Help me understand this.  Recently, I’ve come across several examples of a rubric being used in a way I don’t quite understand.  The rubrics all had the standard four levels of proficiency for the criteria being assessed, and the levels moved in typical fashion with one being inadequate and four being exceptional.  That’s all fairly standard practice as I understand it.

But here’s where I get confused.

The rubric then took each criterion score, and multiplied it by 3.  So, if one were to gain a “3″ on any criterion, he or she would effectively earn a 9 out of 12 in that category.  It seems the instructor used the multiplier so that in the end, the entire assignment was worth more points. I’ve seen a score multiplied by four or even five as well.

I’m not sure why someone would do this.

If you stop to consider, once you begin introducing a multiplier to a rubric, you are essentially removing the opportunity for a student to earn points in significant intervals.  If a multiplier of five is used in a rubric, that means just one step from exceptional to proficient will cost the student 5 points, which is often half a letter grade.  I’m not sure I understand why an assessment would be given if a student can’t earn each point along the way.

I know there’s a bigger topic here regarding points and grades and all that, but for this post, I’m just trying to understand the practice of inflating, or weighting, depending on how you want to name it, an assessment.

The same applies here to quizzes or tests or even assignments that are multiplied to make them worth more.  I often see teachers administer a test that has 30 questions, then they make the test out of 100.  That means every question a student gets wrong costs them 3.3 points.  And I’ll admit, I certainly did this when I was a teacher.  Looking back, I’m just not sure why I did it.

Anyone out there good enough at math to help me understand this?  And can you explain why we want to do this to students?

Thanks to eriwst for the use of the Flickr image.

My blog is now one year old.  Well, the official birth date was actually August 2nd.  Sadly, I did not make it a cake and allow it to be consumed in epically sloppy fashion while I stood by snapping photos of the moment.  I just let it roll by quietly.

The reason I even bring it up now is because I’m reflecting on the process.  On what I’ve learned as a blogger.  On what I want to do better.  On what I don’t understand.

The thing that jumps to mind most readily concerns comments on a blog.  Are they the reason I write?  Do I hope my thoughts will prompt your thoughts, and in turn, compel you to leave yours upon mine?  And by so doing, provide what I truly want, an opportunity for me to learn from you.  What is it that I assume or expect or even desire of comments?

I’m not really sure.

Will this post garner any?  I have learned this year that as I write this, I have no idea.

Is it taboo to even talk about comments this way?

Are the comments on a blog how I assess the usefulness or value or importance of a post?  What does it mean that one post this year gathered 46 comments while many drew less than 5?  Does it mean anything?

I know this entire process, the act of writing and interacting with an audience, is a very organic experience.  Things happen as they will.  I also know they say that only 5-10% of your audience, on average, will post a comment.  But that on average was very busted at least five times this past year when, statistically, over 50% of my audience commented on a post.

I’m wondering what that should tell me.  Everything communicates something.  What is it that my comments are communicating to me?

Thanks to AriCee for use of the Flickr image.

*This is a reflection post required for my JHU-ISTE Leadership program.

This post is in response to the following two questions.

* What impact does the creation of a positive school culture have on school reform?
* How has what you have learned so far in the course shaped your concept of an effective leader?

As one of the most pragmatic of tasks on any administrator’s agenda, I believe addressing the school culture is one of the most important.  If a building administrator can take some time to absorb the current culture when he or she arrives afresh at a building, and then determine what it is that bears keeping and what needs reculturing, I believe the opportunity to enact overall reform will be made much more powerful.

In thinking about culture, I believe many people discuss the idea as the gauging of the history of an institution.  Acknowledging that we stand on the shoulders of giants is important, but I fear that sometimes we become enabled or entrenched by the remembrance of those shoulders upon which we are standing.  Assumptions are made that what was established before is good, and must remain good, for the very fact that it still remains.  The reverence debilitates the capacity to look critically and gauge which still stands because nobody dared kick it a bit to see if it was sturdy enough to build years of effort and value upon.  To give the foundation a bit of a prod with fresh eyes from time to time is invaluable.  And it could directly lead to the kind of reform that lasts.

