I've been using QR codes in the classroom for years. They make learning visible and three-dimensional. More importantly, when used properly, they provide a voice for students--something we really need more of in digital learning. 

Did you know that with Flipgrid, you can add QR codes to student videos?

​#AwesomeSauce

With digital learning (i.e., the 1:1 classroom) becoming more of the norm, teaching in traditional ways should start to fade into the sunset. Individualized learning, differentiation, and self-paced learning gets easier everyday. Follow these outstanding educators to learn how it's done:

• GAMIFICATION: @mrmatera  and mrmatera.com
• HYPERDOCS: @lhighfill and hyperdocs.co
• PLAYLISTS: @Catlin_Tucker and playlists
• TIC-TAC-TOE BOARDS: @shakeuplearning and interactive learning menus
• ​DIGITAL MENUS: @tommyspall and digital menus
  

My advice: Pick one strategy and get really good at it before tackling another. 

Happy New (School) Year!

Did you make your New Year's resolutions when it comes to how you're going to do things differently in your classroom this year?

Have you given any thought as to how you'll #TeachYoSelf over the course of the next nine months? So that you can keep up with the coming-at-me-like-a-fire-hose barrage of new and changing educational technology?

Maybe you haven't. And it's okay, because taking on one more task in your already overstuffed turkey of a day is daunting.

But we don't have to go it alone. Get yourself a buddy this year! 

I explain it more below:

Teacher, author, and innovator Holly Clark recently examined in her blog why some educators tend towards innovation more than others do. 

Same here.

I've been at this for four years now, and one of the things that I've found myself consistently pondering is why it's been such a struggle to find enthusiasm for the adoption of educational technology in the classroom.

Of course, it all comes down to fear (or neophobia, as Seth Godin terms it.) And in four years, here's what I've come to understand about neophobia:

We fear the unknown.
Technology is the realm of the “digital since diapers” crowd, and since we feel like we are strangers in a strange land, we tend to feel excluded. And thus, there are educators out there who reject or avoid technology all together, expelling it from their classrooms, and continuing to teach as if the technology doesn’t exist. But here's the thing, though: everything evolves. What makes education so special that it’s immune to evolution? And more importantly, why would a profession that prides itself on shaping the future be so reticent to change? We have to turn it around. We have to embrace change instead of fighting it. We owe the medical, transportation, communications, and technology industries major props for being willing to evolve. And education is the one profession that gives birth to all of those industries. It's time to change. If we fight it any longer, we'll become irrelevant. 

The inclusion (or intrusion, depending on how you look at it) of technology makes some of us feel as if we are losing control of our classrooms and students.
This makes sense when we consider how learning occurred in the pre-Internet days when the teacher held the keys to learning. However, we need to embrace a new model--that of facilitator, guide, coach--and we need to work collaboratively with our students. We can learn from them, they can learn from each other, they can learn on their own. There's no longer any need for us to be the gatekeepers to knowledge acquisition.

Technology makes some of us feel as if what we have to contribute is no longer relevant. 
Nothing could be further from the truth, in fact. The human element has been, is, and always will be a necessary part of learning. 

We feel attacked for not knowing.
We are expected to embrace the technology, and yet, very little in terms of support and structure is provided us. And so, change is painstakingly slow. “Sit and get” professional development is not conducive to long-lasting, organizational change. We need to change the model of digital learning to take into account our “digital immigrants.”

Fear sucks.

It prevents us from moving forward. Fear can paralyze us, and if we don't confront it--if we aren't willing to enter into a relationship and get to know it--then it will crush us. Ironically, the only way to banish the neophobe from our psyche is to be unafraid to confront it.

We should always remember that our goal as educators is to create lifelong learners. Let’s model what that looks like by being willing to confront our fears, to sometimes fail, but to ultimately succeed.

And isn’t that a totally awesome-sauce life lesson for our students?

Photo credit: Quotes Mixer

When Dr. Ruben Puentadura devised the SAMR model as a pathway for teachers to integrate technology into instruction, he justified its existence in the following way: “I see students taking charge of their own education. Those are classrooms where the students say…’I can see a better way of doing that!’ There is a certain excitement [and] a certain ownership of learning.” In other words, he envisioned a world (and classrooms) where the teachers and the technology would work together to create student-centric environments.

I appreciate the simplicity and step-by-step approach of the SAMR model. More importantly, I appreciate the #awesomesauce potential it promises. Truly defining 1:1 in the classroom comes down to this:

• Students taking charge of their learning (as opposed to it being teacher-supplied)
• A better way (constantly evolving)
• Excitement (excited learners are engaged learners)

These are the goals not only of the SAMR model, but of the redefinition of learning. Today’s classrooms should be teacher-bordered and not teacher-focused. Our learning environments should encourage students to individually find a better way to think, to solve, to learn, and to re-learn.

