I'm not sure exactly when it started--this idea that every possible skill our students learn in the classroom must be surgically broken down, dissected, and analyzed. Somewhere along the line, we started to hear (or develop ourselves) this idea that the only way to respond to students' needs is to name specific skill deficits--and then spend hours and hours and hours grouping students with these same deficits together so they can theoretically keep practicing those deficit skills.
I did this, and sometimes I am part of the process of creating systems that encourage this. I tend to be a person who appreciates details and specificity, and it's been my experience that when students and parents also have specific details on what they know and still need to know--everyone experiences empowerment.
There are particular skills that students must learn through spaced practice and explicit instruction. One example is the research related to the science of reading. We know that students do not simply learn how to decode by osmosis; explicit instruction and practice is required. And for some skills, it's helpful to group students based on current skills--so that targeted practice and instruction can occur.
I get that. I really do.
There are ways we can provide learning environments where students learn from, appreciate, and celebrate their differences and attributes. There is a need to recognize and embrace our unique qualities and perspectives--to honor and respect our differences. We can only recognize and honor one another if we stay together--and I'm finding more and more, that when we look at data, we tend to want to separate ourselves (and our students) apart.
At times, I have see some unintended negative consequences of drilling down into "the numbers", analyzing root causes, and differentiating instruction.
I'm wondering what you have noticed, over these past several decades, of attempting to differentiate learning for our students--however you happen to define this. What have you noticed? Along the intended positives, are you noticing any of these unintended negatives?
And do any of my following three observations happen to ring true for you, too?
Observation Number 1: Analysis Paralysis
Through my observations over the past 18 years in education, I see two funny things that can happen when we become overly dependent on the breakdown of standardized benchmark results:
We have too much info:
When benchmark assessments provide results for specific skills or standards, we spend the majority of our time analyzing where each student is or what each student needs. We think we are doing all the right moves. We're drilling down--we're figuring it out--we are pinpointing the needs!
However, this analysis comes at a cost. We then spend less time actually creating engaging responses or practice for the students. Said differently: we become data rich, information poor. We feel good looking at the specifics, but looking at the specifics rarely moves us to action. With less time left to plan our response--we look for fast programs that promise to "meet our students at each of their individual levels" or to create a perfect path to mastery...which I have found rarely, if ever, do.
We get stuck in the knowing-doing gap, and very little changes or actually gets done.
We have too little info:
When benchmark assessments provide us with little to no specifics, we act as though we know nothing about assessing for learning, what skills the students' possess, or what areas they need to improve. It's like--a learned helplessness kicks into gear. We don't like these tests telling us what our students need--but when they don't tell us what our students need (ie, they are not specific enough and we must reflect on how we've measured learning up to this point) we get pretty upset.
If we hope the assessments will give us more information than we are actually given, we can experience frustration. It might feel like an unmet expectation or failed promise. We feel this pressure to check progress and then respond, and if we think the test will tell us what needs responding to--then it doesn't--well, we can feel kinda stuck in the mud.
The truth is: we have a lot of information about what our kiddos can and cannot do (yet). We gather data all the time in our classrooms and through our relationships with the students. We can (and do) create classroom questions, activities, and assessments that help us measure progress. We don't need to act like the benchmark is the only way we can measure the progress. It simply is not true.
Read previous blog post, Do Nothing Data.
Observation Number Two: The Program is the Teacher
If I have a classroom of 30 students, and I believe my response to data should include the creation of 30 different unique learning paths--I am going to feel overwhelmed and burnt out before I even begin. This belief that every kiddo needs their own unique path is not only untrue, it is harmful (to teachers and students) and for various reasons.
Here is how I see this unfold from time to time.
When we get the details of what each individual student needs, one of the only ways we can possibly plan individualized plans for each kiddo is to stick them on a computer that manages their independent practice on those skills. It sounds nice in theory: we are getting every kiddo exactly what they need...right? We're differentiating, (that magical word) and we are responding to the data.
In practice, this differentiation looks a bit different. Some teachers ask students to complete an online practice for a minimal amount of time teach week--let's say, no more than 20 minutes in total. This may add up to 5 minutes a day--if that. This small chunk of practice seems pretty manageable and appropriate.
Other teachers rely on independent computer practice for 20-30 minutes each day, in multiple periods. Think about that: some of our students most in need of connection and group learning are experiencing the highest rates of disconnected, individualized learning.
