I've grown to enjoy the Pen Pal Networks and I like the concept of growing my PLN. However, there are moments when I don't feel that I belong in here. By that I mean, I feel that I am a guest who snuck in the back door and people are too polite to tell me that I should probably avoid taboo subjects and limit how often I take a sip of the punch.
If a PLN is a party, though, it begins to feel as if it's a party for pencils. In other words, people are spending their time on the pen pal networks writing about how great paper is and how it will revolutionize the education world. People swap stories of how amazing stationary days have been at school and wonder what it would look like if each child had a stationary in every classroom. One to one pencils.
Subgroups of stamp collectors describe all the newest methods of sending letters and gush about how wonderful our socialized postal service is. People quote Edison on the disappearing role of the teacher in an age of electricity as if enlightenment comes from a filament in a bulb rather than the development of wisdom.
Paul the pre-industrial Poet puts it this way, "It's like throwing a party at my house where the honored guest is my house."
Imagine a coffee shop where the main topic of conversation was coffee or visiting a house where the main conversation was the structural integrity of the tresses or the amazing colors of the adobe. Now imagine that this house had some really dangerous flaws and few people seemed to talk about it - the crowded capacity of the house, the floor boards where people could way too easily slip through or the fact that so many people stayed inside the house that they missed the explosion of blossoms going on outside.
I don't mean this to be a criticism of my PLN. I do the same thing. I write little notes about how slow our telegraph can be at school or how nifty our Kodaks have become in students doing storytelling. But in the process, I miss out on what is really important. My students are telling amazing stories - pictures or not. People are sending letters from all around the world and one would imagine we'd be tackling global issues of learning. Maybe hard conversations on race and unity or conflict or motivation. Perhaps tough talks on the nature of learning. Instead, much of the conversation seems to be about having conversations . . . which I suppose is what I am doing right now.
Thoreau used paper and pencils. He was a quintessential pencil geek, but he knew the dangers of industry. I wonder what he would post on a pen pal network.
note: I borrowed this concept of a party for technology from Joel Zehring
Showing posts with label pen pal networks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pen pal networks. Show all posts
why did you block my pen pal network?
"Hey, I double-checked everything ahead of time for the professional development and you know what I saw?" I ask the district Administrator of Safety and Security.
"Clearly I do not. I have no psychic powers," he responds.
"The pen pal networks are all blocked," I explain.
"Thank you for describing what I already know."
"But we need them for my professional development today."
"I assure you that it has nothing to do with your professional development. It is an issue of student safety. We decided to block all the pen pal networks."
"But a pen pal network is a valuable tool for teacher collaboration. It's part of growing a PLN."
"I don't doubt that one bit. Indeed, there is great collaboration that occurs over a pint, but I have no intention of allowing alcohol in school, either."
"Yes, but alcohol guarantees impairment. We have more control over our use of pen pal networks."
"Look, it's my job to keep kids safe. There might be sketchy people on pen pal networks. Unless every person has a background check, I'm blocking it."
"True, but there might be sketchy people who attend a band rehersal or a baseball game. Do we background check these people?"
"No, but we create gates to prevent the outside influences from harming our students. Consider this another wall for student safety."
"Look, I don't deny your intentions are good, but walls and gates designed to keep people safe end up creating a prison. Every time you lock people inside of an area, you create a ghetto. The very thing you are designing to keep people safe is what makes them feel unsafe. I say this knowing that I do the same thing with my own students."
I expect a confrontation, but instead he explains, "I'll tell you what. What you said about extracurricular activities is true. Your professional development is during your shared meeting time after school, right. So, why don't I allow access to the pen pal networks after school?" It doesn't seem like a big deal, but I realize that he is taking a risk here.
Sometimes I get into a place where I rail against system administrators and I miss the deeper reality that they have various values and demands on them as well. What often seems like illogical politics is simply a clash in values. And what I tend to forget is that I am dealing with humans who are as complicated and broken as myself and the amazing part is that the very broken people are capable of selfless acts that require sacrifice on their behalf.