When then moving to reculture, I believe it is much more important to look at creating an effective culture rather than just a positive one.  A positive culture can simply mean a general getting along of all groups in the building.  Everyone gets along with everyone else smashingly and people feel very positive about the educational institution as a whole.  This kind of environment can be an enjoyable place to work, but it doesn’t mean that anything meaningful is actually taking place within the walls of the institution.  I’d like to establish a culture where the needs of students supersede all other needs.  Where it might be uncomfortable or trying or even difficult for a teacher to do what is best for the learning of a student, but in the culture I’d like to foster, teachers would recognize that the effort and pain and frustration are worth it when it directly benefits the students.

There is no way I can transition smoothly into the second question.  It is simply too broad and tangental to the first.  It would be nice if the three paragraphs above held that which has come to most greatly impact my concept of an effective leader, but it isn’t.  To this point, what has most shaped my concept of an effective leader is the reading of the Jossey-Bass Reader on Educational Leadership.  Each chapter I have read has left an indelible mark, and I simply can’t recommend the book enough to anyone who is thinking about engaging in a study on the topic.  It’s most certainly worth the purchase, and I know I will be returning to it time and again in the years to come as there are so many excellent ideas and concepts worth revisiting on a recurring basis.

And, I still maintain that I don’t want to be an effective leader.  I’m still of mind to be exceptional.  Again, not for the sake of what that could mean for me, but rather, for what that would mean to those within the building where I might have the privilege to lead.

Thanks to Pixelmaniac for the use of the Flickr image.

*This is a reflection post required for my JHU-ISTE Leadership program.

This post is in response to the following two questions.

• How has what you’ve learned so far in this course shaped your concept of an effective leader?
• Based on what you’ve learned so far, what are the top 3-5 characteristics you believe a successful principal must possess?

John W. Gardner (2007) defines leadership as “the process of persuasion or example by which an individual (or leadership team) induces a group to pursue objectives held by the leader or shared by the leader and his or her followers” (locations 323-27).  To me, then, effective leadership would mean simply having a group of people pursue my objectives.  Because being a leader, according to Gardner, is simply the act of getting the people to follow objectives, and by doing so, I would, in the simplest form of the term, be effective.  The thing is, I don’t want to be effective, and I don’t want to be an effective leader.  I want to be more than that.

I want to be an exceptional leader.  If I’m being honest, I’d like to be one of the best leaders in education.  I don’t mean that to sound prideful or arrogant in any way, and I fear many people are greatly trepid to speak of themselves in such terms because it makes it sound like it’s more about us than anything else.  But it’s not.  I want to be one of the best leaders in education because of what that will mean for the staff or district I’m leading.  And I want to lead for the sake of people, not for the sake of leading.

I want to consider the work of Robert Evans as he discusses leadership.  I want to lead with integrity and always stand for the value of learning.  I want to allow Thomas J. Sergiovanni’s work on servant leadership to drive me to consider the needs of the constituents I lead through serving in a way that builds the capacity for leadership in every person in my building or district.  I want to keep my mind focused on the differences I can make rather than the minutia I will face.

I truly want to find a way to capitalize on the work of Chris Argryis and build within my institution the ability to engage in organizational learning.  I want my institution to do this in a manner that will move us forward together and in a direction that will prove to be valuable for our students.

And I don’t want to call it my institution.  I want it to be ours.  And I want us to be one of the best.  Not the best on test scores or athletics or technology utilization or the best for the sake of being the best.  I want to be the best for the sake of our students and for what that will mean for their lives and future.

For that, I want to be more than effective; I want to be exceptional.

Gardner, J. W. (2007). The nature of leadership. In The Jossey-Bass reader on educational leadership [Kindle]. Jossey-Bass teacher series. San Francisco: John Wiley & Sons.

Thanks to ashley.adcox for the use of the Flickr image.

