I’ve been thinking a lot about how we teach technology skills to kids. More so, how much that has changed. When I think back to my first year of teaching, in a classroom with just one computer and printer, I don’t recall more than small group web quests, the occasional math game students could play, and the biggest display we had in class was an overhead projector. I blinded myself. A lot. Just me and my marker smeared hands. The next level was a 2:1 classroom with desktop computers. We created movies. We recorded podcasts. We used websites to explore and learn. We also played games to practice skills. I can remember someone popping into my public school classroom of 28 kids, all on a computer, staring at a screen, playing a game and he exclaimed, “Wow, this IS the future. They are all SO engaged.” I can also remember thinking, they are NOT engaged. I was horrified. The movies we made? That was true engagement. The research the kids did to prepare. The stories they wrote. The scripts they recorded. That was engagement and collaboration at it’s finest. Those kids, a classroom mixture of special education, gifted and talented, and some students in both categories… they taught me HOW to teach. It was the year I learned to get out of their way. The year I took a backseat in the car that they were driving… fingers gripping tightly, tires screeching at times, but their journey.
Just a few years later, or maybe more than I want to admit, the landscape of technology in the classroom has shifted. Those giant desktop computers that I couldn’t see around are now small, mobile laptops. The iPad or tablet fits in hands and allows creation to happen at numerous levels. The movie that previously took days to render now can be easily customized with fancy kid-created music and published in a heartbeat. A quick share. There’s now the ability to capture anything and everything.
Technology is portable. TV is flashier. Everything in our world moves, beeps, jumps, zaps. It’s no wonder that fidget spinners were recently born. Gifs. Videos. Clicks. Rinse. Repeat.
But there’s a new art to it all. The art of stillness. We are living in the time with the GREATEST creative potential on tiny devices in our hands and pockets. But our imagination will always be the very thing that provides the greatest potential. Slowing down, listening, thinking, and dwelling on a thought is an important skill. Iteration of a design takes time, persistence, feedback, and resilience. Clicking and tapping often doesn’t take much thought, it’s often a knee-jerk reaction. A mere fill-in-the-blank exercise. Stillness and wrestling in your mind? It forces you to be uncomfortable with your own thoughts. It also forces you to realize that you may indeed be wrong. That uncomfortableness contains all the ingredients that stoke a creative fire. It’s messier than clicking and tapping. More humbling. Far harder to clean up. But you know what? It’s necessary and far more rewarding. Deeper. There is no undo button.
Did you know the Saturn V rocket that got man to the moon did so on the technological power of a dollar store calculator? Those who made that rocket wrestled with that problem. Tried. Failed. Rose up in resilience. Literally watched unmanned crafts explode on launch pads over and over and over. All along, they practiced the art of stillness. Listening. Reflecting. Thinking. Solving. They were working without the undo button. They only had each other and lots and lots of practice.
Not every lesson will lead us to the moon, but I hope our kids can slow down and experience the stillness of deep thought. There’ll be no pop up or gif to tell them to listen. It will be up to them. Self-reliance in a world in motion. Imagination set into orbit and us along for their journey. Their small steps tomorrow might just be a giant leap for the future. And if we’re not careful, we’ll all be too busy clicking and tapping to discover it.
This post may not be a popular one and may even offend some. That is not my intention. I’m only speaking personally about what feels right for me as an educator and want to dig deeper into the topic on this recent NYTimes post. .
First of all, I get it. In the world of education, teachers are often undervalued, taken for granted, and those that take the risk to do something innovative? Prepare to take that path alone in your school or district. Schools around our country are limiting travel experiences, taking away professional development funds, and often struggle to purchase the latest and greatest devices… or even ones that work. It’s a true fact, not even an exaggeration. And I feel bad for complaining, because the schools I’ve been in, urban, suburban, and rural, still likely had more than many. I’ve worked in schools where I was not allowed to travel out of state or attend any conferences and I was always desperate to push my thinking and learn. It’s why I fell in love with edcamp and connecting online in the first place. But the atmosphere online is not what it once was.
