Knowing when to ask for help

I've been very honest all along that the forms of "Making" I am comfortable with are decidedly low-tech: writing, baking, curriculum-writing--these are the things that thrill my creative genius while software and hardware leave me cold. I thought that my students' passion and expertise with technology would be enough to carry us through my incompetence, but the 3-D printer collectively stumped us.

But, no worries! One of the things I want my students to feel comfortable with is asking for help, so I got to model this behavior in order to get the 3-D printer up and running. I asked our high school technology support specialist (and 3-D printing enthusiast), Mr. Loveless,  to help us out. 

I didn't take a picture of Mr. Loveless, but this is pretty close.

Asking for help has always been hard for me, and I'm sure I'm not alone. When you ask for help, two things happen: 

1. You potentially inconvenience someone. I hate this. For example, I would much rather walk a long, circuitous route around a person in my way instead of simply asking them to excuse me and force them to move. I'm sure this reveals something interesting about my psychological make-up, but I'd rather not explore it right now.
2. Perhaps more insidious, than mere inconvenience, you have to admit you don't know how to do something. Like many precocious children, I grew up accustomed to being (or at least feeling like) the smartest person in the room. Of course the only way to maintain this status is to avoid situations in which you aren't the smartest person in the room. Not great for personal development. Also, impossible.

Because I've been teaching for more than thirteen years, I know that many of my students also are afraid of being inexpert inconveniences. This is no way to go through life because it leads to a constant cycle of avoidance! That's one of the reasons why I think the Maker Movement is so beneficial for kids--part of being a part of the Making community is getting help when you need it and providing it in turn. 

So my students and I couldn't set up the 3-D printer. Surprise! Possessing one 3-D printer for a few days didn't suddenly make us proficient through osmosis. But we knew someone who was able and, thankfully, willing to help us. And now there's a lovely plastic cat formulating as I type. 

Not knowing how to do something isn't the end of a journey, it's the beginning.

A very exciting day

We have been waiting for this moment since the first day of school. Some have been waiting for this moment since last school year when they signed up for the class.

Yes, friends, we now have a 3-D printer. 

Trying to figure it all out

I'm not sure if it's a working 3-D printer because I helped them unbox it and then told them to set it up themselves.

The first thing printed

"But what do you do?" they asked.

"I don't know!" 

"You don't know how to do anything." Harsh but accurate in this case.

"You're right. I'm just providing you with opportunities." Said in with an attitude of wisdom, not ignorance.

That's the key, right? The whole point of this class is not for a teacher to tell a bunch of kids how to do something--it's for kids to do things for themselves, to be creative. And it's not about the toys, either.

But the toys are still cool!

Maker Profile: Deus Z

Deus Z's own illustration

Since I've been writing so much about my L.I.I. students, I thought it would be fun to introduce them all to you. But to preserve their privacy and an aura of mystery, I had them all select Maker alter-egos.

Boy sure plays a mean pinball

First up is the young man who goes by Deus Z. Deus Z was actually one of the students who inspired me to create this class. He's an incredibly talented artist with an interest in graphic novels. I thought it would be so wonderful if he had a time during the school day to develop his talent and invest some time into them.

Deus Z's current project is a cardboard pinball machine. He's shown a great deal of persistence and ingenuity in making all of the components, particularly the flippers.

Deus Z says that one of his creative specialties is creating well-developed characters. He signed up for L.I.I. to focus on his creativity (although his main goal for the course right now is to just make a fun pinball machine).

When he's not making something cool, he's probably playing fantasy games.

Collaboration happening

When I first started blogging about the development of what would become LEAP Innovators and Investigators, one my biggest struggles was accepting the loss of control necessary to let (make?) this class happen. I thought I had conquered my fear of losing control, but I have realized in the past couple of weeks, how much of me was still clinging unnecessarily to my own sense of order and authority. 

The thought of 50 minutes a day, every day of the school week of free, uninterrupted and unstructured work time seemed dangerous. I decided over the summer that I would schedule "whole class" activities once or twice a week: TED Talks to discuss, routine plussing sessions. But once again, I'm having to relearn how to let go. Because I've realized that I don't need any enforced class interaction to tent-pole what's happening here. 

Working together on a Google Chrome extension

For example, the idea of the weekly structured plussing/feedback sessions? Totally unnecessary. Kids are naturally seeking out feedback and help from each other. I watch them collaborate in this organic way, just as I watch them walk in the door, grab their projects and start immediately working, and it seems like magic. I designed a system to give them wings, and they are flying. Are all of them doing the kinds of projects I had imagined? Nope. Some of them, I don't even really understand, but here's to letting go and trusting, both myself and them.

