I simply don’t believe you will find a better About Me page than the one found here.

The page belongs to Aaron Iba, the now former CEO of AppJet, the company who created EtherPad.  Iba’s product was acquired by Google for a reported $10 million, and I would imagine he is quite happy with the entire experience.  Work hard to create a product people love, get recognized for your work, and then reap the benefits of the risks and chances you’ve taken to produce something of value for the world.

Had I not read his About Me page, I would have assumed Iba had a successful experience in school.  I likely would have assumed he was what many consider a model, high-performing student.  I should have learned by now not to make such assumptions.

While I do not know his full story, I do know what he chose to share with us.  That at some point, someone, quite possibly a teacher, felt that Iba didn’t fit in with the other students and needed help.  I wonder who it was that really needed the help, Iba or the system?  It seems yet another example of how students who don’t fit the system are given no shortage of extra attention and energy in an attempt to get them to reshape and resize so they will fit into the containers we’re building for them.  Sometimes, I fear we forget that we should be building the containers around the students, not trying to build students who fit our containers.

It brings to mind the story Sir Ken Robinson tells of Gillian Lynne.  The educational world found Gillian an underachieving student who couldn’t sit still and focus.  She was underperforming in the container they had built for her.  When Gillian went to get evaluated because of her “issues,” she was found to have a most curious set of skills that didn’t fit well in the educational system.  She had energy and creativity, and she was born to dance.

I don’t know Aaron Iba’s full story.  I don’t know what happened outside of the information he shared on his About Me page, or the story outside of his recent success with AppJet.  I don’t know if he became a model student within the system later in his educational experience.  But I do know that the system didn’t like him early in his education.  Someone, somewhere, thought there was something in him that needed fixing.  Somehow, I doubt as he continued in his education that he cared much to make himself fit into the mold of what others wanted him to be.  I don’t think he would have created something so profoundly creative if he had.  The same can be said of Gillian Lynne.

I wonder how many Gillian Lynnes or Aaron Ibas our educational system has stolen from our world.  How many have been taken and made into something they were never born to be.

I wonder how many we can steal back.

Thanks to Chuckumentary for the use of the Flickr image.

There exists a philosophy of technology that states we should be dedicating specific time in our school day to teach students finite skills of operating computing technology.  That in order to prepare our students properly for the world, we must teach them how to word process and how to operate Power Point and how to keyboard.  The computing instruction is an end goal.  The students should learn these skills because the skills themselves are the important part of technology, and if we don’t stop throughout the day and teach them how to specifically operate the tools or applications within a computer, we will be failing to equip our future.

I’ve had discussions with individuals who say they’d rather see the students learn technology skills in isolation, and it isn’t necessary to embed or even relate this instruction to curricular content or goals.  The important part is that students learn how to operate the computer and properly work the word processing application.

I’ve found this to be a fairly popular philosophy and culture in many circles of public opinion.

So, you are in this conversation with someone.  Someone who believes adamantly that we must focus time and energy and effort on explicitly teaching students how to operate specific technology.  Someone who says we should have a checklist of computer proficiencies for each student so that we will know they can operate a computer successfully.  That if we fail to do so, we will be failing to prepare our students to succeed in the future.

And you respond by saying…

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Thanks to Flickr user wZa HK for the use of the image.

Last month I had a compelling conversation with 21 educators in Moodle.  I’m still rather reeling from the whole discussion.

I posed the question, “What is the goal of education?”  Much as I did in this post.  I received 21 profound, comprehensive, thought-provoking responses.  I, in turn, crafted my response to the question.  The following is what I replied to the teachers, and what I believe on the issue.

“First, an observation. This class is replete with incredible educators from all levels, experiences, and frames of reference. There isn’t one person in this class I wouldn’t hope and wish for my child to have the honor of having for a teacher. Yet, with all the experience, knowledge, and excellence, there is one fact that strikes me as indicative of the entire educational institution of today. So many people have so many different goals.

Yes, some are very related to others, but think of the implications of this fact. We all struggle and fight to give the very best to our students. We argue, advocate, rejoice, are brought to tears, and simply care beyond caring for our students. Yet, in what direction are we all pulling the rope? It’s as if we’ve entered a desperate game of tug of war, and we struggle against the rope, and we pull against what we believe to be that which stands in the way of our students’ progress, but I fear we might just be pulling destructively against each other.

How can we change that which needs changing if we aren’t all going in the same direction? Of course there will be some who push back against this notion. ‘We must retain academic freedom and the ability to adapt based on student needs,’ some will argue, and to that I would say, ‘absolutely correct.’ The problem is, those issues are tertiary. Those are subcategories belonging to the whole.

What is the goal in education? Simply put. Learning. That is our goal. Not teaching, not testing, not content, not citizenship. It’s all about learning. It has to be.

