Think-Thank-Thunk

Boys and girls are different. We all know that. You’ll be amazed at just how different, when you begin to dig into the current research literature. The following 12 book/article annotations summarize just what I’m talking about here.
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Into educational research about motivation? The following 15 annotations may be of interest to you. I used this literature to do action research related to gender and motivation. The following annotated bibliography is related to motivation only though–not gender. If your interested at all in motivation, it’s an interesting start.
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It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask me a question. Inside I’m thinking, ‘Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’ Obviously, not.

No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I’m invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, ‘What time is it?’ I’m a satellite guide to answer, ‘What number is the Disney Channel?’ I’m a car to order, ‘Right around 5:30, please.’

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated sum a cum laude – but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She’s going; she’s going; she is gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England… Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, ‘I brought you this.’

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: ‘To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.’

In the days ahead I would read – no, devour – the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals – we have no record of their names.

These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, ‘Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.’ And the workman replied, ‘Because God sees.’

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, ‘I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.’

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, ‘My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.’ That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, ‘you’re gonna love it there.’

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right.

And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Great Job, MOM! Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know…*I just did.*

Hope this encourages you when the going gets tough as it sometimes does. We never know what our finished products will turn out to be because of our perseverance.

A couple of weekends ago a colleague of mine related to me a conversation she’d had with some elementary teachers. The topic of the conversation was a specific icebreaker game called “blanket drop.”

According to these teachers, girls are always better at this game than boys. Hands down. No contest. They went so far as to say, “Never make teams of boys against girls for this game. The girls will crush them. Every time.”

They were emphatic that this is true, but had no idea why.

Understanding my passion for the topic of sex differences, she thought I might have the answer. Indeed, if you read the literature, it won’t take long for you to find the research that supports this observation.

But still–I wanted a little proof. So I tried it in my own room. Then, I wanted a little more proof. So yesterday, in a call for data, I shot out the following email to all staff here in St. Croix Falls. If you’re reading this, and you teach, please consider taking part in my admittedly unscientific (but still totally cool and fun) research.

Here’s the email:

Hello everyone,

I’ve stumbled upon a topic that is fascinating me: brain-based gender differences.

Recent research has shown some striking differences between how boys and girls sense and interpret the world around them. I think this is so interesting that I am inspired to do a little research of my own. I’m not replicating this study, so I’m not sure what the data will show. I’ve heard some pretty remarkable (undocumented) observations though–so I just thought I’d see if I might be able to back it up with some hard data.

That’s where you come in.

I started this “research” in my class today (8th grade) but I’m realizing my data set is way too small to be confident about my results. I also have some suspicions that age may play a factor.

So if you’re willing sometime, I would love if you would play this game in your class and keep track of the results. Many of you have probably played this in the past.

Blanket Drop (estimated time: 5-10 minutes). Here’s how:

1. Divide your class into two teams–boys vs girls.
2. Have two people hold up a blanket and have the teams stand or sit (sitting worked better for 8th graders) on each side of it so that they can’t see the other team.
3. Have one person from each team sit in a chair in front of their side of the blanket.
4. The two people holding the blanket, drop it (I found on a count of 3 works well).
5. The first to say the other person’s name wins a point for their team.
6. Keep a tally and email me your results. First team to 10 works well, but run it however you like. I just want the tally.

I’ve heard that, at least at the elementary level, girls are much (again undocumented) better at this than boys. I’d like to prove that out.

My limited results today show girls are somewhat better in 8th grade. Girls won 36 times. Boys won 25.

I would greatly appreciate if you could find the time to play this game with your students and record your results sometime before the end of the year. Like I said, I am very curious to see if results change as students age, so I’m encouraging everyone to participate. This is NOT an official action research project, just something I’m curious about. Maybe now you are too.

One thing that might also be interesting (though it didn’t occur to me to record this until we were done) would be if you would also keep track of ties. My 8th graders had a lot of ties. I’m thinking the number of ties might also correlate with age. But again, I really have no idea.

I will share our collaborated results in a weekly email as I get additional data.