Triumph!

No profound thoughts today, no musings. Just some pictures and some good moments.

Taking apart electronics

Sewing a "plushy"

Making a video game with Scratch

Today, one of my students literally cried with happiness because she finally was able to understand a concept she had been struggling with.

Today was a good day.

Struggling

Succeeding

Good fences

As our first full week of school draws to a close, I have this line from Robert Frost's "Mending Wall" running through my head, "Good fences make good neighbors." 

As an English teacher, it is my gift and my curse to frequently think in poetry. And as I watch my LII students wade through the expectations of the course, Frost's ambiguous words seem most appropriate. In creating the course, I wanted to give students the freedom to make and play. However, as I've learned through my work with little children (particularly my own), whether or not we want to admit it, boundaries often give us the freedom to explore and grow safely.

I think many of the kids who signed up for the class were drawn in by the promise of freedom. And they are struggling with the few constraints I have in place. While they are free to make what time, equipment, and safety allow, I am requiring them to show evidence of following a design process, to take the time to set strategic goals, to reflect on their progress. I believe this is chafing to some. As Frost's speaker ponders, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall..."

At the same time, some people get imprisoned by a lack of boundaries. People who don't have organizational structures or who don't have any pressure to be intentional about goals and processes can struggle to take risks and see things through to completion. In my own personal experience, I can attest to at least three unfinished novels lurking in my Google Drive because nothing is making me finish.

As I've walked students through my project submission process and my demands for the use of a design notebook and Maker blog, I've seen the glaze frosting over their eyes and felt like a bit of a soul crusher. But, on the other hand, my intentions are for my rules to set them free from some of the challenges that have prevented them from being successful creators in the past.

I think humans have a paradoxical relationship with boundaries. We hate that they are there, but at the same time, we need them. Without them what are we aiming for, how do we have a sense of direction? How do we exceed our limitations if they don't exist?

Path of totality

Today was The Great American Eclipse, and our high school lay in the path of totality. We set aside the normal school routine and learned about and celebrated this amazing demonstration of nature's power.

I was so excited to see the eclipse today. But I am a 35-year-old woman who is self-aware enough to own the fact that she is a tremendous nerd. What would the students think? Would they be too cool, too self-conscious? Would they be awe-filled or awful?

In her essay about a total eclipse she observed in 1979, Annie Dillard describes a terrifying, mystical experience: "There was no sound. The eyes dried, the arteries drained, the lungs hushed. There was no world. We were the world’s dead people rotating and orbiting around and around, embedded in the planet’s crust, while the Earth rolled down." I wondered if I would be terrified, too, along with 2,000 of my closest teenage friends. Dillard described people screaming as totality finally occurred, unhinged by a world that seemed to have been turned upside down. Would I need to solicitously comfort a distraught sophomore?  Would a sophomore need to solicitously comfort me?

In a demonstration almost as amazing as the eclipse itself, what I encountered today was a group of adolescents who still had a sense of wonder. Kids who unashamedly gawked at the sky with their eclipse glasses and carefully hole-punched eclipse viewers. Kids who excitedly pointed out to one another the dappled light and rippling shadows.

In the minutes before totality, clouds started passing over the previously clear sky. The football field was filled with groans and then shrieks of joy as the eclipse disappeared and reappeared from their eclipse glasses. Totality occurred and another cloud covered the sun. Unable to see the corona, the kids I was sitting with gloried instead in the sunset colors all around us and a flash of lightening far in the distance.

Finally, the cloud passed, and for a few seconds, we saw it: The flat black disk of the moon encircled by the thin, shimmering white light of the sun. The students gasped and cheered. There were no screams of horror, but a few boys close to my excitedly yelled together, "Totality!"

This is what I want to remember about today. However deeply buried (and for some kids, it's very deeply buried), our students still have a sense of wonder. How powerful would it be if we could find  a way to let it show, unobscured? A space to pause, a space to play, a space to ask questions, a space to marvel, and a space to be marvelous. Totality.

Day 1

After months of planning, yesterday was the first day of the new class, LEAP Innovators and Investigators. Throughout the summer months, from time to time, I'd think about what I wanted to say on the first day to the 12 brave souls who signed up for my brainchild. All along, I've been concerned about my "impostor" status, that is someone who is decidedly uncrafty and unhandy leading a Maker/Design class. 

Students working on a bridge design challenge. Did you know that a playing
card bridge easily can hold both a biology textbook and Midnight's Children?

Yesterday, I decided to be honest.