"Yes, but alcohol guarantees impairment. We have more control over our use of pen pal networks."
"Look, it's my job to keep kids safe. There might be sketchy people on pen pal networks. Unless every person has a background check, I'm blocking it."
"True, but there might be sketchy people who attend a band rehersal or a baseball game. Do we background check these people?"
"No, but we create gates to prevent the outside influences from harming our students. Consider this another wall for student safety."
"Look, I don't deny your intentions are good, but walls and gates designed to keep people safe end up creating a prison. Every time you lock people inside of an area, you create a ghetto. The very thing you are designing to keep people safe is what makes them feel unsafe. I say this knowing that I do the same thing with my own students."
I expect a confrontation, but instead he explains, "I'll tell you what. What you said about extracurricular activities is true. Your professional development is during your shared meeting time after school, right. So, why don't I allow access to the pen pal networks after school?" It doesn't seem like a big deal, but I realize that he is taking a risk here.
Sometimes I get into a place where I rail against system administrators and I miss the deeper reality that they have various values and demands on them as well. What often seems like illogical politics is simply a clash in values. And what I tend to forget is that I am dealing with humans who are as complicated and broken as myself and the amazing part is that the very broken people are capable of selfless acts that require sacrifice on their behalf.
Mr. Johnson, will you be my friend?
I overheard a conversation a few days back (yes, I eavesdrop on my students) about the pen pal networks.
"I only have twenty followers," a kid says.
"It's okay. Jesus only had twelve."
"That's not true. Jesus had thousands of followers. He just had his top eight. Except it was his top twelve."
"True. So, maybe you're not Jesus. But I'm your friend and though I won't follow you around, I'll always pick you for short stop even on your worst day."
* * *
I receive a request from the insecure short stop asking if I'd be his friend. I ignore the request. Okay, that's not entirely true. I think about my own childhood and shudder. I can't imagine walking to kids' homes and seeing a list of the top eight and realizing that I don't make the cut. It would be like relational tryouts and I wouldn't have made the junior varsity popularity team. I can't imagine what it would be like, in the formative years, when I was experimenting with how to interact with others, to have this massive public network of social relationships advertising to the world that I was a loser.
Still, it's not as if I can follow the kid or friend him. For what it's worth, I'd like to keep "friend" a noun rather than a verb. Can't a friend be the last refuge of permanence in an industrial world of change? We've already lost place and we're quickly losing thing. Let's keep person.
It's just that he and I can't be friends. I can't invite him with me to the pub. I'm his teacher. He's my student. We aren't going to share stories about work or talk politics (and our shared anger at the McKinley administration for failing to deliver either hope or change in their Caravan to the Top initiative)
It's just that he and I can't be friends. I can't invite him with me to the pub. I'm his teacher. He's my student. We aren't going to share stories about work or talk politics (and our shared anger at the McKinley administration for failing to deliver either hope or change in their Caravan to the Top initiative)
A few days go by and then he stops me in class. "Why did you ignore my friend request?" he asks, calling me out on my act of passive-aggression.
"I'm sorry. You're my student and I just don't think we can be friends. Some day, when you're older, send me a friend request again, okay?"
He walks away, head hung low. He'll understand, right?
* * *
When I tell Mr. Brown, his answer surprises me. "I would have accepted his invitation. I know there is a difference in age and I am concerned with the graying of adulthood and childhood in our country. Though, to be quite honest, we still have kids working in the factories. I just think that the last person a kid wants to have reject him is his teacher. Socially awkward short stop boy looks up to you."
"What about his parents?"
"I would have become their friends, too. I would have explained it all to them and talked about his need for a mentor."
So, I'm left perplexed. I set up rigid rules for social engagement and they seem to make sense to me. They are set up to protect myself from rumors. But in my goal to be safe, I've unintentionally crushed a kid.
reflections on joining a pen pal network
So, I added myself to the Pen Pal network and I have found the following things to be true:
- My friends and family mostly send messages about make believe games where they pretend to run a farm or move through a sorority. Note to self: the only thing lamer than being on a farm is pretending to be a farmer on a pen pal network.
