The C in Class C

Class C schools, Class C tournaments, Class C towns.

What does that C stand for? According to the Montana High School Association, Class C designates the high schools with fewer than 120 students. In Montana, that's about 64% of all high schools. 108 of them, to be exact, located in tiny towns and reservation communities across the state. 

Jocko Valley, home of Class C Arlee High School

In towns with Class C schools, the school functions as the pivot point for many activities. Even folks without kids in school come to school events such as band concerts and fundraisers. Grandparents, aunties and uncles and other extended relatives fill the seats at athletic competitions and graduations. Even some funerals are held in school gyms, when there is no other venue large enough. 

And when Class C schools travel, towns empty out. "Last one to leave turns out the lights" goes the saying. Here's a Missoulian article about this phenomenon from last year's state basketball tournament. And what about those fans? Here's what the Northern Sports Network reported when Arlee's eight-man football team made it to the state championships for the first time 29 years: "The fans were one of the notable parts of the game. Hundreds of fans made the 366 mile trip to Chinook to watch their team play in the title game."

Three hundred and sixty-six miles. That's over five hours one way. Yes, Montana, but also yes, dedication. Can you see the caravan of cars, painted red and white, stretching for miles across the plains, heading east to watch their team - our team - play in their first state championship in decades? We lost. But here's what happened then: "Following the trophy presentation, the Arlee players lined up single file and every single Warriors fan came by and gave each and every player a hug. The emotional event lasted over 45 minutes." Because that's how we do. 

Community members left behind watch the game from a high school classroom.

When Class C Chinook lost a wrestler in a car accident just before the state tournament earlier this month, Arlee distributed memorial armbands to their wrestling team. One Chinook wrestler remarked, "It just shows that the whole wrestling community is one big family." The wrestling community and the community of small towns: one big family. That's how we are.

And of course last night at the Western C Divisionals basketball tournament in Hamilton, 72 miles away, hundreds of Arlee fans packed the gym to watch both of their teams compete in the championship games. Picture this: One side of a gymnasium fully wearing red. Half of the opposing bleachers, also in red. One full end, also in red. This crowd is rowdy, ready, loud, and proud. Not only did both teams bring home the first place hardware and clinch a trip to state, the girls became the first team in recent memory to do so.

Around 11:30, I was home enjoying some couch time when I heard the sirens. Not fast, but slow. Not one, but several. And the honking. I stepped onto the porch, and cue the goosebumps - the teams were back from the divisional tournament, escorted by our town's emergency vehicles, flanked by happy parents and grandparents and aunties and uncles and extended family. 

If you do not live in a small town, you cannot know the elation of a community that rallies around its own: the gyms packed with sports fans, proud parents of graduates, or mourners at a funeral. 

If you do not live in a small town, you may not "get" the excitement of caravans that travel together, hotels full of guests who know each other, hundreds of fans with matching t-shirts in faraway bleachers.

If you do not live in a small town, you may not guess what the C in Class C really stands for: community.

Un-Distorting Reality

Recently I sent an email home informing parents of students in my senior speech class that we run an essentially gradeless classroom. Students use a "success rubric" to guide and assess their progress, with assistance from their teacher. I wrote about this approach during a previous semester here, here, and here; it was overwhelmingly successful despite some students' initial fears.

Later that day I received a respectful disagreement from a parent who rejects this approach to grading because it doesn't reflect "real-world" consequences. This argument isn't surprising to me at all. But I kept coming back to it, my mind worrying it like a loose tooth.

Finally, this realization: grades in school share very little with job-related consequences in real life. Grades are superficial and vary in meaning from teacher to teacher. Teachers do not necessarily want to replicate the ways they do correspond, the subjectivity and arbitrariness.

And actually, very little in a traditional high school reflects the adult world of work. In what place in the world of work, for example, is a person shunted from room to room every 53 minutes with 3 minutes to take a break or use the bathroom? In what place in the world of work does an employee sit in a desk in rows and interact minimally with others? In what place is an adult told to succeed in a variety of very different disciplines? And where - other than in a school - is a person made to do all of this in a single day, day after day, for thirteen years? At best, traditional high school is a distorted reflection of the "real world."