I told them that I don't know much about electronics. I told them that my only programming experience is using Scratch. Barely. I told them that I have a sewing machine but don't even know how to turn it on. I told them that I have a lot of great ideas for our class, but I don't know how they are going to work out in practice, and we might have to make changes throughout the year.

They were surprisingly unconcerned.

As I was going through the syllabus and course requirements, they starting asking me questions about what was allowable. Can we work in groups? Yes. Can our group be the whole class? Yes. Can we continue work on a project we've already started at home. Yes. Can we one project fulfill multiple requirements? Yes.

I imagine it was liberating to hear the word yes so many times at school.  It was even more liberating to say it.

At one point, a kid asked, "Why isn't all school like this?"

To which I suggested perhaps we shall wait to see how it all turns out before we start dismantling the status quo entirely. Because I still don't know how it will turn out. I still can't be sure that I will be a good enough teacher for this class. I still can't be sure that the kids will learn what I want them to learn, the things I want to learn myself--how to be more creative, how to be more confident, how to be accountable, how to take a risk, how to fail and survive. I'm not even sure if all of them will show up again today, or if some will make a hasty beeline for their counselor this morning. 

But for right now, I'm going to trust the words of e.e. cummings in the poem "love is a place":


yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds 

Launch and birds and such

Two posts in two days because I'm all fired up.

After a lot of "reflecting," which was really just a form of procrastination, I finally have done something tangible. I made a website! Now, all of you design gurus (my husband, specifically), lower your expectations somewhat. I profess no profiency in this area--merely enthusiasm. But in a comment on a previous blog post, one of my former students asked if I had ever read Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. I think the reason why is the following passage, in which Lamott explains her title:

The home page of my website. Fancy.

"Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write. It was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my  brother's shoulder, and said, 'Bird by bird, buddy.  Just take it bird by bird.'"

I had to stop being paralyzed by the intimidating big picture and just start tackling one task at a time. Lo and behold, I actually got a lot done. So, thanks, Jackson, I've been muttering "bird by bird" to myself like a crazy person for the past couple of days, but it's been working for me.

Now onto the promised Launch: Using Design Thinking to Boost Creativity and Bring out the Maker in Every Student review. Launch was recommended to me by a friend who works in instructional technology in another school that does a lot of Project-Based Learning. I really appreciated this recommendation because up until I read Launch, I had been focused on a "Maker Space," but really, I  need to be focused on "design thinking." Design thinking is something kids can carry with them throughout life in any situation. Launch has some very practical applications. The questions and sentence stems John Spencer and A.J. Juliani provide for students to ask themselves to generate ideas are great. Similarly, they provide lesson plans and a notebook for students in the back in order to learn about the "Launch Cycle," which is their version of the design process. Spencer and Juliani have really great resources on their website, as well, and John Spencer has a fantastic blog/vlog.

All that being said, I don't know if I am going to use the Launch Cycle specifically in my class because LAUNCH is an acronym that might have too many letters for my purposes: It stands for 

• Look, Listen, and Learn
• Ask Tons of Questions
• Understand the Information
• Navigating Details
• Creating
• Highlighting and Improve the Product

I think there is a lot of overlap between the LAUN that makes separating them out into different steps confusing. But, I am going to think about it some more. My department chair, at my recommendation, ordered copies for the whole English department, so I'll have some people to bounce ideas off of soon.

Hello again...

So it's been a while since I lasted posted. In the time that has passed, I've attended the Midwest Education Technology Community Conference, learned that at least 13 kids have signed up for the class next year (!), moved into a house (generating tons of cardboard for them to work with), and read two books for inspiration and encouragement: The Nerdy Teacher Presents: Your Starter Guide to Maker Spaces by Nicholas Provenzano and LAUNCH: Using Design Thinking to Boost Creativity and Bring Out the Maker in Every Student by John Spencer and A.J. Juliani.

Although I am grateful that I had the opportunity to attend METC, it really reiterated the need for more design-oriented classes at the secondary level. Perhaps I was bad at choosing sessions, but I struggled to find content that was geared toward high school kids.

Because I am struggling to find models for what I am trying to do at the secondary level, I really appreciated Nick Provenzano's background, especially because he, too, got his start as a Language Arts teacher. He writes, "Let's get rid of the idea that Making and Makerspaces are for STEM classesor programs only. That's not the case. We need to add the "A" (for arts) to STEM and create STEAM. There is so much the "A" can bring to Makerspaces it's crazy to suggest that the "A" does not belong." Although, my Maker Space is not for my English classes, I'm glad to see this Making focus originate from a non-science source.