- No one told me that people would write personal notes on my wall. What disturbs me, though, is a friend who "tagged" a photo of me. He used some kind of adhesive and now it is permanently on my wall. Not sure I want a photo of me at the Haymarket Square riot will look good in front of the school board. I never thought in advance the reality that the vapor-self, the ever-evolving imago would be amplified. I feel a bit like a celebrity.
- It's like a staff lounge without the bickering, gossip and complaining about children. We share ideas, pass notes and actually talk about teaching. It's like professional development, but without the annoying Edison Projector or the Kodak reps trying to convince me that their cameras will turn my children into geniuses.
- There is a pecking order to #3. For all the talk of democracy and horizontal collaboration, there are gatekeepers who open up the world for new guys like me. This isn't bad, either. They are sort of pencil mentors in a way. Still, it has a darker side when people jockey for Eduplogger votes. It's a bit of a pissing match, really. But on that note . . . please vote for me.
- Social networks dehumanize and humanize simultaneously. We play games of pretend. We craft identities. We use the plural first person instead of saying "I." But we also connect and play and interact. I feel more authentic and more artificial every time I pass along a pen pal note.
- Stuff is permanent. I can always say to a person, "that's not what I said," and if I look sincere enough, it works. But once people resend a note I sent, I'm screwed. I thought I had sent out a private note to a history teacher, "Garfield was a crappy president anyway. So, he got shot? Will anyone remember him in a hundred years?" Now my parents (who were big Garfield fans) think I'm evil.
- People like to repeat one another often. It's a bit like going to a party and hearing Gertrude say, "Josiah said something totally witty. He said . . . " and then you run into another person that says, "So, Gertrude told me that Josiah said this really funny thing . . ." I'm sure Josiah feels pretty good, but after awhile I'm ready for something new.
Isn't All Media Social?
Paul the Pre-industrial Poet tells me that I need to get onto a popular Pen Pal Network. He's an "early adopter," who tends to find technology quickly, explore it rapidly and then decide if he wants to keep it or dump it.
I tell him that he treats technology like an uncouth bacehlor who hasn't discovered the joy of marriage. He says, "More like speed-dating, but you're right . . . No, I don't like your metaphor at all. I use technology, but it's because I don't want it to use me. I don't want to be married to a medium and forget about my real wife. Let's avoid human metaphors. The more we human the machine, the more we dehumanize ourselves."
"So, why should I join the pen pal network?"
"You need to be part of my PLN. It's how I connect with other educators."
"Can't you just connect over a pint?"
"Does it have to be either/or?"
"I just don't see the big deal in using a pen pal network. I can't see the value in sending trite little messages to people on my free time."
"So, if something is short, it's trite? What about parables and poetry and proverbs?" Paul is quite fond of alliteration.
"I just don't see what the big deal is."
"It's a social medium. You connect with people constantly and share ideas and resources and, on a good day, you share a part of yourself."
"Every medium is social. I keep hearing this term 'social media,' but a letter is social. I send postcards all the time. Last time I checked, that's social. It just seems to be a ton of hype."
"You might be right, Tom. But the only thing worse than creating unnecessary hype is the snobbery of avoiding a medium simply because people are excited about it."
I tell him that he treats technology like an uncouth bacehlor who hasn't discovered the joy of marriage. He says, "More like speed-dating, but you're right . . . No, I don't like your metaphor at all. I use technology, but it's because I don't want it to use me. I don't want to be married to a medium and forget about my real wife. Let's avoid human metaphors. The more we human the machine, the more we dehumanize ourselves."
"So, why should I join the pen pal network?"
"You need to be part of my PLN. It's how I connect with other educators."
"Can't you just connect over a pint?"
"Does it have to be either/or?"
"I just don't see the big deal in using a pen pal network. I can't see the value in sending trite little messages to people on my free time."
"So, if something is short, it's trite? What about parables and poetry and proverbs?" Paul is quite fond of alliteration.
"I just don't see what the big deal is."