This is where we see some students disengage, clicking through problems or examples that are often too easy for them. Other students may be compliant, but they are not all engaged. Some students shutdown--disconnect--and withdraw. A quiet classroom does not equal a thinking classroom. And a click on a computer does not always equate to the development of a skill.
Who says an individualized plan for learning is the most effective, research-based approach to begin with?
Who decided this?
I'm not suggesting that all use of technology is disengaging or ineffective. There are many thoughtful uses of technology that engage students in discovery, creation, and collaboration. Technology is a helpful tool that has the power to bring us together, and it provides accessibility for many students who need it. And, if too individualized in implementation, it also has the potential to alienate or disengage us.
When teachers are asked to utilize online programs as their primary method of intervention or responding to data, we see students working more and more in isolation with a screen rather than in community with one another.
This is a problem.
We are sold programs that promise to meet each student exactly where they are providing exactly what they need. It sounds so great in theory. Until you remember that we, as humans, aren't built to learn in isolation. We are social beings who survive through our community collaboration.
As a parent, there are times when I am eternally grateful for computer time in our house. So I fully get the appeal of a quiet classroom where students are silently working through their online practice. And if I believe they are getting exactly what they need--then I may be inclined to want them to spend more and more time on that individualized plan. Much more than a mere 20 minutes a week...
But the thing is: this isn't highly-engaging, highly-effective learning, and it is not conducive to collaboration or community building (which we desperately need).
Observation Number Three: Deficit Ideology
One of the unintended (yet very predictable) consequences of analyzing data is the tendency for some people to then develop deficit ideologies around the results. A deficit ideology is when we blame a group of people--not the system--for the perceived deficit that occurs.
When we examine student results of an assessment, and we identify students who need more support--we can either reflect on our systems (curriculum, lesson design, learning environment, instructional practices, access to minutes, etc.) and seek to change those--or we can blame the students and their families.
Deficit ideology creeps in when we see the people who need more support as the ones who have the problem. And then we other those students or their families (whether we realize that we do it or not).
When creating differentiated groups in response to data, there is a tendency to then cluster students with similar skills' needs all together. Again, that makes sense because then we can create targeted learning activities that provide more practice on identified skills.
And, given the tendency for some people to fall into deficit ideology--we need to actively work to demolish (or prevent) these beliefs as they may present themselves. Again, by overly segregating our students, some people will bring negative bias and belief to groups of students who need more support.
We must fight against this way of thinking. We'd never socially accept the idea that doctors can be shameful or critical of a patient who needs more medical attention--and the same must be true in our schools.
Of course we have students who haven't yet mastered whatever skill we are measuring. That's the purpose of school--to provide students the opportunities to learn these said skills. If they already know it all, then what would be the point of our profession?
When Students Learn Together
Whether we're planning for Tier I or Tier II, core instruction or WIN (What I Need), our regular block or intervention time--we need to create situations where students are working together daily.
Students need opportunities to think, write, process and share. They need opportunities to read together, annotate together, plan together and work problems together. Students need opportunities to listen to one another and to speak to one another, as well.
We all want to know we belong, and our children are no different. It's much easier to see and hear that I belong through working with my classmates than it is through working independently through an online path on my computer. To whom do I belong when I work through that path? With whom am I learning?
Through the PLC process, we eventually ask:
What additional supports or scaffolds will we provide? and
What will we do to enrich the learning of others?
I continue to see one response that provides an answer to both of these questions:
Teach the students to learn and work together.
As an adult, there are definitely times when yes, I turn to technology and Google and Youtube for pieces of information. I do some quick research to see what information I can find to solve my problem and acquire more skills. I use the internet and the community of learners there to help me move forward on my own path.
But you know what else I do (and much more often?) I turn to a person who I trust. I reach out for guidance or coaching or collaboration. I ask the questions, "Do you know how to do this? Could you show me an example?" and through collaboration with a person--I learn the new skill. I listen. I observe. I formulate plans with others--and together, we learn.
As adults, we know we need to work together. We know we need to care about each other. Not later. Not next school year. Right now. We need to work and care together right now.
It doesn't stop with us. We also want our students to work together and to care about each other. They can do this. They want to do this. When given the chance--our children show empathy, compassion, and problem-solving skills, together.
We're gathering all of this data...and I think it's telling us something pretty profound:
If we'd simply give our children the opportunities to learn and reflect and respond together--not apart--we'd all be a lot better off.
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