I spent four days last week in Manchester, New Hampshire at the Constructing Modern Knowledge Institute.  As I sit here one week after returning, I’m still left to wonder how in the world I can possibly capture all that is rattling around in my mind as a direct cause of attending the institute.

I’m going to try and give a general overview of what I observed, and then follow up as necessary in subsequent posts about each topic that requires follow up.  I will say from the outset, the experience was the singularly most unique conference type experience I’ve ever had.  There were things that left me in a state of pure awe and wonder, and there were things that equally frustrated me.

You will likely find it an impossibility to experience a better list of speakers or minds available to offer their insights at any other conference.  Having the distinct honor of hearing directly from Deborah Meier, Lella Gandini, Brian Silverman, Lesa Snider, Peter Reynolds, Sylvia Martinez, Gary Stager, and Marvin Minsky was simply astounding.  I’m still rather reeling from the collective wealth of knowledge that list represents.  And though I certainly didn’t agree with everything that was spoken about, the conference was worth attending if just to hear what those individuals discussed and the way they can challenge a person to think.

The opportunity to engage and observe other educators organically learn was also a fascinating experience.  I watched as the triumphs and frustrations of learning collectively bubbled over from group to group.  I witnessed the authentic excitement that learning through inquiry can generate, and I watched as challenges served to nearly break and equally make learners out of leaders.  It reminded me of what I have forgotten about being a learner in any kind of structured environment.  Those lessons should be remembered much more often by all educators who find themselves forgetting what it is like to be in the seat as a student.

And along with those things that I agreed with, there were others I didn’t.

Throughout the conference there was a clear emphasis not only on the general theory of constructivism, but specifically, constructivism through computer science and programming.  At several points throughout the week, the statement was issued that all students should be mandated to learn computer programming.  This idea was explicitly stated, and I implicitly disagree with it.  I certainly see the potential for learning through the act, but given the ever changing nature of specific programming languages and the fact that the vast majority of students will never use the skill beyond the duration of time they would be required to take the unit of study, I believe such an experience should be left to student choice.

At one point, one of the presenters said that we should not offer students choice on this issue as students don’t know better and aren’t in a position to know that they really have no other logical choice but to choose such study.  The statement deeply troubled me at the time, and continues to do so now.  I agree that when we were young, all of us lacked the clarity and wisdom that comes with time and experience, but we also knew things that interested us.  If we’re willing to allow students to participate in organic learning experiences through constructivism by self-selecting that which we study, why then would we think learning a specific skill such as programming should be any different?  I truly appreciated Brian Silverman’s take on it as he expressed that programming is certainly not for all kids.  I absolutely believe that students should be given the choice to learn computer programming as the process is replete with problem solving and math function learning, but I don’t think it should be mandated.  This is very likely an issue that I will return to at some point in the near future.

The other issue that I find myself continuing to fail at digesting is the idea of community as Gary spoke of it the first day.  I heard him speak about PLNs in a similar fashion at NECC, and on both occasions, he spoke about how the level of connectedness we all are presently experiencing has given voice to too many people.  That is a paraphrase, but he did say specifically that the problem now is that any “newbie” has a voice and can be perceived as an expert without doing anything.  He stated that someone who hasn’t “done anything” can be asked to keynote a conference, when in fact, it should be he himself who gets asked based on his experience and the work he’s done.

This seems, to me, to be the very nature of the old, exclusive vanguard of knowledge concept we’ve been speeding away from as information frees us to capitalize on collective thinking.  We don’t need the keeper of the keys to tell us what is worth knowing and keep us from that which we lack the understanding to know is not good for us.

We all now realize we have the right to know.  Or at least we have the right to choose.

The idea that we have to have an “expert” in our network otherwise our network is, in effect, proven defunct, is rife with complication.  I think I’ll leave it at that for now and allow Gary, or any other believer in this philosophy to expand on the idea if they so choose.

In the end, I find myself walking away with a great bundle of mental firewood to turn over and burn for quite some time, and I realize I’m an advocate for the theory of constructivism.  I’m not convinced it requires the use of computer science/programming, but utilizing computer technology with constructivism can absolutely be a strong alliance.

