Here be monsters

In the mi(d)st of the background reading for my Masters, I stumbled across an article (http://www.livescience.com/18678-incompetent-people-ignorant.html) that suggested that the less intelligent you are, the less intelligent you realise you are and, as a result, when asked to adjudge how you have fared in a piece of work, your lack of intelligence leads you to believe that you've got everything right.  Those with a modicum of nous will recognise that they can't possibly have got everything right and so will demonstrate said knowledge by giving themselves less than full marks. 

In the dog eat dog world of primary state education, pupil voice is one of a multitude of buzzwords currently swarming in, on and around every classroom.  Involve them in the planning, the marking, the feedback, running the class, running the school and choosing the headteacher.  As a teacher I can just sit back with my feet up, dunking chocolate Hobnobs (other brands of chocolate coated oaty biscuits are available) into mugs of freshly brewed tea.

Or not.

The fact remains that however much voice we give our charges, the above appears to hold exponentially true for them ... And even for those deemed to be more able.

Self-assessment in the primary classroom - below a certain age, perhaps - is an exercise in futility.  Their naive self-belief is unfathomably brilliant but we shouldn't try and convince ourselves that it's doing anyone any favours.  If they think they've done amazing work then that's great until such time as they get feedback that underscores their entirely understandable mediocrity.  Is that of their peers any more valid?  I'd be inclined to say no; it's as unintentionally misguided as their own and similarly blind to said mediocrity.

Should we celebrate mediocrity?  Of course not but I think that there's a threat that, at times, we do.  All with the best intentions, of course: the hallowed Grail of increased self-esteem and/or confidence.  As mentioned herein -  http://www.opencolleges.edu.au/informed/features/self-efficacy-and-learning/ - monsters lurk in the shallows of well-meaning praise; the depths are a different matter entirely in this world of ever increasing accountability.

I'll continue to seek the assessment views of my class as I'm hoping that practice, on their part, makes perfect, but I'm not going to be holding my breath or basing any judgements on what they tell me.

Dig, if you will, a picture ...

Yestereve, at the tail end of a CAT session in which we had shared some good practice, sought pupil voice in the white noise of the feedback cycle and generally patted ourselves on the back for what we are doing well and skulked - like a shamefaced pooch accused of raiding the dustbin while pleading innocence despite the tinfoil blizzard that has beset the kitchen - in the face of indepth scrutiny that might reveal us for the charlatans we really are, we cast a weary eye over a chapter or two of a book in which it was mentioned that, if learning is to happen, volition and motivation need to converge.

This got me thinking ...

I've always said, somewhat facetiously, that when I was at school my teachers would try and goad me into action by suggesting that if I didn't extract my proverbial finger, I'd be lumbered with a B for my efforts.  

My silent but subconscious retort was always - contrary to that which I outwardly displayed to my concerned parents, academic tutors and anyone else with a vested interest in my education - "What's wrong with a B?"  I almost wonder whether I'd have accepted the B then in return for fewer classroom hours and less agro on the homework front.

Through every exam I ever did, up to and including my undergraduate degree, I coasted.  I did what I had to and no more.

Aged 32 I signed up to do my PGCE and there and then it was that the volition/motivation lines crossed.  I loved what I was doing, I wanted to do well.

32.

Thirty two.

I have 26 children in my class at present.  

Since qualifying as a teacher I have taught upwards of 200 primary aged children.  Some of them will undoubtedly follow the same trajectory as I did and for some it will take even longer.  Some will have peaked already and others will peak just when current assessment strategies demand that they should.

What does it all mean?  No idea.

As I said, it made me think.

Once SAMR unto the breach, dear friends.

In recent weeks, I've found myself being continuously professionally developed in Gaelic, the Outdoors and Tablets; a satisfyingly broad range of topics designed to itch the scratch that is intellectual intrigue and global fascination.

Leaving aside the glottal assault course that is Gaelic for the moment - although I feel certain I will address its idiosyncrasies at some point - the latter two appeared to overlap in ways in which I hadn't dreamed they would.

The SAMR model, should you care, identifies 4 stages in the implementation of new technology moving from Substitution through Augmentation and Modification to Redefinition (https://sites.google.com/a/msad60.org/technology-is-learning/samr-model).

I'm not going to pretend that I'm any kind of expert but it struck me during the session on outdoor learning that a similar model could be applied to the outdoors.  Simply taking the learning outside - substituting the classroom for the great outdoors - is a noble endeavour in itself but redefining the way something is taught through the opportunities afforded by the world beyond the classroom windows I something else entirely.

Exactly how to do this I am not yet in a position to explore, but I will be and I can't wait.  Anything thoughts, suggestions, ideas and the like are more than welcome either here or @alwiello ...

A return to the measuring of school efficacy?

In their most recent diktat, the DfE in their self-assumed guise of Knowledge Tsars, would appear to be deliberately poking an already irked education profession with yet another stick labelled Assessment ("Reception children to face compulsory tests from 2016").  Poking, beating, whipping, flogging, whatever you want to call it, the time in which we teachers can actually do what we're trained to do is being increasingly worn away by the relentless desire to measure: Foundation Profiles, Phonics Screenings, SATS ... by the time they're 11, our little people have been poked, prodded and measured in a manner more befitting the innumerable residents of Hungtingdon Life Sciences than the youth of the 21st Century.

But ...

The baselining proposed in the above article does, hear me out, have its merits.

If we take the DfE at their word and they do do away with KS1 SATs, if schools and progress are to be measured at all* then there needs to be something to measure against.

To my mind, any baseline test should aim to establish basic levels of knowledge - in this case, what a small person knows.

Small people know lots of things and know how to do lots of things.  Some of them know more than others and can do more than others.  Some can read, tie their shoelaces, colour in neatly, recognise their letters, count to 20, say please and thank you, dress themselves and so on.  Others are equally adept at playing with their own poop, chewing things, falling over, sticking everything in their mouths and the rest.  Baselining of each would inform us of where they are starting.

But - yes, another one, and this is perhaps the biggest of all - such a thing in no way indicates what the child is likely to achieve in their life either academically or otherwise.  It is a mark in the sand and no more.

If a child ends up leaving primary school still eating their own poop and falling over then either there are issues with the child or the school has really not done what it's meant to do.   If, however, progress has been made in any way shape or form then well done everybody.

Baselining is not and should not be a measurement against a prescribed standard; it should be a starting point against which to measure progress:  See what the children can do, celebrate it for what it is and then let them develop, grow and learn.  When they leave school (secondary, preferably, but the assessment obsession is a strong one and I can't see that happening!) see how they're doing; see if they can do what you'd expect an 11 year old to be able to do, be it a handstand or the x times table.

So how does this affect school efficacy and its measurement?  Ignore the baseline and celebrate the progress the children have made and how many of them can do what an 11-year-old (not a 13 or 16-year-old) should be able to do.

I suspect that the intentions behind the proposed assessment of small people is just that, suspect.  It would be nice to be proved wrong.

*I'm assuming here that the likelihood of schools not being measured is slim to non-existent.