Why this blog?

"... Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves ... Do not search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. The point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer." - Letters to a Young Artist, R. M. Rilke

Rooted in the promise and challenge of growth ...

these are letters from a young teacher.

Monday, February 15, 2010

24 hours in Portland


Good old PDX. Just a train ride away from Seattle, yet I really do not visit as often as I should.

On this particular occasion, I was going to Portland for the express purpose of taking in as much of the storytelling scene there as I possibly could in 24 hours. You may think 24 hours is not a long time, but you don't know what I'm used to packing into 24 hours. Allow me to let you in on this adventure ...

I was so graciously hosted by storyteller friend and colleague Anne Rutherford, a fabulous teller I met last summer at a storytellers' retreat. She, like myself, is always eager to "talk story", which we proceeded to do almost the minute I put my backpack down in the guest room. I can still hear her saying at one point, coffee cup held mid-reach in the air, "You know, it's a privilege we have to sit with these stories ..."

Indeed, the life of a storyteller is paradoxically two-sided: we appear to most as performers, on stage, the entertainer at the center of everyone's attention; yet, like most entertainers, a vastly greater amount of time is put into the research, preparation, and practice. Like Anne says, first, we sit with the stories. We sit for a long time, and let them percolate through our brains and our hearts and our gut. And though we certainly think about effective presentation of a performance, we know better that the ultimate success of the performance is how it resonates with the audience and how those stories stay with listeners long after the telling. So, as we sit with these stories, we think: What resonates in that story on a basic human level? And that can take a while to recognize, let along prepare for presentation.

All this continued to flow through my mind as I watched local tellers from the Portland Storytellers Guild at their monthly performance showcase and appreciated the obvious care and conscientious preparation of each teller's segment. The last story of the evening was an old Welsh myth, I believe, told by a lovely woman named Conchetta. She ended the tale with a delightfully embedded appreciation of the tradition: "... Pay homage to the bards, for, had they not saved and told these stories, we would never have known of how Quill lost Rhiannon with the wit and generosity, and how Rhiannon won him back with her own ..."

The highlight of the weekend was a Unitarian Universalist service Sunday morning that featured a storytelling friend of Anne's, named Barbara, as the sermon-giver. Her story was titled "The truth about lies" and wove together several vignettes from different periods in her personal life. Each exposed a particular lie she had told, but with a delicate honesty that sought not redemption or forgiveness from others, but truth for herself.

"I don't think it's worth trying to be a truth-teller all our lives through," she said, "Lies are windows to the truth of what we fear most in the world. The best we can do is to know when we are telling lies and why."

It was an extremely moving story and event that left Anne and myself almost gasping for breath. As my afternoon train pulled out, I looked back on that city and on that weekend thinking:

Stories are lies, too, aren't they? They lie on purpose, either as fiction, or a folktale passed down many generations, or a crafted personal story ... yet not with the ill intention of deceit, but with the intention of - like Barbara - inspiring and discovering truth. This way of thinking about story helps me understand why some of my readings have described storytelling as a liminal experience, as a threshold. Stories, themselves, present a careful line between truth and imagination, the comfortable and the uncomfortable, the known and the unknown of ourselves and of the world. As storytellers, we walk that line, facilitating the process of each side informing the other not in discord, but in growth and development. Perhaps, then, that is the storyteller's craft: the weaving of dichotomous ideas together in a dance of tension that ultimately builds to cooperation. As the tension builds, truth and imagination, the comfortable and the uncomfortable, the known and unknown dance with each other, not against each other. By allowing these dichotomies to dance together, we find how embedded they are in each other; by allowing for two, we reach the wholeness of one.


Friday, February 12, 2010

Stories from the easel ...

I'm making Fische [fish]. They're purple. That's the water. Now the blue water. Purple blue water. That's the water. Fische in the water!
- Georgia, 3yr 6mo


Painting 1 Painting 2
Painting 1: "This is an old engine. It doesn't have any names. It rides on the tracks to far away. It has real sparks because the wheels are going a little bit faster, so real sparks come out. These little sparks go out of the engine and squeeeeeze and then they'll come out of the wheels a little bit faster and that's why there are sparks!"
Painting 2: "This is another old engine. They're friends. IT's because the drivers ... there are two tables, and they have breakfast. But sometimes the sparks go, little tiny ones come out when it goes a little faster. This one goes faster than the other one."
- Kevin, 3yr 8mo

Monday, February 1, 2010

From fish to infinity

Or, how Sesame Street saves us once again!