And I have no doubt how much students benefit from pursuing organic learning based on personal choice.  And it’s okay if sometimes they do that without a computer.

My last post generated some intriguing discussion.  Specifically, the issue of people being connected in our community surfaced.  As did the notion of “top edubloggers” and their level of connection or general disconnection to the population of other educators, and I think both ideas merit further exploration.

The very notion that there exists such a thing as an echelon of “top edubloggers” is in itself quite intriguing.  The presence of the notion begets the questions, “Who are the top edubloggers, and why are they seen as such?”  I believe this is an inherently fundamental issue that touches the very core of who we are as humans.  Because, ultimately, it’s all of us who decide.

People only have as much value as that which we ascribe to them.  If you determine there is a voice in the blogosphere that you would classify as a “top blogger,” you have allowed yourself to make that determination.  You’ve elected some set of criteria with which to make your judgment.  It might be the number of people who subscribe to a person’s blog, the length of time a person has been in the field of education, the number of comments the person’s posts elicit, the ideas and topics the person writes about, or it might be a combination of these as well as any host of others.  There is certainly not a thing wrong with using any of these criterion to base a decision upon, but we should acknowledge the fact that we do use something to reach our conclusions, and again, we are the ones ultimately ascribing the value.

I raise this point because I believe there are many people who feel a sense of disconnect from the people they are determining to be the top edubloggers.  First, remember that you yourself have determined that the person is someone to which you have given a certain amount of value.  Second, if you wish to connect with that person, you have to engage.  Each person in this space began at the same place.  The beginning.  They engaged, and things developed from there.

I can’t state how much being in this space has challenged me and pushed me to grow as a professional.  I can entirely attribute that growth to the conversations I’ve had with many of you, and the only reason we had the conversations is because we all chose to engage.  We all started adding our voice to an ever growing conversation that we all belong to.

And that’s really the greatest piece of advice I can suggest to anyone entering this space.  You have to engage.  Certainly you can hang back and just dip your toes in the water periodically to see if the temperature is right for you, but at some point, you’ve just got to get in the water.  Whether it’s one foot at a time, slowly immersing, or it’s one swift cannonball sending the splash cascading down on others, you have to engage if you want to get the most from this environment.

So if you’re willing to jump in, mix it up with everyone else, and swim freely in the deep end, I’m willing to follow you or read your stuff or listen to your podcast or watch your videos or whatever else I can do to swirl my ideas with yours.  I’m reasonably sure we’d all be willing to, if you’re willing to engage.

I’m going to try an experiment here.  I recently began my work in the Johns Hopkins University, ISTE leadership program, and as part of the course work, I’m required to maintain a blog for reflection.  I pondered setting up a second blog specific for that experience, but something gave me reason to pause.  What is one of the more powerful outcomes of reflection?  I believe it is giving change the opportunity to take root in the practice being reflected upon.  I have received tremendous feedback in the past nine months from many of you in this space, and I’d be remiss to deny myself the opportunity to have you all potentially work through some of the thoughts and ideas that I’m sure I will be writing about due to this required portion of my work.  So, I’m going make my reflections very public and transparent.  And I’m going to hope that reflection sparks conversation that will cause change in my own practice, and hopefully, if all goes as it could, yours as well.

The first question of my first reflection won’t likely be of any interest to most of you.  JHU has developed its own LMS, and my first question is to state how comfortable I am with the system.  Overall, the system seems to be quite functional.  There are all the basic attributes present in most LMS, and there isn’t anything woefully dreadful or game changingly new.  It’s functional, I’m comfortable with it, and I guess that’s all I can really ask for.  Like with almost all online learning experiences, it’s the people and ideas in the system that really make the greatest difference.

The second question may be of more interest.  The question asks, “What, if any, concerns do you have about online learning?” Now that is quite a question.  This is the kind of question some writers could devote books to, and if I were one of those types, I’d imagine I could do the same.  I do, in fact, have all kinds of concerns about online learning.  For the sake of brevity, I’ll try to be concise and focus on only two.