The 1:1 classroom offers that potential, for sure. But in my travels, I all too frequently see many districts or buildings or classrooms not quite hitting the mark. (I’m not getting all Judge Judy here, I promise!) I think that we all too often get stuck at the substitution level of the SAMR model when it comes to 1:1. 

And then we get comfortable staying there. 

And the next thing you know, we’re wearing sweats, we’ve abandoned makeup, the hair’s up in a messy ponytail, and we’re hanging out the couch, with pizza and Netflix now a substitute for our date night. In other words, we’ve stopped making an effort. 

​We weren’t meant to get stuck. A digital worksheet is still just a worksheet, after all.

Being 1:1 isn’t just about the technology--because the technology isn’t going to magically make students empowered and engaged. Just because every kid has a device doesn’t mean that kid is using the technology to his or her advantage. We need to keep this top-of-mind when we introduce technology into our classrooms, schools, districts: “A one to one classroom occurs at the intersection of content, pedagogy, and technology.”

When I assist teacher teams with integrating technology into their classrooms, I lay out for them the things that need to really change--and that’s first and foremost the pedagogy. We can’t continue teaching to 21st century kids as if they’re 20th century ones. With that said, when teachers and administrators ask me how they can get started going 1:1, I always ask the following questions:

Are You Willing to Change the Design of Your Classroom?
A 1:1 classroom requires flexibility for both individual and collaborative work. Are you willing to ditch the desks? Are you accepting of the idea of a space that is stripped down, inviting, and designed for collaboration? Are you willing to give up your teacher desk (or as I call it, “Fort Desk”) in favor of a have-laptop-will-travel mentality to work with students? Are you ready to make your future-ready classroom brain-friendly? Simply put, does your classroom look like your local Starbucks or the Google offices? (Okay, okay...you probably can’t make it look exactly like the Googleplex, but consider the open spaces, collaborative idea sharing areas, and inviting atmosphere.)

Are You Willing to Give Up Control--and to Be Okay with Occasional Chaos?
Are you okay with not feeding students content via lecture notes, graphic organizers, and prepackaged worksheets from Teachers Pay Teachers? Are you okay with asking them questions and then letting them explore like free-range chickens? Are you okay with not having an airtight, rigid lesson plan? Are you okay with abandoning a lesson when an opportunity for exploration presents itself? Are you okay with letting students get it wrong occasionally--make mistakes, fail, and self-correct? Are you okay with not stepping in and taking over--being the guide and not the facilitator? Are you okay with students being out of their seats? Are you okay with non-silent, working students? 

Are You Willing to Let Students Create?
Are you familiar with the revised Bloom’s Taxonomy--where creation is now the highest level of learning? Are you happy to let students show what they know instead of having them take and end-of-unit summative? Are you ready to let your students be content creators instead of content consumers? Knowing that whoever is doing the talking is doing the learning, would you be willing to let students teach something to increase their retention of material? Would you even be willing to let them write a textbook or create learning materials for their peers instead of simply recalling? Would you consider allowing students to publish to a global audience via YouTube, blogging, or the creation of a website?

Are You Willing to Give Up the One-Size-Fits All Mentality?
Can you create an assignment or activity that accommodates different types of learners? Will your learners have choice and voice in how they present their learning? (As Chris Lehmann points out, “If you assign a project and get back 30 of the exact same thing, that’s not a project. That’s a recipe.”) Would you consider different instructional delivery methods that might be self-paced? (Think HyperDocs or gamification here.)

And the biggie...

Are You Willing to Become a Flipper?
Can you get comfortable with the idea of assigning homework for classwork and classwork for homework? Can you give up lecturing and instead devise active learning experiences, problem-based learning, or peer instruction? Can you challenge yourself to deliver content outside of class that is engaging? Are you willing to let students use their mobile devices in the classroom to learn and create? 

If the answer to the majority of the questions is yes, then we are good to go, to explore, to learn, to transform, If the answer is no, well, that’s neither bad or good--it’s just the way it is and some guided  hand-holding and confidence-boosting  needs to occur. 

These are all uncomfortable questions, and it’s sometimes uncomfortable for me to ask them--and for educators to even consider them. But change doesn’t happen in our comfort zones.