Provenzano also believes what I had previously learned at the Maker Faire Education Forum in New York: That although people sometimes get fixated on the cool gadgets that often come in a well-funded Maker Space (3-D printers, robots, etc.), Making is a state of mind, not stuff. He says, "Making is a way of thinking. A spirit that is larger than any gadget that can be brought into a room. Handing students paper and crayons can lead to amazing creations in a Makerspace."

Of course, he talks about the cool gadgets, too, and makes some good recommendations. I was glad to see things that I already put on my wish list, like Little Bits, Makey Makeys, and Raspberry Pis, as well as some new things to look into.

For a teacher just starting out and dabbling with the idea of a Maker Space, I think Provenzano's book would be helpful and unintimidating.

I'll review LAUNCH in my next post!

Tales from two Maker Spaces

I had the opportunity to visit gifted classrooms in the two middle schools that feed into our high school this week. Both of these schools have already embraced the use of Maker Spaces, so I wanted to learn from my colleagues as well as see what the kids coming through the program have had experience with.

The eighth graders at both schools are working on an escape room project--each of the classes are working together to design and build their room, and kids from the other school will try to escape. The different schools were in different phases of the project, so I was able to see both the planning and the building.

One of the things that stood out to me was that in the school that was building, the students were completely engaged and motivated. Even before the bell rang, they were getting out their work. They stayed on task the whole time. The teacher made suggestions occasionally, but students felt free to make their own choices. They had complete ownership of their projects and collaborated in a way that would make a professional proud.

When I was talking to the teacher at the other school, she gave me an interesting perspective. She said that she hesitates to call her classroom filled with shelves of materials a Maker Space. Calling it a Maker Space, she suggested, makes it seem special, out of the ordinary. For her, it's just what they do.

My biggest concern at this point, besides wondering if any students will sign up to take the class, is figuring out what materials to request. One big relief after talking to the middle school teachers is that they have not felt stress about materials. Much of what they use is donated by parents, and if they don't have something they want, they put it on a list to request for next year and have the students focus on what they do have. I guess it's just another element of letting go of the desire to control.

Giving up control

I had a breakthrough yesterday. No great, measurable deeds were accomplished, but I had a change in mindset that I think helps clarify things.

Hi, I'm Megan, recovering control freak.

The home of an undercover control freak

And what's really funny is that I'm an inconspicuous control freak. When I think of my colleagues in the English department, I think I come across as relatively relaxed. I don't know what I'll be teaching in my English classes on September 5th next school year (Hey, Josh!). I, sadly, am never "with it" enough to book the computer carts months (perhaps years) in advance like Rob. I'm not terrifying like Valerie (you know I love you). My work spaces at times look, quite frankly, disastrous. But, mentally, I like a place for everything and everything in its place.

This is a problem when it comes to embracing Maker education because, as I've been told, Making is messy. Making requires students to move at their own paces, to be allowed to slow down and keep trying, to do something over, to take leaps. I can't plan for that, I just have to allow it to happen.

I've been pretty hung up on how many units or projects students will be required to do, what materials they should use and when. How long each unit should last. What should we do every Monday? What about Fridays?

Yesterday, I allowed myself to let all that go. I've been so worried about nailing the Jell-O to the wall that I neglected to ask myself who the heck wants Jell-O on the darn wall in the first place. 

So now I have a plan to de-plan. I'm not going to share the plan yet because I need more time to ruminate. But for the first time since the Education Forum in October, I am more excited than apprehensive about facilitating the class next year.

Nailing Jell-O to the wall

Me, flummoxed

Trying to get a solid start to planning my Maker class has been, like my dad is known to say, "nailing Jell-O to the wall." Or herding cats. Whichever you prefer. The reason for this is largely my lack of experience in Making. Additionally, outside of engineering and "shop" classes, maker education is still mostly viewed as an elementary and middle school experience. I don't have a lot of models to draw from at the high school level.

So where to begin? During the Education Forum at the Maker Faire, I started listing units I'd like to include. My idea then, which I still think is solid, was to start the semester with several "Materials" units, during which students will be required to to choose projects that use a required element, for example a paper product or coding.

After students have explored the use of different materials, the units would then become more purpose-driven than material-driven: for example, creating a life hack or a game. Ultimately, I want to emphasize the iterative part of design and end the unit with each student improving a former project and hosting a class Maker Faire to show them off.

