taste of this researcher, writer, and speaker, see this 3-minute video on sympathy vs. empathy or this 20-minute TED Talk on vulnerability.

  
Isn’t education an adventure? I’d love to have some companions. What helps you think about how you lead in your classroom, school, and elsewhere?

Reflections on You Are What You Love

I could practically smell the aroma of Mom’s favorite chicken casserole as I scanned my careful pre-married handwriting on the recipe card I’d copied before setting up my own household way back in 1985. The ink was splattered with the evidence of many makings before the recipe had somehow slipped out of use. Having rediscovered it, I couldn’t wait to make it again. However, when the anticipated first forkful finally arrived in my mouth, I could hardly eat it. It was so salty! I remember how difficult it had seemed back when the dietary experts first cautioned us to cut back on salt. How bland everything tasted. How I craved that flavor. But over the years, I must have grown accustomed to its absence. Not only had I ceased to crave it—when I finally (accidentally) got it—I could no longer eat it. Habit had formed my love. 

Reading You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit by James K.A. Smith gave me ways to identify and talk about some of the formative practices I’ve experienced in my personal and professional life. One of Smith's lines that has become part of my repertoire is that we don’t just do things—the things we do also do things to us. As I eat less salt, I become a person who appreciates other flavors. As I blog, I become a more reflective teacher. As my students read and write, they take on the identity of readers and writers. And, as we will be hearing a lot about this month of November, as we practice gratitude, we become more grateful people. (See "Writing My Way into Gratitude," one of my blogs from last November.)

Our habits form our loves, and our loves also form our habits. This might be our more usual thinking—I love reading, so I read—but note 2 things: not only can we re-form our loves by re-forming habits, but also what we really love may not be what we think we love. Our habits give us away. I may say, “I love getting out in nature,” but if I never get around to it, there are other things I actually love more. Or when we say, “I’d give anything to play the piano [or tennis, or what have you] like that,” but we wouldn’t really, otherwise we’d have given the hours of daily practice for years that the subject in question has. The good news is the cycle of love producing habit strengthening love is susceptible to intervention at either stroke. It is possible to analyze what our loves are given our current habits, to articulate what we want to love instead, and to put ourselves in commitments and communities that will help us form the habits that will form those loves.

Where the rubber hits the road with teaching: we articulate what we want our students to love, design the commitments and community that will help form the habits that will form those loves, and—here’s the big thing—become ourselves the model, the first member of that community that we will invite students into. For me as an English teacher in a Christian school, I want my students to love language and skillfully wielding it in beautiful, just, peaceful, powerful, compassionate ways, that honor its Creator, His creation, and His image bearers. We do this by reading, listening, thinking, speaking, and writing together as we learn about the world.

One habit that has formed me as a teacher is the discipline of the novels and themes I’ve taught every year in 10th grade world lit: Cry, the Beloved Country and how we build and break shalom, Night and how human dignity is disregarded, After Dark and the importance of empathy, A Doll’s House and how identity is formed, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream and our search for love. There are quotes, concepts, and background information that spring to mind so frequently I have to squelch them in non-English-teachery company or I may be suspected as a bit obsessive. Warning: this is the spiritual power of habit—the habit of re-reading significant literature.

Last year I began a practice of a few minutes of centering my mind before God before daily Scripture reading. I would breathe in and out deeply and slowly as I repeated the prayer “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” At a doctor visit, I sat down in front of the automatic blood pressure cuff, inserted my right arm, and took a deep, relaxing breath as the cuff tightened. Suddenly the words sprang unbidden into my mind, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” I nearly laughed out loud at the spiritual power of habit to prompt prayer during routine blood pressure measurement!