"It's a social medium. You connect with people constantly and share ideas and resources and, on a good day, you share a part of yourself."
"Every medium is social. I keep hearing this term 'social media,' but a letter is social. I send postcards all the time. Last time I checked, that's social. It just seems to be a ton of hype."
"You might be right, Tom. But the only thing worse than creating unnecessary hype is the snobbery of avoiding a medium simply because people are excited about it."
what they never warn you about
Before beginning our second week of a one-to-one pencil to student unit, I explain to them that they will need to create some documents. I assume the skills will transfer over from the students' use of Pen Pal networks and plogs.
"Here's how it works. When you are done with your document, write your name at the top and then save it inside of your folder."
Pretty simple, right? Students of the Pencil Native generation should understand this without my explicit directions.
So, I am surprised the next day when students can't find their documents.
One girls says, "I set it in a folder and wrote the name on the folder."
"Did it already have a name on the folder?"
"Yeah, but I thought it was like a slate, where we change names when we change slates."
Not a problem. I pull papers out and pass them out, but I quickly run into a stack of nine papers that are untitled. I have a hunch that this is simply adolescent immaturity. Some day when students have papers beginning in kindergarten, they will still forget to write their names at the top.
Two students have no papers at all.
"Where did you put yours?" I ask one girl.
"I left it on the desk top."
"Then it was probably put in the trash," I explain.
"Uh oh," a boy interrupts. "So that metal bin is a trash can."
"Why?"
"I put my document in there."
"Didn't you read the word 'trash can' on the side?"
He shakes his head sheepishly. "Can I go get it back?"
"The custodian emptied the trash yesterday."
The boy next to him explains, "I erased it. I forgot that it wasn't like a slate."
Mrs. Jackson enters the room in the midst of the chaos and I say, "I'm done. I'm done with papers and pencils and folders and kids setting papers in the trash. I'm done with pencil sharpeners that leave dust on the ground and . . . "
"I'm not a fan of pencils. You know that. However, where else are they going to learn some of these basics? Yes, students are advanced, but they miss some of these small skills about organizing their papers or writing their names or setting them in folders. I don't recommend wasting class time teaching this, but if they learn some of these pencils skills, then isn't that just a bonus of a great education?"
"I guess that's true."
"Besides, when they used slates, didn't they erase the boards before you had read them? Didn't they bang erasers together sometimes? It's a part of being a kid."
I think back to the PIE (Pencil Integrated Education) Conference I attended last year. The presenters spoke eloquently about each medium and how students would use it for amazing projects. While I do not deny the power of pencils, there was an element missing from the discussion. No one seemed to recognize the developmental level of sixth graders. What I mean is that no one reminded me that kids will do some illogical, confusing things simply because they are kids.
Mrs. Jackson leaves the room with this reminder, "If pencil literacy is like true literacy, you need to give your students permission to make big mistakes. My son is four and barely recognizes letters. A few times he's even torn a page or two out of a book. But my hope is he'll grow into it and eventually love reading."
"Here's how it works. When you are done with your document, write your name at the top and then save it inside of your folder."
Pretty simple, right? Students of the Pencil Native generation should understand this without my explicit directions.
So, I am surprised the next day when students can't find their documents.
One girls says, "I set it in a folder and wrote the name on the folder."
"Did it already have a name on the folder?"
"Yeah, but I thought it was like a slate, where we change names when we change slates."
Not a problem. I pull papers out and pass them out, but I quickly run into a stack of nine papers that are untitled. I have a hunch that this is simply adolescent immaturity. Some day when students have papers beginning in kindergarten, they will still forget to write their names at the top.
Two students have no papers at all.
"Where did you put yours?" I ask one girl.
"I left it on the desk top."
"Then it was probably put in the trash," I explain.
"Uh oh," a boy interrupts. "So that metal bin is a trash can."
"Why?"
"I put my document in there."
"Didn't you read the word 'trash can' on the side?"
He shakes his head sheepishly. "Can I go get it back?"
"The custodian emptied the trash yesterday."
The boy next to him explains, "I erased it. I forgot that it wasn't like a slate."