Thank you in advance for considering to take part in my little experiment!

Chris

P.S. I have a blanket you can borrow if you need one.

If you’re still reading, I’d love to hear from you. Please try this game in your own room and share your results in a comment below. Or maybe you’ve had some other interesting experiences that illustrate (perhaps unexpected) differences between the sexes.

One moment, you’re snacking peacefully on toast with peanut butter, the next, all hell breaks loose when a wasp starts dive-bombing random targets around the room.

The toast? Fuggetaboutit. One eye’s on the wasp, the other, frantically scanning for potential weapons–a fly swatter, a magazine, a shoe, a flame-thrower.

For the briefest of moments, you consider that toxic bug spray in the closet. Then you spot it. Sitting on the coffee table, not three feet away, is Al Gore’s, An Inconvenient Truth. The weapon of choice for desperate wasp killers.

Perfect.

You grab it, crouch, and do your best “harmless furniture” imitation, trying your best to blend in to your environment so as not to arouse suspicion. For a moment, the wasp hovers near the blades of a ceiling fan. Next, it bobs and weaves toward the wall. For what seems an eternity, it darts around a window. Maybe it dives at an armchair.

Adrenalin laced thoughts bounce around your skull.

Why can’t it just land and make it easy for me.

If it lands on the curtains, will I be able to squish it between the book and the wall?

Do wasp guts stain?

Maybe I should take a swing at it in mid-air.

Maybe, though, I’d just make it mad.

If I make it mad, will it fly down the front of my shirt, sting me mercilessly, then crawl up my neck and into my ear?

I wonder how that teacher dude in Karate Kid picked off that fly with a pair of chopsticks.

I wish I was him right now.

Meanwhile, pretending not to see you, the wasp bounces nonchalantly against the ceiling.

Suddenly it dives right at you, causing you to flail your arms and make panicky grunting noises.

The wasp, chuckling with satisfaction, glides back up to the ceiling fan, lands on one of the lights, turns, and appears to give you an obscene gesture.

What are you going to do? Trash a perfectly good light fixture? Even if you did take a swing, the bugger’s protected by the other lights, fan blades, and curved nature of the glass around the bulb.

And now you begin to grasp the reality of the situation: You could be at this all night.

Curses. Bloody Red Barron.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. And today I make my revenge by revealing an ancient technique I learned while studying in the orient. The same one I used on that actual unsuspecting wasp in the picture above.

Warning: the following pictures are of a graphic and violent act perpetrated against a real wasp that actually flipped me the bird.

Follow these steps exactly–there is no room for error. Failure to do so could result in death by wasp sting to the inner ear.

1. Quickly find a scissors.
2. Sneak up behind the wasp.
3. Using one fluid motion, thrust the scissors forward, snip, and slice the son-of-a-(insert bad word here) in two.

Usually all that’s left after that is to pick up the pieces. The only tricky part is getting close enough with your opened scissors before it takes flight. As risky as this seems, most wasps are so blinded by arrogance they never suspect any trouble. It’s not their experience that men, sneaking around light fixtures with toast crumbs on their face, are actually highly trained killing machines.

While I’ve never actually been stung doing this, you should know, while very slick, this technique is not completely foolproof.

Take tonight for instance.

After the wasp landed in the ceiling fan, I looked around for a scissors–but the only one I could find was one of those plastic-child-not-really-sharp-ones. Still, I didn’t think it would make a difference.

Maybe it didn’t. Maybe I just missed my mark. But what happened next wasn’t exactly by the book. Instead of cutting it in two, I somehow managed to only pinch its antennae between the tip of the scissor blades.

Don’t ask me how. It’s never happened before. In fact, I later called the office of Strange But Totally Cool Ways to Kill Dangerous Insects and they told me that the odds of this happening are actually like a bazillion to one.

Anyway, after having my daughter take a picture. I found another scissors in an old Swiss Army Knife and took care of business.

So, domestic men of the world, rejoice. No longer are we at mercy of this dangerous menace.

Just remember to wipe the food off your face when you’re done.