As it turns out, teachers also have an incredible passion for their work, for their students, and will do just about anything to be sure they can provide for their students. Even when that means spending their own money or taking their own spare time to make it happen. Even when that means accepting offers and becoming a part of something bigger than your classroom or school. One minute nobody wants to hear about your new idea, the next you’re signing a non-disclosure agreement and giving input on products you use with your students. It’s easy to see why someone would be drawn in. Like a moth to a flame… we fly toward the light. Especially if we feel at all like that light will burn brighter for our students.
Imagine how things get complicated when companies make offers like, “We’ll send you to ___ conference.” or “Promote this on your blog, we’ll pay you.” Or, “Here, sell this resource you created on our site and give us 60% of your profits.” It’s not hard to understand why this is lucrative. Every company has an Ambassador program now – it’s so overdone it’s becoming the norm. I mean, as teachers we’re often excited about our ideas– like kids-on-Christmas-morning-excited. Find an audience that shares our enthusiasm? We are so in. All in. Like, completely.
You mean someone will PAY me to talk about this product? Someone will PAY me for my idea? The dark side to this? Either sell your idea, or I can guarantee you, someone else will. They’ll take it, package it, and profit. It’s happening. It makes you wonder, should I have been selling this myself? It makes you feel like you are less of an educator because you are choosing not to sell your ideas or monetize your blog. You are just you – not a brand – and you constantly have to ask yourself, is this enough? Am I making the right choice for myself? Should I be selling more of my ideas? If I do sell this, who owns it – my school or me? Should I be saying yes to that book offer? If I create resources for my classroom, who owns them? Do I need to use my own device on my own time? Should I put these posters online and sell them so I can pay for my child’s college fund? So many questions, so many complicated answers.
But there is one question that has an easy answer…
Who is truly benefitting in all of this? At first, it may seem completely that the teacher is. It may seem, on the surface like a win win. You scratch the company’s back, they’ll scratch yours. That it’s all set up to benefit learning. That these companies are “celebrating teachers” and providing a platform to “make extra money.” But, a deeper look? Businesses are. Free advertising, teachers sharing experiences at less of a cost that traditional methods of “spreading the good word” about the product? The teachers are hooked – making money and supplementing already stretched tight income, earning free things for their classrooms because they love their kids.
When I see a company offering to celebrate and empower teachers, I’m leery. We are in the midst of an era defining social media use. The advertising game is constantly evolving. The internet allows EVERYTHING to be monetized. I’ve done the class Twitter account, had experiences where my kids tweeted with an astronaut, people around the world, and built relationships with other classes from our small town. I could tell you a million great stories about the joyful experiences we’ve gained. I even met one of my very best friends because of a shared experience with a space shuttle launch.
But I can tell you, the bottom line is, I’m not a brand. I’m a person. And if I ever feel that that’s not enough, I shouldn’t be in this field. Because the truth is, it’s harder enough to become who you truly are meant to be, without trying to be a brand, too. And at the end of the day, I’m just not sure the payoff is big enough for our kids in our world. And that will always be my bottom line.
When I think back to my first year of teaching, I remember visiting forums like Proteacher and Teachers.net. I had a tiny classroom website that was full of animated gifs, way before gifs were cool and probably, admittedly, long after gifs were no longer cool. I even bought a fancy domain, BeeYourBest.com. Geeze, this makes me sound old. The site was built with Geocities which was part of Yahoo. I was also ALL about my quiet line and collected homework that year, but that’s a whole different post for another time.
I remember falling in love with the way technology allowed me to connect with others who shared my interests. I remember feeling *alone* in various schools, because typically, the person trying to do something different isn’t always welcome. It’s not popular to talk about, but it’s reality. Get a compliment from a principal in some schools and you’ll never want to walk the halls again, without getting “a look.” I was once even told I was “putting on a dog and pony show” in my classroom. If you teach creatively, you will take your share of heat. But, I could connect with others teaching creatively online and they were just as likely to help me as I was to help them. It was a beautiful thing. There were Nings. There were forums. There were chats. There were even blogs that started and the websites eventually evolved into interactive places where posts were shared, discussions were held. People’s attention span to a discussion stayed the course through disagreement, through questions, and through thinking. Through the hard parts.