Please check out the NY Times column by Steven Strogatz examining concepts of math, from preschool on up. The column debuted today, and I thank my aspiring physics scholar of a cousin for sending me the tip! It all starts somewhere ...

Actually, what I found most intriguing in this debut column is the double-sided concept of abstract reality he addresses. Numbers allow us to deal with and engage with reality more efficiently, but, as he writes, "at a serious cost of abstraction." Yet, this very leap of abstraction leads us to the concept of, say, addition, which also helps us engage with reality more efficiently. Like most of the things I find cognitively magical, the powers of the abstract reality of numbers seems to function, in my thinking, like a double-helix: two seemingly opposite forces, bound together in relation with each other by the concrete connections we can observe, and thus forever influential on each other.

But don't let me put too many thoughts in your head. Read it for yourself!

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Miracles that occur every day in preschool:

... a small hand that pats your back while you read a book ...

... foam triangles that are waves one minute, and the next, they are airplanes ...

... salami that is so good, it makes your eyes roll back into your head ...

... trips to the bathroom that do not require a change of pants ...

... unabating laughter (usually due to unabating tickling) ...

... putting a princess dress on, and then deciding, "you know what? i think i just wanna be a little girl" ...

...

what miracles do you bear witness to on a daily basis??

Thursday, December 10, 2009

The geography of story

"Learning and teaching should not stand on opposite banks and just watch the river flow by; instead, they should embark together on a journey down the water."
Loris Magaluzzi, founder of Reggio Emilia pedagogy
and author of The hundred languages of children

I attended this professional development workshop at Opal School, a public charter school influenced and inspired by the Reggio Emilia pedagogy of Italy. I had attended their Summer Symposium in June 2009 and left extremely impressed with the general Opal approach to teaching and found that the Reggio Emilia inspiration resonated well with me. It was an invaluable opportunity to return again for this day-long workshop on the more focused topic of Story Workshop, an integral segment of a week at Opal.


We began in a brief whole group introductory session, then quickly dispersed into smaller groups to observe Story Workshop in different aged classrooms. I arrived at the Pre-K/K classroom just as they were gathering in a Good Morning Circle and going over the “Flow of the day”. The teacher, Laura, transitioned into Story Workshop by first remembering with the children “Things smart writers do”, as gathered on a poster with pictures and words, including:

    • Use words that grab attention
    • Put unexpected surprises in
    • Make audience want to know what happens next
    • Put dialogue into your stories (Make the characters talk)
    • Make your reader wonder


The children were asked if one would be willing to share their story from the last Story Workshop (SW). Kyle volunteered and was chosen to share. At his request, the teacher read his story out loud while he held up his painting that had informed the story. The students engaged well with the sharing, and offered questions, comments, and compliments at the close. “What happens in the next chapter?” someone asked. “I don’t know yet,” he replied, but you could tell he was thinking about it ...


Then, Laura invited all of the children to share their stories from the last SW in pairs, sharing “knee to knee and eye to eye”. My assumption was that this was an exercise to help the children get back into the mind space of SW and remember where they had left off. As I learned later, the goal of each SW session is not to complete an entire story, but simply to explore the possibilities of a story through the use of one of several art materials, such as clay, paint, found objects, blocks, etc. (See attached handout for more examples) Most likely, it takes several sessions before a child has achieved a full, rounded out story. For this reason, sharing with their peers about the last session helps children prepare to continue that creative process by reconstructing their prior thought process.




After this brief sharing, it was time to go to the materials to discover: “What will help tell your story today?” Several tables were already set up in what I now call, for myself, “Opal style”, because I have never seen such conscientious preparation as I’ve seen at Opal. You look at a table with a piece of paper on matting, pens, pencils, and simple, yet intriguing objects in the middle to observe (see above) in just such a way that you feel genuinely invited into the world of your own creativity.


In this particular session, the materials I remember as available to use were paint, found objects, cut-out paper shapes, blocks, and dramatic play. I sat myself in one corner and could not see the entirety of the classroom. What I did get to observe up close, though, was the paint table, where Kyle returned to continue the story he had told through his last painting.


Next to the table was an easel, which is where he wanted to work. There was already a piece of paper pinned on, so he set right to work, first with a thick Sharpie pen for a thick black outline. As in his last painting, he drew a dinosaur, beginning with the body, and ending with a very detailed image of the mouth. You could tell it was this part of the dragon that would play the biggest role in the story. Indeed, I looked away from his drawing at two other students at the paint table - it couldn’t have been more than 3 minutes - and when I looked back, I was stunned at the detail and simply sheer sophistication of his drawing. Sure enough, the dinosaur now had a person in its mouth!