Mrs. Jackson enters the room in the midst of the chaos and I say, "I'm done. I'm done with papers and pencils and folders and kids setting papers in the trash. I'm done with pencil sharpeners that leave dust on the ground and . . . "
"I'm not a fan of pencils. You know that. However, where else are they going to learn some of these basics? Yes, students are advanced, but they miss some of these small skills about organizing their papers or writing their names or setting them in folders. I don't recommend wasting class time teaching this, but if they learn some of these pencils skills, then isn't that just a bonus of a great education?"
"I guess that's true."
"Besides, when they used slates, didn't they erase the boards before you had read them? Didn't they bang erasers together sometimes? It's a part of being a kid."
I think back to the PIE (Pencil Integrated Education) Conference I attended last year. The presenters spoke eloquently about each medium and how students would use it for amazing projects. While I do not deny the power of pencils, there was an element missing from the discussion. No one seemed to recognize the developmental level of sixth graders. What I mean is that no one reminded me that kids will do some illogical, confusing things simply because they are kids.
Mrs. Jackson leaves the room with this reminder, "If pencil literacy is like true literacy, you need to give your students permission to make big mistakes. My son is four and barely recognizes letters. A few times he's even torn a page or two out of a book. But my hope is he'll grow into it and eventually love reading."
lamenting the loss of nouns
People. Place. Things. Dirt on a bad day. Soil on a good day. I used to play in the mud and dig in the cold, hard clay. It was red and wild and on the eve of winter, when death began to creep into our small southwestern town, the sky would turn crimson and we'd be baptized in color.
Trains cut through the land leaving steel spikes. Machinery. Motion. Smoke stack skies of factories and railway stations, baptizing us in soot. On horseback, I can see the land. On train, I can see the whole country and never see the land. We become vapor. John Henry might have won the battle, but the machine is eternal.
I pull out a pencil and it's portable. I never dip it in ink. I never feel the slight variations in the fluid movement of a feather. Cold, hard, mechanical (if I have enough money and even on a teacher salary, I do). A neighbor said the pencil is "the best thing since sliced bread." I told my wife that our family would knead bread together, if nothing else, at least to feel the sticky dough and to toss the flour and to watch the yeast rise slowly. When it was hot, I sliced it myself just to remind myself that "the most convenient" doesn't mean "the best."
In the pencil world, we have programs to help my writing flow smoother. Nong, Bang, Goggle, Zobo (a whole toolbox with that one - arrives on a train). When I flip through the binder, I used to say "searching through the tabs," but now I just say, "Goggle it," and I wonder if they are like beer goggles - causing me to miss the earthy reality of life. I don't send mail anymore. I simply mail it. I don't send a message on my penpal network. I simply message it.
Eventually, the English language will be reduced to onamonapea and all nouns will be verbs and we'll wake up some day a century from now wondering what happened to our sense of space and place and identity.
Trains cut through the land leaving steel spikes. Machinery. Motion. Smoke stack skies of factories and railway stations, baptizing us in soot. On horseback, I can see the land. On train, I can see the whole country and never see the land. We become vapor. John Henry might have won the battle, but the machine is eternal.
I pull out a pencil and it's portable. I never dip it in ink. I never feel the slight variations in the fluid movement of a feather. Cold, hard, mechanical (if I have enough money and even on a teacher salary, I do). A neighbor said the pencil is "the best thing since sliced bread." I told my wife that our family would knead bread together, if nothing else, at least to feel the sticky dough and to toss the flour and to watch the yeast rise slowly. When it was hot, I sliced it myself just to remind myself that "the most convenient" doesn't mean "the best."
In the pencil world, we have programs to help my writing flow smoother. Nong, Bang, Goggle, Zobo (a whole toolbox with that one - arrives on a train). When I flip through the binder, I used to say "searching through the tabs," but now I just say, "Goggle it," and I wonder if they are like beer goggles - causing me to miss the earthy reality of life. I don't send mail anymore. I simply mail it. I don't send a message on my penpal network. I simply message it.