Speaking of getting uncomfortable, let’s revisit that date night analogy again: Remember when things were new? You know, when we actually put forth some effort? When we shaved our legs, applied the eye shadow, curled the hair, and donned the heels? (Guys, not sure what your equivalent of date-night effort is. Don't throw shade at me.) Let's get back to putting forth the effort. It makes everyone happy.

We have to encourage ourselves and our colleagues to make the effort again, too. To not get comfortable. To ask of our current pedagogical practices, What can I do to keep this fresh?

We need to keep making the effort and we can’t stay comfortable. 

Because our 21st-century students, after all, deserve our effort.

Last week, I had the opportunity to speak with a group of middle school and high school teachers as they address what 1:1 will look like for their district. The driving question of this particular roundtable/workshop was “Why Do We Have to Change the Way We Do Things?” It’s often how I like to start when trying to change hearts and minds--by getting to the reasons that initiate the change in the first place. For me, that starts with trying to understand Generation Z. 

I posted the following question to those assembled: “In one word, how would you describe #GenZ?” Here are some of those responses:

As these results appeared on the screen in front of us, lots of laughs and a few smirks followed. I asked my audience why these answers may (or may not) have amused them:

They’re always staring at screens. I used to go out all day and play until it was dark.

They’re always taking selfies and posting them; they’re so self-obsessed.

They think they’re so tech-savvy, but they really don’t know how to use technology.

Totally soft. They wouldn’t be able to change a tire if they got stuck on the side of the road.

Pretty negative, right? I had hoped that the person who labeled GenZ as “teachable” would have spoken up, but (s)he didn't, so I’ll take on that task.

Personally, I’m a huge fan of GenZ. Like an oversized-foam-finger-fan of them. 

I'm a sucker for makeover shows: home makeovers, fashion makeovers, beauty makeovers, whatever. It's the transformation that mesmerizes me--the gift of the makeup artist to alter one's appearance, the talent of the designer to reimagine a space, the genius of a fashionista to envision the future.

Hey, we all could use an update.  

The same is true of our instruction: a little change now and then is a good idea. (You know, maybe trade in that blue eye shadow for something a little more this decade. And really, how much longer are you going to hang on to that Forenza sweater?)

Recently, I've been working with a group of teachers who've asked me to remodel their "clunkers"--or as I like to call them--the educational equivalent of MC Hammer pants. (Side note: my pal Amy Roediger calls this "remaking the worst lesson" and a terrific place to start when it comes to educational technology transformations.)

So with that said, here's this month's makeover: a 4th grade subject and predicate worksheet. 

This standard cut-and-paste worksheet from Teachers Pay Teachers doesn't do much in the way of helping fourth graders show what they know. In fact, it's a DOK Level 1 activity in that students are simply asked to arrange subjects and predicates without even having to understand what they are, as evidenced by the fact that simply knowing a sentence begins with a capital letter and ends with a period would enable you to complete this having zero knowledge of such. And did I mention it involves cutting and pasting--UGH. 

This former worksheet remade via a Google Drawing can be pushed out via Google Classroom with the following directions:

1. Drag each subject and predicate together to make a match and form complete sentences.
2. Make any punctuation and capitalization corrections. 
3. Put the sentences in order to form a short story.
4. In the space below, create your own sentence. Highlight the subject yellow and the predicate green.

Sure, it still has the arranging task to it, but notice that all punctuation has been removed. This compels students to distinguish (DOK 2), to revise (DOK 3), and to create (DOK 4). Furthermore, they're practicing necessary technology skills which so many of our kiddos need to have mastered. More importantly, students are really, truly showing what they know. 

So, let's leave the cutting to our bangs, okay? (Or maybe not. Go see a professional for that.)

I’m giving you fair warning, buttercup: this is not going to be a warm and fuzzy post. So if you’re a sensitive soul, now’s the time to turn back.

I’ve been sitting on a draft of this post for six months now, hesitating to go public for fear of offending anyone. The content that follows--to borrow from the latest in adolescent vernacular--may ”trigger” you. Or it may inspire you. Maybe it will provoke you to stop following me. Or maybe (hopefully!) it will encourage you to think. Here goes...

Last week, I was working with a teacher during her planning period, brainstorming ways to integrate a specific instructional technology tool into her curriculum. As we collaborated, her veteran partner walked in, took one look at us, and responded, “Oh, no. No more technology for me! Absolutely not.” She promptly turned on her heel and exited.

Unfortunately, this is not an uncommon reaction to my presence in a classroom or a school. While I’m often welcomed with open arms, I’m equally as often treated like Frankenstein’s monster in the village.