Along came social media. The blog, shortened in format, became 140 characters. Instagram and Facebook became quick photo shares. It became easy to grow a huge network of other educators. Clicking ‘like’ and leaving comments. It was glorious really. Empowering to feel like you were leading others as they were leading you. You were never alone and the learning never slept. Neither did I. I remember when Twitter first started. I remember one of the first times I really connected with other classrooms. I immediately was drawn in by the power… asking questions and getting answers. Reading the tweets of others who pushed my thinking. There was this reciprocal of open sharing. The truth is, the friends I met during those early days of Twitter are deep, deep friends today. People I see in person, people I treasure as friends. The relationships built in the early sharing of Twitter were strong, real, and awesome. The power of the PLN was a real thing. “Personal Learning Network”
But the surface overshadowed it all. Personal has become more promotional. Get a like. Share it out. Retweet it. Collect followers. Recreate it and sell it (It’s happening, you know it.) Discussions aren’t as common. Companies and Kickstarters have come after MakerEd with a club, relentlessly beating the great fiber of the message out of the work done by greats like Seymour Papert. And it drains the authenticity from the pool that once was so refreshing to swim in. When you want to discuss what prototyping looks like for second graders, and someone tweets at you to buy their “new kit,” it takes the depth right out of fixing the problem. The truth is, we can’t reflect truly in just 140 characters at a time. Real growth is a slow process that will take time. So. Much. Time.
Along came edcamps and reminded me of the value of in person discussion and reminding each other of the passion and joy. But 15 or so Edcamps later, I’m left wondering… what can this model do for us in education as we continue to grow? Where does selling fit in with sharing? For sure, there are still many, many people who need to be exposed to the unconference model of edcamp. But, what’s beyond that? Could there be more?
Yes. For Sure.
So what is next? Things have continued to change. The monetization of the internet has made connecting’s purpose change for many. I’m not saying that if that’s your choice of work, it’s a bad thing. I’m just saying it’s no longer what I am looking for. My job is teaching. My heart is in a classroom, working directly with kids and teachers. I know, for a fact, unless I get an offer to go to the Moon for NASA, it is exactly where my heart will *always* be. The things that keep me awake in the middle of the night are questions I have about making learning better, making school more, improving the student experience, making sure creativity really does reign supreme in a learning environment, and taking kids and teachers to the next level… whatever that looks like, becomes, or is. The nitty-gritty of real, raw learning IS the sweet spot to me. And there is nothing that can replace it. I’m continually on a mission to rescue the eight-year-old-me that was bored in a classroom as a kid. THAT is my purpose. When I support a teacher in encouraging her kids to take risks or support kids in building a cardboard mountain, those are my “likes.”
This is probably the end of this blog. I don’t even know if anyone will read this, but the truth is, I’ve always written this for me anyway. Things I need to think about. Ideas in my head. Sharing I need to get out. But, this too has run it’s course. If I cut out all of the stuff… the Twitter chats that churn around the same ideas, the blog posts I spend time writing, the amount of time I spend reading about new ideas well before I take time to fully iterate the old ideas? The truth is, I can’t do it alone. I mean, granted, I am NOT alone in my own school and work with some great people. But there is something special about connecting with others in your specific field from OUTSIDE the perspectives and views of your own school that is a beautiful thing. It allows us to churn on the ideas we want to refresh, reform, and reinvigorate. And I still want to connect the way I have always enjoyed.