Here are the questions that keep my Jell-O from sticking to the wall:

• What materials and resources will I have?
• What materials and resources do I need to ask for?
• Whom should I ask?
• How long will it take to complete a project?
• Should this be something I regulate, or should students be allowed to move at their own pace.
• Would it be OK for some students to spend a semester working on a single project while some work on several?
• What do I grade?
• I do have ideas about this--I'm not concerned, really, with the products themselves since I am not teaching a particular content. So I don't know if I'll even grade the final products themselves; rather, I'll grade the process, which includes life-long learning skills that should serve my students in any context:
• Goal-setting
• Risk-taking
• Breaking tasks down into steps
• Identifying necessary materials and resources
• Using materials and resources respectfully and responsibly
• Documenting progress
• Reflection
• How to grade is not so clear. I would like to use Standards-Based Grading. But do I organize my grades by unit or by standard? What form should rubrics take?

The list of questions I have is overwhelming. So much so, that in November, I told myself that I wouldn't think about the course until "next semester." But now "next semester" is here, and I need to buckle down. In the end, although I said I don't "Make" things, I am creative, and what I love about teaching is that it's a creative profession: Planning this class is Making although the hammer, nails, and Jell-O are, so far, metaphorical. The primary reason for starting this blog was to practice what I hope to preach next year by documenting and reflecting upon the creation of a risky, but worthwhile, endeavor.

"But I don't know how to do anything"

Hoping to learn more about the Maker Movement, I applied for and received a grant from the Innovative Technology Education Fund to attend the Education Forum at the World Maker Faire in New York City. Although I was certainly a newbie among a crowd of more seasoned educators, I was inspired by the public schools who are embracing Making, such as the Albemarle County School District in Virginia, which views Making as a great equalizer across race, culture, and socio-economic class. I decided, somewhat foolheartedly, that I wanted to have a "Making Class" the following school year. I sent excited e-mails and texts to my principal and gifted director.

Me at the New York City World Maker Faire Education Forum 

But, I have to admit, I was more excited by the dream than the reality. Part of me was hoping that one of the responsible people supervising me would tell me that it wouldn't work. Because here's a little secret:

I don't know to do anything.

Not in Maker Movement terms, anyway. I don't build stuff, I don't code, I don't know how electricity works on any practical level, my spatial-reasoning skills are severely lacking. I'm an English teacher, for goodness' sakes!

To my excitement and dismay, I was met with a lot of "yeses." Yes, you can have a class period next year just for your new class. Yes, I will buy you the equipment you need. Even the engineering teacher at the high school said, Yes, you can use my classroom with the 3-D printers and one-to-one computers. (And I hadn't even asked--he volunteered!)

The part of me that loves safety and routine, which is the largest part of me, internally screamed No! I think what I really wanted to hear was, Wow, Megan, you have really great ideas. Too bad we can't make it work. Keep doing what you've been doing. You're the best.

Just like many of my students, I like to avoid opportunities for failure. I needed to take my own advice and believe that avoiding discomfort and failure means avoiding growth.

So I'm working on it. It doesn't mean that I still don't wish a little bit that something throws a wrench in the whole idea before the next school year. (By the way, I don't know how to use a wrench, either.)

What I keep reminding myself is what the panelists at the Education Forum kept reiterating: 1) Making doesn't have to super high tech or complicated and 2) Educators mostly need to create opportunities, then get out of the way. It doesn't matter if I know how to do anything. My students will.

"What's this Maker Movement everyone is talking about?"

In 2015 I attended the National Association of Gifted Children Convention in Phoenix, AZ. I filled my time attending sessions that addressed what I believed my primary needs as a high school gifted resource teacher to be: college counseling and social-emotional wellness. I ignored the slate of opportunities to learn about something called "The Maker Movement." To be honest, I didn't know what it was, and I wasn't really interested.

But then, I attended a General Session featuring Maker Extraordinaire, Joe Hudy. I was intrigued, but Making certainly didn't seem like anything I could tackle in my classroom. I lacked the space, materials, time, and skills to make it work.

A seed had been planted, though, and was encouraged to grow by the work two of my colleagues were doing in creating a Project-Based Learning English 3 class. When I really started paying attention, I saw that many of my students were hungry for an opportunity to literally be more active in school.

I dipped my toe in the water, and asked my gifted director and parent group for some Keva blocks and kits. Soon, my occasionally apathetic students in Gifted Learning Lab were scrambling to finish their homework to have time to build structures that brushed the ceiling and shooting things at each other with little trebuchets and catapults. 

Students "learning" with Keva Blocks

Not only were the kids having fun (and mystifying neighboring classrooms as structures collapsed and rained down blocks), I began to see how Making could address some of the social-emotional needs of my students, both as a means of stress relief and as a way for sometimes isolated students to engage with their peers.

I still didn't know how to make Making happen in an official and productive way, though. I still didn't really understand what it was. When the 2016-2017 school year began, I was ready to wade in a little further.