Teasing: The stress

I came home from work tonight to learn that my eight-year-old daughter has been keeping something from us.

She’s getting teased.

Thankfully it only started yesterday. But that’s two days now she’s had to endure it. I feel bad for the kid–kind of. Because tonight, after some discussion and role-playing, I think we gave her some tools that should help.

Now I kind of feel sorry for those who are going to tease her.

And actually I’m thankful this happened because the whole experience could really set a firm cornerstone in her personal development.

Here’s the story. A couple of days ago, Emma (7 years old and in 3rd grade) told a friend that she liked a boy. Now, obviously, I wasn’t there so I didn’t hear the context, but from what I know of “the boy,”— heck, I like him too.

He’s even been over to our house a couple of times. He’s nice, he’s funny, he’s polite and he’s fun. He might even be a little cute. Bottom line: he’s a good kid, and I’m glad that he and Emma are friends.

Anyway, so now kids are making kissy faces, singing “Emma loves J_____”, drawing hearts on her back with their fingers and whispering his name in her ear.

This morning, in the silence following the pledge of allegiance, some boy shouts out, “EMMA LOVES J_____!” for the whole elementary school to hear. ‘Course, it’s all over after that. Kids are joking and whispering in the halls. Poking fun at the boy. The way Emma tells it, now everybody, 1-4 is totally whipped up.

And Emma’s completely humiliated.

Apparently it got so bad that Emma’s teacher had to lecture the class about the how inappropriate all this is.

Understandably, Emma hasn’t had a great last two days.

Then tonight—we had to put our dog to sleep.

Teasing: the shame

And to top it all off she’s had trouble telling us about the teasing. I think she even started doubting herself and her feelings. Were they bad feelings? Did she do or think something wrong?

In the past, as parents, we’ve joked around the topic of “boys.” Nothing big (in my mind), but apparently big enough for Emma to cause her to hesitate.

Not good.

Talk about a kid under stress.

Teasing: getting to the truth

After she let it all out to her mom, Lisa did a smart thing. In order to get a clear picture, she asked Emma (as non-threateningly, non-judgmentally as she could) about her feelings. Did she want to hold hands? Kiss?

The answer?

“No. I just like him. You know—he’s funny.”

(WHEW! Right all you dads? You know what I’m talking about.)

Teasing: the answer (at least in this case)

Great, fine—so now about this teasing. They turned to me.

“Dad,” they asked. “What can Emma do or say to make the other kids stop teasing?”

To be honest, nothing really great came to mind. I had to think for a good while. Because really, I don’t think I’ve ever thought too much about an effective countermeasure. You can try to ignore it and hope it blows over. You could tell them to “shut-up” or “grow-up” but let’s be honest—shyah . . .like that’s gonna work!

Children are, well—childish. They’re going to keep on as long as it’s interesting and fun. So I started thinking—what was so fun about it?

Well, it’s about something mysterious: “Young Love.” Something they really have no idea about but want to appear to have the upper hand in. And then it hit me. Emma had to face it head on—without the shame, or guilt or fear that is assumed to be there.

“Emma,” I said. “These kids are teasing you because they don’t know something, and that ’something’ is a little bit scary to them. But one of the coolest things in the world is a kid (especially a young girl) with unshakable confidence. So what if you just tell them that ‘Yes, you like J___ . So what?’ What would happen?”

“Well, I did say ‘So . . .’ once to a boy that was teasing me.” She said with the hint of a smile.

. . .teasers are like dogs that chase you because you’re running.

“What happened.”

“He just stopped. He didn’t know what to say.”

“That’s right,” I said, “because teasers are like dogs that chase you because you’re running. Or better yet, like a dog that barks but backs up at while he’s doing it.”

Then Lisa came up with the best comeback yet.

“Next time a boy says, ‘Emma Loves J____,’ look him square in the face and say, ‘That’s right. I love a lot of people. And you’d better watch out because you might be next.’”