So the thought is there. A small group of teachers, in the nitty-gritty day to day of working with kids and creativity. A Slack group? Private so we can share openly, but small so we can personally get to know each other. A Google Hangout once of a month to inspire, laugh, openly share, and connect our classrooms in some projects throughout the year. At the end of the year? We find a great beach house or ranch on AirBnB for us to split the cost, fly there, and just hang out for a weekend. The last three times I’ve attended ISTE, it was the in person chatting with friends that I loved the most. Why not just cut out the trillion dollar conference expense and split a house. A Retreat to celebrate growth. It would be like an Edcamp that lasts a whole weekend. At a beach or a ranch with a great pool.
I have many questions…
- What size should a group like this be?
- How can we keep the focus on our needs? (Creativity. Kids. Learning)
- Do I go old school with a paper journal?
- How can we insure growth and push our thinking?
- Do we need a book study of the original greats in learning? Monthly themes?
I don’t have the answers. None of these ideas are new, but rather a re-prioritizing of time, tools, technology, and building relationships. This idea is still in the incubator. I’m throwing this out there to see what happens. Like a seed tossed in the wind. Maybe it will grow and something will happen. Maybe there will be blooms. As I look at what lies ahead for the school year, I hope there are blooms. I also hope there are others willing to take this journey through the weeds with me. Because the truth is, by connecting deeply, we can make ourselves, our classrooms, and each other… better together.
Or maybe I just drank too much coffee this morning.
A dose of ultimate creativity…. I visited with my family was Meow Wolf in Santa Fe, NM. A bowling alley converted to an immersive art experience. It reminded me of everything that is important to me. When you visit, you enter the House of Eternal Return, a literal house inside the building.
Once inside the house, you see a seemingly “normal” home. But moments later, you realize, this house is anything but ordinary. A fireplace leads to a mammoth skeleton. A fridge portal leads to a long hall. A sparkly blue tube inside the washing machine leads out to the treehouse. Every corner is filled with creativity, wonder, and imagination. You don’t ask why, you just enjoy it.
If you look closely, you can see my daughter climbing out of the dryer, the fireplace we all crawled into, and the chandelier that caught my eye, a bit Chihuly gone awry.
Inside the fireplace was a magical mammoth skeleton with musical bones. The colors changed and the bones could be played with a mallet. My daughter is over my shoulder, tap, tap, tapping away.
Through the fireplace portal, past the mammoth, you find the same layout as in the fish tank in the living room. Below, left, is the fishtank, and right? A lifesize walkthrough. The colorful branches were definitely one of my favorite parts.
The treehouse. Parts of it reminded me of St. Louis’s City Museum. Some of the mushrooms were musical and the leaves were laser cut paper. The lighting was magical. I can’t even really explain it. That’s how I know it was so awesome.
I never once asked “Why?” walking through the house. It was like being sucked into another world, one where imagination is the most important thing and you just accept it, are delighted by it, and moved internally in a way that you can’t describe in words. We need more of this in our world and in our schools. For sure.
More Photos from MeowWolf.
Sharing has a dark side that is rarely discussed. It comes in like Darth Vader. Breathing heavy, all gruff, and it says, “I took your work and am profiting off it it.” Then there’s Yoda, he’s all, “Share you must. Inspire others you will.” I like to live my life like Yoda. But, Vader shows up sometimes. And he’s awful.
I’ve created hundreds of graphics. On my laptop, on my phone, on paper. I share them, freely. I always felt like, when I made something, if it makes even one other teacher’s day, mission accomplished. My name or website has ALWAYS been on them. Super small, because hey, if my goal is to create things for teachers to inspire themselves on their classroom wall, the last thing I want it my gigantic name shining on their classroom wall. Pompous much? Teaching is a hard profession. It’s rewarding, and joy filled, and fantastic. But, also… hard. Society doesn’t always value teachers. School days can be rough. Our hearts can be tugged by kids we see struggling personally. The list could go on. But for anyone who has ever been a part of this tribe we call education, you get it.
Somehow, I’ve always felt that if I create something positive to share, I might be somehow making someone else’s day a little brighter. From the very start, I’ve been clear. You can print and hang anything I create in your classroom– but it must never, ever be for sale. My posters, licensed Creative Commons, Non-Derivative, Non commercial from the beginning and falling under the automatic copyright for things created after 1978.
