A week's journey- you gotta have a plan

This weekend, I was reading around the last comments from the Twitter community Ukedchat having mostly missed the live event on Thursday. The talk this week was all about differentiation, something about which I know I have strong but indistinct thoughts.

As I slipped in and out of the chat, the phrase 'no differentiation' caught my eye. In the modern climate, this is educational sacrilege. Along with the three part lesson, interactive displays, phonics, the use of the interactive whiteboard and teacher modelling, differentiation has a status amongst the powers in education of an unjustified and unevidenced sacred cow. You cannot choose not to do it if you are being observed; the observer would assume that children will not progress without the deployment of a couple of dozen learning styles along with about nine different worksheets (targetted to a level predetermined by AfL)  and a teacher guided group. In the shadows a TA may be navigating an IEP or administering a support programme. 'Everyone is learning because there has been differentiation' is the maxim.

But as I thought about it, I saw that instead of leaving children exposed to not learning, the idea of no differentiation offered a clear outcome for the lesson. Children could have a task and try to get on with it. As they worked through, there would be mistakes and errors. There might be some tension or upset. But there would certainly be learning.

The disconnect that I have experienced over the last few years is that the more I differentiate (i.e. try to manage the learning) the less learning happens. This is worst in maths, where a 'correctly' differentiated lesson results in such smooth progress that little meaning is made by the pupils. So, effectively their skills and knowledge increase well but they are unable to reapply these in any meaningful way. Without the need to discover, to explore, to try and to fail, no-one really learns anything.

On Friday, I gave my class a few challenges. They proved to be adventurous, reflective, imaginative and thoughtful. Then, when we started the maths in a more formal way this dissolved for some pupils. We then talked about why this could be (in a positive and supportive way of course!). The discussion was certainly rewarding for me. One member of the class gave an eloquent explanation of learning styles. Others talked about emotions in a clear and mature way. What became clear was that they wanted to play games, work outside and so on. They argued with inexcapable logic that they would progress if we did fun stuff every day. I would love to deliver informal work every day. But the SATs won't be like that.

So, I planned for the week using differentiation. I shall continue to work with groups. My colleagues are poised to unleash support programmes. I will, however, experiment with different ways of managing learning, hopefully involving less managing and more learning. Instead, I shall be sure to concentrate on teaching, talking and feeding back. As Terry Pratchett once put it, through the mouth of a character of course, "I might just let you learn."

Autumn Blossom

Over the first couple of posts I reflected on the tension of starting the academic year. As I have looked back over the teaching week, I realise that I have regained the excitement of teaching.

Over this week, the class have responded amazingly well to what has been asked of them. I have been impressed by both outstanding writing and artwork. These are talented children!

But the best part of the week was their response to our annual house captain elections. Naturally, not everyone wanted the job, but I had asked them to think of qualities and to supply relevant questions if they did not want to stand for election. The speeches, presentations and probing questions were a testament to their reflective abilities and their excellent attitude. It was a reminder-a very timely one- that if you want high standards there is no alternative to expecting them.

So, I am resolved to return next week to take more chances and to expect more not just from the class but also from the experiences I offer. I have every confidence they can deliver.

Back...

So, it happens. The start of term. Somewhere in my head, I have decided that I am prepared for the new term. But then, reality sets in and I realise that 30 children are about to descend into my care.

It's a worrying thought as now I realise I am nowhere near as ready as I would like to be. Names to learn, preferred lessons, ways of learning to find out about... The list goes on and on.

This carries on for a week. At least. I am terrible at starting off. I want to do so well that it gets in the way of objectivity. If it is a class I find difficult, then it can last nearly all year. I always want to find the way to help the class succeed.

It's going to be a good year. I know that. But I think it'll be a couple of weeks until I am certain deep in my heart. That'll be the real beginning.

What Will Happen...?

The last night of the School holidays is a strange one for any teacher. There is always talk of the mythical bad dreams and visible, palpable nerves as we try to ease our way back into work.

This has never lessened for me from my first day of teaching (I looked so young and scared that I got offered half fare on the bus). No matter how much I look forward to the next class or getting something done, it never changes. It's hard to say why this is although my Dad had some uncharitable theories.

I guess much of it is down to the performing aspect-always being on show. I find being a teacher such an unnatural way to be. All that fussing over noise, lost pencils, where to sit, whether or not an action will result in occular impairment is just not me. But as a teacher, one has to do it.

This led me to the rather sad conclusion over the Summer. Although I love education, actually I rather dislike schools. Not the one I teach in particularly (not at all; I enjoyed going in over the Summer). It's that lumpen effect that one is required to reach for; the systemic and uniform provision one needs to dole out. Schools are so fear driven that there is little scope for rational action much of the time.  English schools are in danger of becoming like English Town Centres: identical.

Of course, I will give my all to the coming year. The children I teach deserve the very best and I will make sure they get it.

But the bad dream tonight won't be rooted in fear of the unexpected. It will be based upon the terror of rehashing of the over-familiar.