Eventually, the English language will be reduced to onamonapea and all nouns will be verbs and we'll wake up some day a century from now wondering what happened to our sense of space and place and identity.
Why Nong Went Wrong
The parent from the Temperance Society walks up to me and explains, "We're not keeping this under wraps. I called a socially conservative newspaper and they're running a story on this. It should hit the evening papers in a few hours."
"Okay, well I'm really sorry. I knew there were ads, but I had no idea one would involve alcohol."
"I need school to be a safe place for my child. I expect that." On some level, I get it. I would be angry about my daughter seeing ads for peep shows (which, fortunately Nong blocked) or even for burlesque dancers. Yet, learning is dangerous and the world is not all velvet and lace.
The principal explains, "We understand your concern. We'll re-examine our policy about allowing ad-generated content."
"I'm worried about this pencil stuff. I got a set of colored pencils and some paper for my son. I thought he'd use it to learn. He joined this pen pal network and apparently he's writing letters to members of the Mafia."
"It's a game. Just like the farm and sorority game." I explain.
"So, he's not thinking of joining a sorority either?"
"No."
"Glad we got the gender confusion out of the way. Still, I'm worried about exposing my son to the world so quickly and so young."
"I'm worried about this pencil stuff. I got a set of colored pencils and some paper for my son. I thought he'd use it to learn. He joined this pen pal network and apparently he's writing letters to members of the Mafia."
"It's a game. Just like the farm and sorority game." I explain.
"So, he's not thinking of joining a sorority either?"
"No."
"Glad we got the gender confusion out of the way. Still, I'm worried about exposing my son to the world so quickly and so young."
"Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a newspaper with you right now?" I ask her. She hands me one.
"Let's see, the lifestyle section. Look, an ad about meeting local singles. I'll check the sports section. Hey there's an ad for beer. Oh, and one for gin. And, if I'm not mistaken the Knickerbockers are playing in a stadium with beer advertisements. This is a real problem, considering your son idolizes athletes. What do you do to keep your child away from the paper."
"Oh, I don't censor it. I mean, I want him to read. Sometimes we even read the paper as a family." The reality hits her and she moves from anger to embarrassment and she buries her face in her hands.
I've won, or so it seems. Until she cries. Not simple tears, but huge sobs. She tells the story of her father being abusive when he was drunk and her former husband who would throw bottles at the kids when he had a few too many. Apparently, she left her entire life behind and moved to the city where she often sees drunk factory workers exposing her daughter to a grown-up world and she wonders if the biggest danger isn't alcohol, but the fact that one of her children has to work 50 hours a week for them to survive.
Sometimes I get so focussed on pencil integration that I miss the deeper social reality that exists on a daily basis. Sure, they can block field trips and even try and keep us in a Pencil Island, but every child brings in a story and as a teacher, I have to make snap judgements based upon a sense of ethics that we may not all share. We bring in our own stories and often those stories clash and we fight to retain our voice and our character and a common setting.
The story never hits the evening papers. Either it had been a lie or something had changed. The problem with stories is that they're incomplete.
The Nong Network
Nong essentially networks together various social tools all within the confines of my classroom. I saw it at last years PIE Conference and decided to order it for the Pencil Lab. Our Pencil Teacher was angry at first, worried that I would load Nong onto all of the desk tops. I explained to him that Nong was designed to be portable and kids would bring their supplies into the lab instead. Incidentally, I find it strange that we use the term lab, which has a connotation of exploration and critical thinking, to describe a place where desks are in rows.
When I explained the concept to the class, a student said, "I'm Nong Wong, guys." They all did this squinty eye motion with their hands. Nice to know xenophobia and racism are the default humor for sixth graders in the Guilded Age. So much for progress.
The activity began well. It was essentially like the Pen Pal networks with a few extra features. At first I had to redirect students who felt the need to decorate their space with all the colored pencils. Paul the Pre-Industrial Poet asked me if that was actually a valuable learning experience.
"Perhaps in a world as black and white as slate and chalk, this is precisely what students need. Employers need creative thinkers."