“What’s your second chapter, Kyle?” came Nick’s voice from the paint table.

“You’ll see when I’m done,” replied Kyle, with no signs of disrupted thinking by the question.

“Ok,” said Nick, and the two continued.


I continued watching Kyle. It was obvious he was thinking, and thinking hard, because this wasn’t just a random act of creativity, this was creativity with a purpose. He reminded me: All creativity has a purpose that drives our thinking and processing and creating. How little attention we give to these moments of concentration, preferring the feeling of completion a finished product offers, as if it has more to say about the artist. A major theme of the day was beginning to take form in my mind: It is the process of creativity and imagination that provide the richest information about students’ thinking, not the product. Yet, the product is so much easier to take in and to display as proof of the process. Ah, but it does not capture the process. It captures “Look what I made!” but it does not capture the journey behind that declaration.


The bell rang, indicating it was sharing time again, this time about the story in students’ minds today. “The dinosaur ate me,” Kyle related to Nick, “but I tickled him and then I came out of his mouth. And then the baby dinosaur hatched. This is the dinosaur and that’s me and that’s the baby dinosaur. It’s coming out of its shell. Where’s your story, Nick?” ...


At the close of SW, Laura called the students together and - as if she could read my thoughts - said, “Even if you didn’t write a story today, you were working with something that will help you write a story tomorrow, maybe.”


* * *


Back as a whole group, we recalled what pleased us as observers of SW:

  • The children were surrounded by provocations, not just in materials, but in questions posted on the walls and tables
  • Materials were stored openly, allowing the children to access whatever they needed whenever they needed it. It was observed that children used this access appropriately and always put things back.
  • The teacher became invisible in SW - not in a bad way, but invisible like the cameras and notebooks they carried with them to document the children’s processes. Teachers sat near students, but did not engage them in conversation, allowing the children to do so if they desired.
  • There was a sense about the classrooms that everything has a story to tell, that you can find a story in any object or material. What an amazing sense of possibility to have permeate a learning environment!


We also raised some questions, including:

  • How are students introduced to SW at the beginning of the school year?
  • How do you address students using the same themes / characters / plot lines over and over again?
  • How do you address themes of violence?
  • How are the “basic skills” of reading and writing addressed and taught? Within or separate from SW?


To get any more into that discussion would entail too much for this summary, but suffice it to say it was clear that what we all enjoyed observing, the teacher enjoyed equally in practice; likewise, the questions we brought up are also questions that teachers work with in practice, as well. However, using those questions to inform their observations, it is also clear that they are addressing these questions proactively, and, in most cases, they gave comprehensive answers.


Finally, one of the pivotal conceivers and developers of SW, spoke in-depth about what’s going on in a SW session. The questions that guided the inquiry of teachers interested in developing SW were:

  • What does it mean to be literate?
  • How does literacy development help us make meaning in our lives?
  • What is the role of story in supporting literacy development?
  • How do the arts support story-making?


The fundamental belief teachers at Opal work with is the conception of the child as communicator. As teachers, we may be there to guide and share the journey of learning with our students, but we must be careful to remember that children have incredibly valuable things to say and share, themselves. What a gift that we may be the ones they choose to tell.


How are the arts and literacy connected and how can the arts support literacy development? It seems Opal teachers have found that the definitions of these two terms have long been conceptualized too narrowly. Indeed, I wonder often how narrowly we have come to conceive the entire traditional curriculum, and perhaps, even learning itself! (Though, perhaps this is simply the connection-maker coming out in me) What I appreciated most about my observation of SW was that I felt I finally had a concrete example of what that buzzword “holistic” really means in the context of education. The “basics” are not ignored, and neither is “structure” or “discipline”; they do, however, look different in a classroom that derives its curriculum primarily from observation and provocation of students. Likewise, the opportunities students have learn, such as in SW, provide just the amount of room they need to explore and expand their creativity in just the way each student needs.




For the purpose of this entry, I do not want to delve into a more detailed break-down of how SW is structured and facilitated, because I do not wish to undermine the immense efforts the Opal teacher team put into putting on this professional development workshop. I can only highly recommend that you check out Opal Charter School for yourself and inform yourself about upcoming workshops and symposiums.