I wish you could have seen the smile spread across her face. I wish you could have heard her giggling. I hope someday you can feel the relief and joy I felt when Emma said to me, as she was brushing her teeth, “I wish I would have told you guys sooner.”

(image credit)

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a king living happily with his queen and two princesses. All was well in this particular kingdom until one evening. The king was putting the final touches on some speech or declaration and was just preparing to retire to the royal bedchamber when the queen came with news.

“Our daughter, the eldest princess, has informed me that she has a lump, and it pains her.”

The king’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s worrying her,” the queen continued. “It is not like her to welcome the doctor, but tonight she’s asked me to make an appointment with the royal physician. You know–and since her nanny just passed of cancer–this lump doth make her nervous.” Read the rest of this entry »

. . .but still not as magical as the “P” word (no not “please”, the other one).

We’re in the middle of a unit on persuasion right now. I love this unit because it’s so rich–it’s a great topic from which to teach so many cool things. Yes, students learn persuasive techniques so that they can better manipulate their parents and teachers, but we also hunt for these techniques when we read sales letters and advertisements (reading standards); we search for them on the radio and TV commercials (listening standards). Writing with these techniques requires discipline, a keen understanding of audience, and attention to details (writing standards). From a Language Arts perspective, it’s good stuff–great stuff.

But it’s also a blast because we get tap into a little psychology, human behavior, and begin to think a bit about thinking.

One of the mind benders I introduce is famously known (in psychological circles anyway) as the “The Copy Machine” study, conducted by Ellen Langer, the first woman to earn tenure as a professor of psychology at Harvard.

The following is an excerpt from an article originally published in the New York Times by Philip Hilts.

In that study, she stationed someone at a copy machine in a busy graduate school office. When someone stepped up and began copying, Dr. Langer’s plant would come up to the person and interrupt, asking to butt in and make copies. The interruption was allowed fairly often, about 60 percent of the time. But the permission was granted almost 95 percent of the time if the person stepping up to interrupt not only asked, ”May I use the copy machine?” but added a reason, ”because I’m in a rush.”

That seems to make sense. People heard the reason and decided they were willing to step aside for a moment. What was odd, Dr. Langer found, was that if the interrupter asked, ”Can I use the machine?” and added a meaningless phrase, ”because I have to make copies,” the people at the machine also stepped aside nearly 95 percent of the time.

The idea, she said, is that the listener at the copy machine heard a two-part statement: a request and something like a reason. That was all their mental script for such a situation required. They never did reflect on the fact that the interrupter’s ”reason” was not meaningful.

As a teacher, I get dozens of requests an hour. Most are fairly pedestrian:

• “Can I borrow a pencil?”
• “Can I go to my locker?”
• “Can I get a drink?”
• “Can I go to the bathroom?”

Now, after we learn a few persuasive techniques, I tell the students to persuade me. After learning about the power of the word “because,” most of them use that . . .because it’s relatively simple.

And it works even better than “please”. Still, most of them forget.

“Mr. Wondra, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Persuade me,” I’ll say.

They’ll roll their eyes, sigh heavily, do a little potty dance.

“But Mr. Wondra! I REALLY have to go . . .BAD!”

I nod and smile. Eventually, they realize I’m not budging and so fumble around until they construct coherent request. After awhile they begin to do it automatically–or at least they remember after I look at them and say nothing.

I figure this is good teaching–reinforcing the content using a real world application–right? Plus I get to play the powerful-hoity-toity teacher role.

This was the case the other day. I was in the back of the room spot checking (quickly assessing) an assignment, when a fairly quite but confident a girl walked over.

“Mr. Wondra, can I go the bathroom?”

I looked up. There was a slight pause, but her expression never changed, and she never broke eye contact.

“. . .because I have my period.”

Talk about a persuasive argument. She knocked that one out of the park.

I started a Masters program this fall and have to tell you–it’s a blast. I’m learning so many cool things! Recently we were asked to revisit our “Philosophies of Education.” So I got to play around with this the other night.

I’ve mentioned stuff like this in passing before. But I’ve never formulated (and articulated) what I believe “education” is all about so emphatically.