Some might say that traditional approaches are good for training up our youth for a harsh world. While I see the point, I reject the logic: why must we use the same methods we - parents and teachers - ourselves experienced? We can innovate and still prepare our students.

In my classroom, I have thrown out desks in favor of collaborative spaces; this doesn't mean I don't ask to see individual performance.

I connect our classroom work to the world in which students live through field work and guest speakers; this doesn't mean I reject the "3 R's."

And I encourage students to think for themselves by removing superficial and authoritative grades; this does not mean there is no pressure to improve.

It's time not only to change our own environment, but to change the world of schooling for our students. And to do that, we have to change the hearts and minds of parents and community members, sometimes administrators and policymakers too.

We must un-distort our view of the real world and adjust our schools to match it - for now and for the future.

Holding Back for Deeper Love

Love is on everyone's minds right now, whether it's the love they have in their lives or the love they wish they had. One thing most people can agree upon is that love is complicated. There are so many kinds! Romantic love, parental love, childhood love, tough love.

Teachers also have a special love for their students and their classrooms. You can tell the really committed ones: they open their rooms early for kids to chill in until the first bell. They eat lunch with students and tell jokes with them, sometimes hug them. Some become their students' confidants and surrogate parents.

I am not one of those teachers.

I need my space.
I like eating alone, at home.
I'm not a hugger.
I don't want to know students' secrets.
I don't have it in me to parent other people's kids.

Why can't I go there? My bucket is big enough for six preps, plus grading and planning, and an occasional lunch meeting. Given free rein, by nature I would overwork myself, overtax my time, and overwhelm the straps of my schoolbags. If I'm with students straight from 7:30-4:15, then spend my evenings and weekends with them virtually by grading and doing armchair planning, if I hold their confidences and help guide their personal lives - well, that bucket is too full. I can no longer carry it. And if the bucket contents begin to slosh out, that means I've undermined my own ability to love every moment of my time in the classroom.

I've often felt guilty about this, defensive in explaining why I like to be alone in the mornings. Maybe a little envious of teachers whose doors are always open. Sometimes an awkward back-pat takes the place of a proper hug, and I wonder why I can't cross that line. But underneath this pressure is a hard fact: I know my limits.

And those limits are essential because I must protect this job, the one I love so much, from myself. I want to love my students, my work, even grading. I want to be my best when I'm with the students, assessing their performance, coaching them to improve. I want to show students good ways to live their lives through the work we do together in the classroom. This doesn't happen if I've flatlined from exposure. Thus boundaries are necessary, restraint crucial.

So my students can wait until the bell.
They can eat with each other.
They can find a counselor for their confidences and hugs.

For me to thoroughly commit to my students, I must unapologetically hold back.

And holding back means simply this: loving more deeply.

Other Side of the Bridge

Last week I spent a few hours in the company of some newly minted teachers of the year at their first conference in San Antonio. I was helping deliver a presentation with Hope Street Group on the topic of building relationships with leaders. For me though, this experience was a profoundly reflective one. That is, I found myself reflecting on the two years since I sat in these teachers' seats and thinking about how much I've changed and grown since then.

Two years ago, I worried a lot about the conference before I arrived. My experience had been mostly limited to my classroom, where I had spent my time fretting about my students' grasp of comma splices and when to schedule my next club meeting. I was not some super-teacher. I was not a policy expert. I did not really even know how to dress myself; I'd bookmarked a graphic I found depicting the differences between business casual and professional.

After I arrived, my worries were confirmed. Those other teachers of the year were definitely stellar, knowledgeable, competent. They knew about policy. They had their platforms and elevator speeches. Their voices didn't quaver when they introduced themselves. I am not exaggerating when I tell you this: I was waiting, the whole time, for someone to call from Montana and say, "We've made a big mistake; you're not the teacher of the year." It would have been a humiliating relief.