I know it seems too simple, but stop and think about this. How often do we fail to make it about learning? How often are we racing to cover content? Content that will be lost on a child far too quickly. Once the phrase, ‘I have to get through the content’ is uttered, it has become about the content and no longer about the learning. I know some will say, ‘but they need to know all this content, and by doing so, they’re learning.’ But in this given context, the content has become the focus, not the act of learning. We get caught up in performance, and competition to see how many kids can all perform at the same level, and whose class had the most kids meet standards, and we forget about learning. Really, we do.

Try this. This week as you engage in educating your students, gauge everything you do against this idea. Is the focus and goal of what you’re doing learning? I think you’ll be surprised at how often (frequently as a result of something out of your control) you have to answer no.

The way our grading system is built, the way our intervention system is built, even the way our grouping of students by age is built given what we know about the variance of development in children, it all loses focus on learning.

What if our true, absolute goal was simply learning? I do believe so many, many things would be different.

I’m completely open to discussion on this.”

I know it may seem rather simplistic and rather obvious that our absolute goal is learning, but is it really that simplistic?  Is focusing entirely on learning really that easy?  Could it be?  I fear too often we take that which could be simple and add complexity to it thinking we’re making it better, but in the end, we simply ruin it.  I think it’s time we change that.

Thanks to Steffe for the Flickr image.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a professional baseball pitcher more than anything in the world.  I’d go outside and throw a tennis ball against my front steps and play every ricochet as if it were a batted ball.  I’d write out a lineup of the Cubs vs. whomever they happened to be playing that day, and I’d play out a full nine inning game.  I even recorded the stats for every player.  If it rained out, I’d wad up a pair of socks and hit them around my front porch with a wiffle ball bat – still keeping copious stats.  Now that I think of it, this is the first time I’ve ever admitted this in public.  I imagine my wife has never been prouder of me.

When I got older, I graduated on to pickup games at the schoolyard near my house.  I played little league, high school, and eventually college baseball.  I worked as hard as I could, and I always kept the goal of becoming a professional front and center in my mind.  I worked out six days a week (wish all that work was evidenced a bit more obviously now days), and I went to pitching lessons in the offseasons.  I knew what I wanted, and I worked with every bit of who I was to get there.  There was only one problem.  I wasn’t good enough.

I always had visions of throwing a baseball 95 miles per hour, but despite all my concerted efforts, I never managed to break 82 on the radar gun.  I just didn’t have the physical ability to do so.  I could have tried harder, I guess, but I’m not sure there was much more with which to try.  I could have gone to more clinics, lifted more weights, done more drills, ran more miles, or even watched more tape, but in the end, I don’t think it would have made a difference.  My body just wasn’t made to throw as hard as I wanted it to.

I believe there’s something very significant here.  We all have obvious physical limitations.  When we look at kids today, it would be absurd to expect them all to perform the same on any given physical task.  Think of what would happen if we said that every kid in 8th grade had to run a 6 minute mile.  Or that every 5th grader had to be able to do 25 pull-ups.  Or even 5 pull-ups.  It would be absurd.  Now think of the obvious parallel to learning.

Why is it when it comes to learning that we expect every kid to be able to perform at the same level?  When will we realize that kids are just as different mentally one from another as they are physically?  Not all kids can think at 95 miles per hour.

I know some people will disagree with me.  There are those who think all kids have the capacity to pass all of our given standards on performance assessments, but think about how fundamentally wrong that is.  If all kids can pass the standard, then what kind of rigor is built into the standard?  It would be an obvious sign that our expectations were too low as there would be at least 25% of the students who wouldn’t even have to try to achieve passable marks.  Conversely, if the standard was more rigorous and required much more effort of the students, there would be a percentage of the population who couldn’t possibly achieve passable marks.  It’s an indefensible notion to think that we can build tests that are appropriately difficult for all students and that all students can potentially meet the standard.

Some would say that I’m advocating for lower expectations for our kids.  I would counter just the opposite.  I expect every student in our world has the potential to achieve and perform at the very best of his or her abilities.  That he or she can apply all of his or her skills and thinking to any problem at any time.  To me, that is the absolute highest expectation there is.

If my goal in playing baseball had really and completely been to throw 95 miles per hour, I would have been a complete failure.  I would never have measured up, and I would have grown to resent the game.  Instead, I gave every bit of what I had, and I just enjoyed playing the game.  I believe we need to be very wary of setting up expectations that all students should be expected to perform and strive for the same goals.  If we do, too many students will think themselves complete failures, and they will grow to resent learning.  Instead, I think we need to let kids give every bit of what they have and just enjoy the process of learning.

Thanks to Anne Ruthmann for the Flickr image.