These norms? They were written with a special class of kiddos many years ago and I turned them into poster form one summer, so the kids could see their words on the wall. They’ve been copied countless times. Not just copied like, a general idea, but copied. Word. for Word. It wasn’t the copying that really got me. It was the selling. Selling. And sold. On teacher sale sites. And when I report? It’s always the same, “Oh, I didn’t know.” or worse, “I got them somewhere else.” I’ve seen too many companies try to look the other way. I suspect because business is good and it’s easier to claim not knowing than take products down.
People will “borrow” graphics on social media, cropping out that watermark and re-sharing, and boom. The graphic seemingly belongs to the world. But the 2012 date on Flickr, with “All Rights Reserved.” Still there.
And most recently and possibly what set off this plea of epic proportions? I was in one of my favorite store’s dollar spot and they they were, the exact words. Word for word. On pencils. On posters. On sentence strips. The words I had written with my students years ago. Now for sale.
Then there’s “I Teach: What’s Your Superpower?” I’ve seen it… everywhere. At first, I thought, great, it’s inspiring others. Empowering us as teachers. But then I noticed, people are making money off it it. A lot of money. Often times when it’s copied, even the layout is kept very similar. Edutopia. Etsy. Or just Google the image… yikes. And now? A graphic that I meant to be free for teachers is being used up. Over and over.
Over the years, I’ve answered hundreds of emails from people wanting to use my graphics for tshirts, for inspirational displays in their schools. I have never said no. I’m not saying this to earn a halo or stroke my ego- my point is, the people were polite enough to ask, and doing the right thing. There are so many out there doing the RIGHT THING. My question was always simple, is this for profit?
But for all the good, Vader still comes along. Sorry About the Mess was even found for sale in my previous all time favorite craft supply store last summer. In This Classroom We Don’t Do Easy has been on teacher-made product sale sites, handmade art sites, various shops at Amazon, and was also found in that same store for sale.
People will claim that I just need to hire a lawyer, send letters. I just need to notify someone. Truth is, I’m too busy teaching to make protecting my work a full time job. And maybe that’s why it’s so out of hand. It makes me feel so petty. So taken advantage of. So disheartened about the entire online community. At some point we’ve crossed a line between sharing and profiting, and started marketing ourselves as products rather than people. It is a slippery slope down a gross trail of greed. It’s gross to me anyway. People are clammoring to market their ideas and their work and sell. sell. sell. It’s all getting worse and it’s bothering me on a bigger level than before. I want to believe the good in people. I want to keep sharing openly because I love this profession. I love learning. I love celebrating all that is good in the world. But, everyone is selling something, or worse, themselves. Even if that means borrowing others work and stamping their own watermark on it to make a buck or level up into some higher echelon of social media status.
I’ve never denied that teachers deserve the chance to share their work, even be compensated for it. Of course they do. But I ask, who is making the money off most of these stolen graphics? Big companies. Corporations. Websites. Not teachers really. Not at all. Maybe they are earning a portion, but I guarantee the companies in question are the ones raking in money off graphic searches and recreations.
If this reads like a vent. It is. If it reads as a wake up call for people to stop stealing. It is. If it reads like a plea for people to just stop being greedy, it is. Create your own things to sell, or don’t sell them. You are what the world needs anyway. Not a copy of someone else’s ideas or words.
If you’ve printed and hung a poster that I made, I hope you know this post is not about you. YOU are the reason I value creativity. It empowers us to take a message or thought from inside us and turn it into a tangible form. In Yoda speak, “Continue to create, I will.” But I’m rethinking what it means to be a connected educator and what it means to share openly. It’s a highly personal thing, releasing that message to the world. And maybe that’s exactly why it feels so awful when it’s stumbled upon, used up and tossed on a sale site or store shelf. And that’s exactly what the darkside of sharing is like. Personal.