I’ve tried to not take it personally. In my best Stuart Smalley voice, I’ve self-talked and mentally declared my worthiness to myself when I sense a reluctant adopter’s discomfort with my presence and with what I represent to her--which is change. 

However, like Frankenstein’s monster, I believe I am (or at least my role is) frequently misunderstood. So please allow me this opportunity to clarify:  Teachers, I was not put on this earth (or in this job) to torture you, but to instead make learning more engaging and productive for your students.  

And  promise you: This is not about you. And it’s not about me, either. It’s really, really about the kiddos. My misson is to act as a translator and tour guide into the digital domain--a world in which our students already exist.  And a world in which they’d be really, really thrilled to have us join.

So when you get angry at me, or snub me, or tell me things like the following, I tend to take it, well, personally:

• “How am I expected to know this? Nobody ever taught me!”
•  “I don’t ever use my Chromebook. I hate it.”
• “Google Classroom? No, thanks. I’ve been getting along just fine without it.” 
• “I’m retiring in three years anyway, so I’m not going to learn this.”
• “Technology just isn’t my thing.”

I take it personally on behalf of our students. I'm not working against you. I hope to work with you. We’re on the same team. Just like you, I strive to challenge students, to push them, and to inspire them.

Imagine how you might react if students said the following to you:

• “I’m just going to sit here until someone teaches me how to do something.”
•  “I don’t ever use my textbook. I hate it.”
• “My class notes? No. I’ve been getting along just fine without them.” 
• “I’m graduating in three years anyway, so I’m not going to learn this.”
• “Reading just isn’t my thing.”

Listen, I get it. Change is scary. But it’s inevitable. Everything evolves. It’s that simple: every industry, every profession, every thing changes.  
When an educator summarily rejects the notion that technology is a necessary part of educating our students, when an educator absolutely refuses to improve his or her own understanding of it, and when educators treat as the enemy the people whose job it is to assist them in making the shift, I have to say--and it pains me to do so--then you’re making it about you. 

Again, I’m so very sorry if this post makes anyone uncomfortable. But maybe discomfort isn’t such a bad thing, because it’s only when we step outside our comfort zone that true change occurs. As author and speaker Brene Brown so sagely advises us, “You can choose courage or you can choose comfort, but you cannot choose both.” Of course it’s comfortable to stick with what we know and to do things the way we’ve always done them; however, it’s also incredibly courageous to venture into the unknown.

Yet, in spite of it all, I’m very grateful I get to do the work I do. Because even on my bad days, even when the villagers have chased me into the depths of the forest, I have to remind myself:

It’s not about me. It’s not about you. It’s about them.

​
This post is inspired by Alice Keeler’s May 1, 2017, keynote speech at the #ITIP2017 Ohio Google Summit: “In The Future, Cars Drive Themselves”

I saved this image about a year ago. Don’t know why, didn’t know if I was going to use it, wasn’t sure how I was going to use it, but I knew that while it specifically speaks to the revolutionary work done by both Steve Jobs and by Apple, it generally speaks to the evolutionary work we need to be doing in education.  

If you follow me or my blog, you know I’ll evangelize until I’m hoarse (or until someone throat punches me just to shut me up) about the shift that needs to occur from depositing knowledge into our learners’ heads to allowing them to acquire knowledge for themselves.

And yet…

We’re still asking questions that can be answered with a simple Google search. We’re still feeding factoids that can be found online. We’re still assessing kiddos based on their ability to memorize those factoids. 

“We need to teach,” says Google guru Alice Keeler, “like Google exists.” 

A-freakin’-men.

We need students to create. Not to memorize. 

(By the way, do you know that the synonym for “memorize” is “recollect?” Re-collect. As in collect again.)

Why are we asking students to memorize the dates of the Norman Invasion? Is that learning? We’re fooling ourselves if we think our searchable questions are original. Don’t believe me? Well, Buttercup, check out this video about PhotoMath, an app that uses your students’ smartphone camera to snap a pic of a mathematical equation worksheet--and then solves the problem and gives them the answer. If we want answers that aren’t searchable, we need to design questions that preclude that.

So, instead of treating Google like a red-headed stepchild, banning search bars from our classrooms, let’s make friends with it. Let’s keep the end-user in mind when designing instruction. I don’t care how afraid we are of the technology, we have to remember for whom we work--and that’s the kiddos. 

If Google’s in the process of design self-driving cars, how about we design self-driving learners?  If we hire a personal trainers, we don’t expect them to do the work for us (though I wish they did!). So why do we do the work--vocabulary lists, study guides, packaged lecture notes--for the students?

​Are we teaching the future?

Or are we teaching the past?