But no one called. After that week I decided they must have just accepted their mistake, and left me to cope. And this is where my memories of that week and my new perspective on it collide. As I sat there watching these new STOYs I was reminded of one of my favorite TED talks.

Amy Cuddy's research on body language is fascinating and useful, but it is her personal story that reaches me. She talks about losing her own sense of identity, how she struggled to regain it, and in doing so how she reinvented herself. She says, "Don't just fake it till you make it; fake it till you become it."

New state teachers of the year are in a similar position. They have lost their classroom-teacher-only identity. They are swimming in a sea of uncertainty, trying to find their feet. They are wondering how to catch up, and whether someone is going to find them out.

I know. I felt that way. But two years later, the imposter sensation does dissipate. The opportunities afforded every state teacher of the year are enough to make change.

But the biggest shift is a change in mindset: as soon as we begin to see ourselves as leaders, we become leaders. We advocate and innovate. We solve problems. We write. We amplify the voices of our colleagues. We lead.

So, to the Class of 2016: 

Find your voice. Speak your truth. Yell if you have to.

Fake it till you become it.

Belief in What Works

I recently went through a 16-month no-sickness stint. From May 2014 to September 2015, I didn't get a single cold or anything worse. This health streak is surprising when you consider that I am both a mom and a teacher, up against kid-borne illness, uncovered coughs, and who-knows-what on the doorknobs and keyboards of my life.

How have I accomplished this health feat? Simple: orange juice. I put a lot of faith in orange juice as the reason for my bodily well-being. Imagine my surprise, then, when I read this article describing how orange juice doesn't promote health. In fact, OJ could be judged unhealthy if you consider the sugars and processing involved. But it works for me - and why? Because I believe in it. Call it a beneficial psychosomatic effect.

The other day I unwittingly started a fire on my Facebook page about learning styles. Learning styles theory posits that individuals learn in different ways and that some people learn best visually, some through auditory means, others through hands-on methods, and so on. Everyone has a hardwired learning style, say these believers.

I am not a learning styles advocate. I trust cognitive scientists like Dan Willingham who handily and convincingly debunk this theory as a myth. At the bottom of this post you will find several resources addressing learning styles as a myth, and there are certainly more available.

During the Facebook fire, one friend commented that using learning styles to differentiate instruction works in classrooms, so why question it? I agree - if you can do no harm while enhancing learning, use whatever vehicle is available and familiar, as long as you know the theory you espouse is widely considered to be false.

As long as people are not doing the following, I say fine, use this theory to support your classroom decisions.

1) Using learning styles to suggest that students can't learn in other ways. This promotes a fixed mindset.
2) Using learning styles to excuse students from doing more challenging work, or work that might be uncomfortable for them.
3) Telling students that learning styles are real, since study after study has shown this theory to be unsupported by actual research.
4) Using learning styles to label and pigeonhole cultural groups ("Native Americans are visual learners" is a common such label).

Scientists say that too much orange juice can be unhealthy due to its sugar content and processing by-products, just as they warn educators against using learning styles theory inappropriately. I hear their concerns, and I don't question their judgment; after all, they do research and I don't. Personally, I reject learning styles theory because of this research and their credentials.

However, I'm not going to stop drinking orange juice even though I know it's not actually boosting my immune system. I'm not arguing with the scientists; I'm willfully ignoring them. I know that as long as I'm doing no harm, I can stick to my own theory.

And if it works, more power to me -- and my OJ.

The concept of different "learning styles" is one of the greatest neuroscience myths

Different Strokes for Different Folks? A critique of learning styles

The Myth of Learning Styles

All You Need to Know About the 'Learning Styles' Myth, in Two Minutes

Brain-Based Learning, Myth Versus Reality: Testing Learning Styles and Dual Coding

Projecting the Plans

It's eight degrees outside, but the sun is coming up and the snow is pink. I sit here sipping my coffee reflecting on the last couple of weeks of winter break. My to-do list shrank over the break, which is gratifying since I made sure I didn't do all the work at once, wearing myself out. I completed many significant tasks, tying up projects left over from fall and even some from last summer.