Maybe Paul is right, but I doubt that employers are looking for workers who use Seymour Butts or wear name tags with bright pink letters and daisies. I reminded them that they were not writing pen pals, but learning about the Civil War.
After awhile, they caught on. A group in one corner joined a discussion zone, where they wrote their debate answers on threaded sentence strips. Note to self: remind students in the future that a discussion thread is not the place to use short-hand language. Another area involved a group writing plogs (I developed the name. It's short for pencil logs. Very clever I am) and then writing their comments in the margin. Who knew that something like a journal could become so social?
Students even began searching the free encyclopedias to defend their answers. Admittedly, I had to tell a few students that it was illegal to simply bust out scissors and cut and paste parts of the encyclopedia into their plog posts. Still, they figured it out quickly.
Teachers warned me that students might pass notes. While this was the case, I was surprised that most notes pertained to the assignment. Besides, it's not like the students stay one-hundred percent on task when doing group slate board excercises.
On some level, I felt a sense of loss, wondering if a pencil integrated format would mean I lose my role and my power and my status in the class. However, I quickly realized that I now had time to interact one on one with students, join group discussions and write my own comments on the margins of their plogs.
The next day was a nightmare. Apparently the Nong Network uses advertisements. The anti-industrial Populist in me cringes that a child's mind is being sold to marketing firms. Yet, I also see the value in learning tools. It's tricky. I tell myself it's okay to have a few ads, because there are advertisements all over the city. Yet, I would be angry at product placement in the curriculum. Could you imagine an ad with Chester Arthur selling hair care products for those massive mutton chops?
Apparently, the real issue was the content of the ads. A parent from the Temperance Movement believed her child would now become a full-scale alcoholic because of a beer ad. I'm meeting with her after school today.
When I explained the concept to the class, a student said, "I'm Nong Wong, guys." They all did this squinty eye motion with their hands. Nice to know xenophobia and racism are the default humor for sixth graders in the Guilded Age. So much for progress.
The activity began well. It was essentially like the Pen Pal networks with a few extra features. At first I had to redirect students who felt the need to decorate their space with all the colored pencils. Paul the Pre-Industrial Poet asked me if that was actually a valuable learning experience.
"Perhaps in a world as black and white as slate and chalk, this is precisely what students need. Employers need creative thinkers."
Maybe Paul is right, but I doubt that employers are looking for workers who use Seymour Butts or wear name tags with bright pink letters and daisies. I reminded them that they were not writing pen pals, but learning about the Civil War.
After awhile, they caught on. A group in one corner joined a discussion zone, where they wrote their debate answers on threaded sentence strips. Note to self: remind students in the future that a discussion thread is not the place to use short-hand language. Another area involved a group writing plogs (I developed the name. It's short for pencil logs. Very clever I am) and then writing their comments in the margin. Who knew that something like a journal could become so social?
Students even began searching the free encyclopedias to defend their answers. Admittedly, I had to tell a few students that it was illegal to simply bust out scissors and cut and paste parts of the encyclopedia into their plog posts. Still, they figured it out quickly.
Teachers warned me that students might pass notes. While this was the case, I was surprised that most notes pertained to the assignment. Besides, it's not like the students stay one-hundred percent on task when doing group slate board excercises.
On some level, I felt a sense of loss, wondering if a pencil integrated format would mean I lose my role and my power and my status in the class. However, I quickly realized that I now had time to interact one on one with students, join group discussions and write my own comments on the margins of their plogs.
The next day was a nightmare. Apparently the Nong Network uses advertisements. The anti-industrial Populist in me cringes that a child's mind is being sold to marketing firms. Yet, I also see the value in learning tools. It's tricky. I tell myself it's okay to have a few ads, because there are advertisements all over the city. Yet, I would be angry at product placement in the curriculum. Could you imagine an ad with Chester Arthur selling hair care products for those massive mutton chops?
Apparently, the real issue was the content of the ads. A parent from the Temperance Movement believed her child would now become a full-scale alcoholic because of a beer ad. I'm meeting with her after school today.
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