I overheard the following exchange between two junior-high students yesterday. (I wasn’t actively eavesdropping; simply trying to navigate the hallway between classes..sort of like a salmon swimming upstream.)



Student #1: Dude, I heard we have a sub for English.

Student #2: Awesome. That means we’ll have no work to do.

At that point, I was able to jump my salmon run for the upper river, but the students’ terse yet thought-provoking conversation got me thinking: what is it about a sub situation that prods kiddos to equate a substitute teacher with a free-for-all? There’s still a task to be addressed, work to be completed,  and an outcome to be achieved. It’s not like it’s a study hall or a three-ring circus or an ecstasy-infused rave, right? (Okay, I know the kids think it will be, but the amount of work on a teacher’s part that goes into prepping for a substitute is almost more work than taking the personal or professional day. Simply recalling that time I had jury duty causes me to break out into a cold sweat as I write this.)

As I tend to do, I started to overthink it. Was the comment by Student #2 a passing, not-so-serious one? Or did it speak to something greater and more problematic with the whole notion of substitution? 

In algebraic terms, substitution refers to simply putting numbers where the letters are. For example, What is x + x/5 when x = 15? If we substitute x for 15  in the equation, we arrive at the following: 15 + 15/3 = 15 + 5 = 20.

The final equation looks different, but it’s essentially the same thing--just dressed in a different costume. (Like a substitute teacher.)

If you’re lactose intolerant, you can opt for rice milk or soy milk as a substitute for dairy. The act of substitution here takes the place of another. In this instance, however--as those of us lucky to not be lactose intolerant know--no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, there’s really no substitute for from-the-cow milk, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise. I’m not denigrating the lactose-intolerant; I myself am peanut intolerant, and no amount of chocolate-covered, roasted edamame is going to be as salty and satisfying as a Snickers bar--or so I discovered the one time I ingested one. (And by the way, it was so worth it.)

As I also tend to do, I’ve now wandered off my intended path and into the woods (or out of my stream and into a tributary, if I’m still going with the salmon metaphor).  Anyway, my point here is that no matter how PC or self-delusional we choose to be, let’s face it: a substitute (whether it’s a teacher, algebra, soy, or roasted edamame) is never really quite as good as the real thing. 

Which brings me to the S in SAMR... 

If you’re unfamiliar with the acronym, I’m guessing you’ve probably spent the last five years or so trapped under a house (and in that case, you’ve got more pressing concerns than an acronym), or that it’s been on your radar and you haven’t gotten around to exploring it just yet. If that’s the case then, and before you read any further, I strongly encourage you to watch this quick and painless overview of SAMR.

Here’s the thing, though. I see a lot of us stepping onto that first rung of the ladder--the S (or substitution) level--patting ourselves on the back, and setting up camp there. In other words, we take what was once a paper worksheet and transfer it into a Google Doc. Or we exchange Google Forms for our paper quizzes. Or (and I swear I’ve seen this) we use Google Classroom to post our recycled Word Docs from last-year-at-the-same-time’s weekly homework.

There’s nothing wrong with taking that first step on the ladder. But when we stay there, either afraid to or unable to or unwilling to climb higher, then we’ve created an old classroom in a new way. 

The psychiatric definition of substitution is the "turning from an obstructed form of behavior to a different and often more primitive expression of the same tendency" [emphasis mine]. Here, the "obstructed form of behavior" is the paper version; the "same tendency" is the idea that making something digital makes it new.

While we may create digital tasks to replace the paper ones, we’re still doing old things. We’re doing them differently, sure, but we’re not doing them in a challenging or engaging manner. A digital worksheet is still just a worksheet.

We need to modify and redefine our tasks instead of substituting them, and we can do that by heeding the call of 21st-century learning: strive for creativity and collaboration. Let’s take a book report, for example. Instead of typing it into a Google Doc (substitution) and having students use Easy Bib or a thesaurus add-on in conjunction with it (augmentation), encourage them to work collaboratively in Google Slides to create a literary walk (modification). Even better: allow them to use a video tool of their choice to create a book trailer (redefinition). 

Substitution is a poor imitation of the original. (And just to be clear: I’m not book-ending this post by saying substitute teachers are a poor imitation. I’ve known some pretty amazing substitute teachers, as I’m sure you have.) When it comes to digital task design, however, we need to dump the substitute, because--and I quote--there’s really “no work to do.”

Most substitute teachers, though, aspire to something more--to have their own classrooms. And that’s how we should view the S in SAMR: it’s a good place to start; but let’s not get stuck there.

Let’s aspire to something greater.