My first concern is with the idea that many seem to espouse about online learning being a panacea for monolithic teaching.  In many places, advocates are saying that we can completely change the way we educate by moving to an online format that accommodates a greater variety of choice.  The issue I see with this is what if students don’t learn well in an online environment?  In the classroom, a teacher can immediately adjust the way a student engages learning based on the individual needs of a student.  In most present iterations of online learning, the course work and path is set.  If a student is a struggling reader, there isn’t much chance for success as the majority of online classes are incredibly text heavy.  So, I have to wonder if we aren’t taking a monolithic means of teaching, and by potentially moving the majority of classes online as many are predicting will happen, we’re simply serving to change the method of the monolith.

My second concern is one of greater practicality.  I’m somewhat bothered by the nature of a discussion board as it is most often utilized in an online course.  When I participated in my program at Walden University, I clearly recall my frustration with the discussion forums.  The sheer amount of information being created by those in the class comes so quickly and furiously that it is truly hard to keep up with it all.  You typically have somewhere near 30 people posting great insights and thoughts on an issue, and reading all of those initial posts on a weekly basis can be a challenge.  Then, add in at least two comments from everyone on other’s original posts, and the noise becomes cacophonous.  That alone is a challenge, but then add in the flat nature of text, and the issue gets even more difficult to deal with.  I’d love to see a discussion board present the option to create a quick video response to a question in the future.  Personally, I’d be much more interested in watching someone’s nonverbal cues as they explain a point, not to mention hear their inflection and personality through their words, than I would be in always reading their thoughts in text.  Of the blogs that I read regularly, I find I am most invested in those of people I’ve met in person.  I naturally find myself reading their posts in their own voice, giving their life to the words they penned, er, I mean typed.

The ironic part of my dislike for discussion forums is that I required the participation in them from the grad students I taught last fall.  Looking back, I’m really not sure why I did such.  For some reason, I forgot about my experience, and I was taken in by the idea and potential I thought a discussion forum held.  Interestingly, in the final class evaluations, the one part of the course many suggested changing was the use of such a forum.

I know there are a good number of individuals who very much enjoy the experience to be had on a discussion board.  Perhaps it’s just something I’m not that equipped to enjoy.  I’m not entirely sure, but I do think we should reevaluate the way we are presently utilizing such forums to see if they are as effective as we might think they are.

Thanks for sticking in here for this post for those of you who managed to do so.  Of course, I’d love to hear your comments and feedback on my issues with online learning.  I hope my posting of my reflections here doesn’t prove to increase the noise too much for you, and I hope you can find value in these conversations.

Thanks to aaronbeekay for the Flickr image.

Today I began something new, and by so doing, remembered how very hard it can be to take a risk.  I think sometimes we forget how intimidating it can be for students when we expect for them to believe we mean it when we tell them our classrooms are a safe environment in which to take intellectual risks.

What if others laugh at you?  What if your idea isn’t as good as you thought it was?  What if, even though the teacher told you it was safe to step out, the other students still exercise their judgment when safely away from the teacher’s safety?

My risk today took the form of the Tech and Learning Advisor Blog.  I wrote and published my first post, and by so doing, extended an idea beyond the safety of my own mind to an entirely new audience.  I won’t feign courage and act as if the experience didn’t at least slightly intimidate.  In fact, the act of striking the publish button proved nearly terrifying.  However, I’m absolutely appreciative for the chance to grow and learn through this opportunity, and I think one of the biggest lessons I remember from long ago is that learning takes courage and perseverance.  There’s a whole lot else I’m learning through this, but I’ll save that for another time.

I’ll leave this post with an invitation.  Come over and join me in my learning.  Take a risk this week.  Jump off of safety.  Dare to learn.

Oh, and if you get the chance, I’d love it if you gave what caused all this a read.

Thanks to Glamhag for the Flickr image.