In the end, Opal teachers have found that both the arts and literacy skills are fundamental media of discovering who we are, so that the connections between the two are endless! I can only agree and add my own long-standing intuition that endless possibilities exist when considering all fields and opportunities for learning. However, I have to leave it to the children to say it best. As one student said about using art materials in SW (as shared by a teacher): “Words are just black. [Painting] makes me think of more words because it brings out colors more than black and white.”


Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Master's Thesis Proposal


Storytellers as educators: Inviting new voices into pedagogical and philosophical considerations of teaching

Researcher: Avery D. Hill
University of Washington


From a historical perspective, the origins of education can be traced back to the tradition of storytelling, which emerged within human culture as the first form of teaching. Thus, we might think of storytellers as the world’s first teachers. Today, teachers and storytellers may not be considered to have much in common, because they have evolved along different ideological directions into two distinct traditions. Yet, what remains of the original storyteller in the modern teaching profession? What can teachers learn from storytellers about teaching that they would not otherwise think about in the current world of education?

This study seeks to explore the following question: What insights into teaching and being a teacher are gained from today’s storytellers?

In the current literature on storytelling in education, much attention has been given to stories, their underlying meaning(s), and how and what can be learned from listening to them. However, we forget that stories are passed from one learner to the next by the tellers who tell them. This study seeks to feature those who tell stories and to acknowledge their ideas and reflections as educators, whose thoughts on teaching and being a teacher are relevant to contemporary educational discussion.

Due to the novelty of this topic of research, this study is strictly exploratory. Data will be collected from a small sample of participants (4-6) in one-on-one interviews, and then analyzed for content and theme. The goal of analysis is to identify patterns in participants’ responses, particular insights into teaching and the idea of being a teacher, and potentially rich considerations for further research.


Download the full-length (7-page) version of my proposal from my Teaching Portfolio.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Sharing part 2




I am a genius. Not to get all full of myself, but, really, I feel like one today.

As I've mentioned in a past post, sharing is an unbelievably difficult concept to teach well, partially because it's so counter-intuitive to the 3-year-old brain, yet so drilled into our psyches that, by the time we're teaching it as adults, we're more apt to teach it as "something we just do", with no real exploration or explanation of what's going on.

I made my first attempt to approach this differently today:

There were three children playing with magnets, one of whom clearly was monopolizing the majority of them. When a fourth child joined and wanted some magnets, the monopolizer was not going to budge. I watched as the fourth child distressed a little, then turned to me for help.

First, I tried scaffolding the negotiation process of simply asking to play with materials, which is a regular practice on my part. "Tina doesn't know you want to play with the magnets until you ask her. Try it like this: 'Tina, could I play with some of those magnets?' " So, the child tries by actually vocalizing her want, but still to no avail. I encouraged her to point out to Tina that she has an awful lot of magnets, and she'd just like three of them for now. Still didn't work.

That was when the epiphany came. I jumped in: "Tina, I notice Amy here would like to join you at the magnet table, and there are four chairs, so she should be able to have some magnets to play with." I get a guilty look from Tina, who is clenching her magnets.

I could take them from her, I think to myself. I could tell her to share and be done with it. But I also want to give her some agency in the situation. As I wrote before, I don't want them to share because I tell them to, but rather because they choose to.

"As far as I can tell, Tina, it seems you really want to play with ALL of those magnets. Which I can understand. Magnets are great fun. At the same time, the materials in the classroom are for ALL students to play with. That's why we have to figure out different ways to share them, like right now with the magnets.

"I've got two ideas for sharing the magnets. Tell me what you think: Either, you can share the magnets, themselves, by giving some to Amy, and then you can play for as long as you want with the magnets and with each other; or, if you really don't want to give up any of those magnets, you can share the time you have with them. I'll set a timer for five minutes, and when five minutes is up, you'll have to give all those magnets to Amy to play with, and find another place to play.

"What do you think? Share the material or share the time? It's up to you."

The key to presenting students with a choice is being ok, as the teacher, with either choice you've presented. It doesn't help to give a child an option you don't really want them to choose. In this case, I was ok with letting Tina hog the magnets for a short amount of time. I figured it would be a lesson, in and of itself, both in time and in the sacrifice of not wanting to the share the material (you don't get to play with it as long).

Tina did, indeed, choose to share the time. Unfortunately, playtime was over three minutes later - oversight on my part :( - and though Amy happily moved on to find something else after the magnet situation, I was disappointed that I didn't get a chance to follow through with Tina. However, the moment of insight was enough to get my juices going in my brain, in anticipation of other such situations, surely just a day away ...