Then yesterday I spent a couple of hours planning for spring semester, and afterwards I posted a picture of Monday's lessons on Facebook. I did not anticipate the response this picture would generate! Some teachers like Lisa commented that they were envious, Sean chastised me for going in, and still others like MeMe and Tricia were pleased to see it for various reasons. Then we started sharing our own planning processes. Meghan even decided to crowdsource planning styles for an upcoming Scholastic blog post!

Planning is a key part of good teaching. For me, it is the most satisfying part. I know, I know -- the kids are supposed to be first on that list. But I can't feel good about my work with kids if I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm the kind of teacher who can't sleep at night if every detail of the next day isn't ready to go, from the lesson plans to the conversations I need to have to the prep-time minutes I must use for assessment.

Teaching is really a kind of big project. Each class over the course of a year or semester is a project, and each unit within the course is its own project. Other tasks teachers do are projects too, whether it's coaching, club advisory, or a PLC. When I think about it, I have always loved projects: making quilts, painting rooms, even putting on productions like TEDxArlee. I love the focus, the beginning-and-end, the way they diversify my life. It makes sense that I see teaching as a project and that I love it for that reason.

Happy January 4, classroom friends and colleagues. May you find joy in renewal of your own projects!

The Magic of Teacher Leadership

At the end of 2014, I wrote five pledges for 2015 which I've already taken a moment to review, except for one. I reserved #3, teacher leadership, for this separate post. 

3. I will continue to push for teacher leadership models in our school structures.


Teacher leadership is a hot topic right now in the circles I inhabit, particularly those at the national level. At every conference I attend, in many twitter chats, and in blogs I read, teacher leadership is repeatedly invoked. "Teachers leading" is a catchy hashtag that inspires almost everyone. ASCD lists Ten Roles for Teacher Leaders, edublogger Jose Vilson has provided a list of  Do's and Don't's of Transformative Teacher Leadership, and the National Network of State Teachers of the Year has created an entire framework of standards for teacher leadership. This is not a passing fad.


Yet I'm going to dig in a little against formalized teacher leadership. I have experienced a form of teacher leadership in my role as literacy coach and have been afforded opportunities to lead both within and outside my district, and I have seen the pitfalls. Like a magic show, teacher leadership can be delightful and illuminating -- or it can be an awkward and embarrassing experience for everyone. Finding the right role and appropriate support is crucial to making the show fly.


Informal teacher leadership exists just like a group project in school: one or two people always do all the work. Certain teachers lead committees, initiatives, departments, union work, and even sunshine activities. Others do nothing. There's really no need to comment on that.


Formalized teacher leadership, however, is a little like the rainbow unicorn. It feels good. It sounds great. Teachers who feel confined to a box and wish to bust out of it, in particular, strive for a form of this magic. Teachers who want change but don't want to become an administrator look to teacher leadership roles as a way to diversify their careers.




Teacher leadership sounds like the answer to the problems of confinement and repression. Most everyone says they want to implement it, but it exists successfully only under very specific circumstances, which must include, at minimum, the following:




1) a specific structure which has been created in part by teachers in the district;

2) roles strictly defined and adhered to (no sneaking administrative work in);

3) administrative support for the role which is evident and unquestioned;

4) no additional pay or benefits, either real or perceived, unless specifically designed and sanctioned during the process of #1.

Should these conditions be ignored, teacher leaders may find themselves back in their classrooms, doors shut, and happy to get the target off their backs. There is a crabs-in-the-bucket mentality in some school cultures: one crab tries to climb out of the bucket and the rest pull him back down. The resentment and negativity engendered by many factors in a district can hinder attempts to create the positive, lift-everyone approach essential for teacher leadership to thrive.  


I am for teacher leadership. I agree with ASCD, NNSTOY, and Jose Vilson, especially in this blog post which makes mention of what I've covered above. I believe that teachers should be able to carve openings out of the boxes we live in, so that we may make the best use of all our  expertise and interests. Given the right planning, administration, and school culture, teacher leadership can be fruitful and satisfying for everyone: not just a magic show, but real transformation.