We had some choices for presentation, and I went with a pamphlet type of thing that we could give to students or parents, which is pretty tough to recreate here, but I think you’ll get the gist.

I imagine I’ll continue to tweek it. I’ve already changed a couple of things even after turning it in last weekend. I’m just that way I guess.

Okay, enough chit-chat.

All the stats and images came from, Shift Happens, over at Slideshare.

Learning is Heroic

According to former Secretary of Education Richard Riley, the top 10 in-demand jobs in 2010 did not exist in 2004.

I believe that real, lasting and valuable teaching and learning is a creative process anchored to a framework of ideas about what is possible. We live in unique times. Technology is fueling an information explosion. This has profound implications for teaching and learning. Consider, for example, these two statistical bits from one of my favorite presentations, “Shift Happens,” originally developed by Karl Fisch:

• The U.S. Department of Labor estimates that today’s learner will have 10-14 jobs by the age of 38.
• The amount of new technical information is doubling every 2 years. For students starting a four-year technical or college degree, this means that half of what they learn in their first year of study will be outdated by their third year of study.

It’s statements like these that lead me to believe that teaching, learning, and curriculum should focus less on content, and more on the skills needed to communicate, as well as creatively and critically solve problems.

In order for this to happen, I think our entire educational landscape will have to undergo paradigm shifts that will change the very structure of what we do. We must shake the very bedrock.

Big shifts like this mean risk. They mean venturing into unknown territory. They mean adventure.

10 years ago, who could have predicted Google? Who then could even foresee the problems that search engines would solve? Today, there are over 2.7 billion searches performed on Google each month. Information is expanding and change exponential. Tomorrow’s great thinkers and leaders are today’s risk takers and problem solvers.

They are our hero’s.

I believe we desperately need a new and heroic vision in education. One that can grow and adapt at today’s rate of change. One that leads in the exploration of new ideas. One that not only reads and writes and shares and analyzes information, but that also recognizes, values and nurtures a creative spirit–the spirit of the hero, unafraid of failure, able to take a hit and recover after setbacks, reassess the terrain, learn, adapt and continue on toward victory.

Students need skills that will allow them to solve problems that don’t exist yet—true. But to do this, they will also need adventurous and creative attitudes to be able to adapt to the ever-changing landscape.

Learning has just become heroic. It’s a shift, I know. But . . .

Shift Happens.

The Hero Path
“We have not even to risk the hero’s adventure alone, for the heroes of all time have gone before us. The labyrinth is thoroughly known.
We have only to follow the thread of the hero path.
And where we had thought to find an abomination, we shall find a god.
And where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves.
Where we had thought to travel outward, we shall come to the center of our own existence.
And where we had thought to be alone, we shall be with all the world.”
—Joseph Campbell

This winter I was introduced to TED talks a collection of speeches by today’s most intelligent people. The range of topics are fascinating so I strongly encourage anyone to check it out.

Anyway, one of the first speeches I heard/saw (because you can, if you choose, just download the sound without the video as a podcast) was given in 2006 by Sir Ken Robinson. As soon as I saw it I was hooked. He’s brilliant.

Before I go any further, I should also say that in order to be brilliant in my book, you also have to be funny. For me, Robinson clicked on all cylinders.

So when I saw his speech at TED talks plugged on Spurgeonblog, one of my favorites, I conked myself on the noggin and thought, “Why didn’t I do that?”

And since I don’t think I can say it any better, Chris Spurgeon puts it this way:

For more than a year I’ve been forcing friends to watch this 20-minute presentation by creativity expert Sir Ken Robinson on what’s wrong with our educational system. Now it’s your turn. His talk (filmed at the 2006 TED Conference) is funny, profound, inspirational, inflammatory, and paradigm shifting Watch it and see if you don’t also want to throw out our K-12 and college curricula and start over.

Anyway, I was inspired enough by this speech to write this column titled “Why Stupidity is a Good Thing,” for a local paper. I should have linked to Robinson’s talk back then.

Oh well. Better late than never.