What decisions do you wish you’d made, or known to make, in your teaching practice?
Many laments at professional learning sessions begin with “why didn’t anyone tell me this before now?!” or, as I’ve said to myself many times, “how did I not know this?!” At his 2024 keynote for LitCon, Peter Johnston chuckled that the first year of teaching is filled with a perpetual feeling of incompetence! Someone sitting nearby drolly added, “Make that years!” So, truthfully, some decisions in our early years of teaching might not be actual decisions yet many of us feel regret about them nonetheless.
But thoughts on our teaching decisions that begin with “I wanted to but I didn’t… may also reside in our mind. Those thoughts often end with phrases like “… have the time” or “think my district (or principal or colleagues) would approve” or, my personal favorite, “think I was doing it right.” Sometimes we might think of these more aptly as teaching indecisions, where we procrastinate or defer making a decision until the impulse to try something passes. Or we stop trying when things don’t go as perfectly as described by the educational leaders whose practices we are trying to emulate.
Daniel Pink has thought a lot about people’s regrets. In his remarkable book, The Power of Regret: How Looking Backward Moves Us Forward, Pink describes four categories of human regret: foundation regrets, boldness regrets, moral regrets, and connection regrets. Foundation regrets are those we have when we fail to be responsible, conscientious, or prudent. Boldness regrets are about actions we didn’t take; the inaction haunts us, Pink says. Moral regrets build up when we behave badly or “compromise our belief in our own goodness.” And connection regrets “arise any time we neglect the people who help establish our own sense of wholeness.”
Many of those “coulda, woulda, shoulda” teaching regrets lie in the boldness category. Our inactions, regardless of the reason, are what trouble us. Pink, however, believes we should reconsider how we think about regrets. From his research, Pink found that, rather than hiding or ignoring our regrets, it’s best if we own them. Why? Because owning our regrets can actually make us better. Regrets, he says, can improve our decision-making, boost our performance, and deepen our sense of meaning. If we think of the feeling of regret as a catalyst for thinking and doing differently in the future, regret can move us forward.
One of my regrets as a young teacher is that I didn’t read a lot of poetry to my kids because of that feeling of incompetence Peter mentioned. I was never really sure I “got” a poem’s meaning (and I was certain there was one!) so how could I “teach” with poetry if I didn’t really understand it myself? A book called “How to Read a Poem” sat on my shelves for several years, until I finally donated it, reconciling myself to never knowing exactly the “right” way to read a poem.
Now, though, as a third grade teacher, a chance to do something differently has come along. In the class I’ve been learning alongside since early January, we read a poem every day. It’s proving to be a powerful (and delightful!) decision.
Into the Classroom
When I read a poem I first let it affect my heart.
Georgia Heard, Awakening the Heart
The third-graders and I begin our daily poetry experience gathered together on the rug, just after breakfast and attendance. Early on, as I was starting this practice, the students asked, “Are you going to read us a poem today?” but very quickly came to expect a poet’s words to launch their learning day. Initially, they responded quietly, as though they weren’t sure quite what or how to react. Soon, though, as we read funny or silly poems, especially ones about animals, shy smiles or giggles behind their hands began to emerge. Some even laughed aloud from the word-play of poet Douglas Florian. (We learned the difference between ‘giggle’, ‘chuckle’, and ‘guffaw.’) Students noticed and named for themselves the feelings the day’s poem inspired. “That poem was funny.” “That poem made me feel calm.” “That poem was kind of sad.”
As they began to realize poems can be about anything, students began to request a poem about the animals near and dear to their hearts (and, of course, I’ve been happy to oblige them). Jesslynn initiated this practice with a quiet whisper one day: “Ms, Debra, do you have a poem about wolves? I really like wolves.” Valentina requested a funny poem about bunnies for her January birthday and, a couple of days later, Aniyah proposed reading a dolphin poem. Reynaldo, on his way out the door at the end of the day on a Friday, inquired “Ms. Debra, do you have a giraffe poem?” (Each of these poetry readings begins by acknowledging the student who requested the poem.)
On Day 6 of our poetry readings, however, Mia did more than request. She found a poem herself in a nonfiction book she was reading and brought it to my attention.
Mia and two of her classmates were researching turtles as part of writing workshop and one of the books in their collection of resources was One Tiny Turtle by Nicola Davies, a lyrical story of a sea turtle’s life. The story begins with a young turtle swimming out to sea and then, decades later, the turtle returns to the same beach to lay her own eggs. Mia and her partners were entranced by Davies’ rhythmic words alongside Jane Chapman’s magnificent illustrations, talking enthusiastically about the ideas they were learning from the book.
In the midst of her turtle investigation, Mia dashed up to me and thrust One Tiny Turtle into my hands. Opened to the first pages of the book, Mia gushed, “Ms. Debra, it’s a poem! Ms. Debra, it’s a poem! See!” then proceeded to read the first lines of Davies’ glorious book to me in case I missed it:
Far, far out to sea,
land is only a memory…
“See, Ms. Debra! That’s a poem!” Mia exclaimed confidently, beaming at her own discovery of the poetic first lines in this lyrical nonfiction book. After celebrating her discovery, she and I knew this was too great to keep to ourselves. So, to close our workshop, Mia shared her brilliance with her classmates.
“My nonfiction book is like a poem,” Mia proudly told the class. “It said, Far, far out to sea, land is only a memory,” reciting the lines by heart! The class celebrated right along with Mia.
“How did you know that was a poem?” I asked.
“Because it sounds like a little rhyme and I read it again and I figured it out.”
Jacob gushed, “That’s a WOW because she can remember that poem, too!”
Yes, indeed, Jacob, that is definitely a WOW!
Teacher decisions that affect the Conditions of Learning
To see the brilliance in children necessitates intentionally designing an environment in which that brilliance can be seen. A teacher’s decisions about that environment can allow for a child’s brilliance to emerge or, tragically, diminish what its possible to see. Some of the intentional decisions that affect the Conditions of Learning and give space for the brilliance of learners like Mia and Jacob include:
· Making space and time to immerse students in authentic, meaningful texts. Surrounding students with the sounds, rhythms, cadences, and vocabulary of poetry is a gift I want to give these learners. My only comments after the reading are ‘what do you think?’ or, more often, “what do you feel?” Poet, writer, and educator Georgia Heard, in For the Good of the Earth and Sun, encourages teachers to “always immerse the kids in poetry first; have them bathe in it, splash in it…” as we begin bringing poetry into their lives.
· Celebrating their approximations. While Mia is finding her way into lyrical language, she’s showing us she has attended to the notion that some poems rhyme and that she has recognized this element in another setting. In the same LitCon keynote mentioned earlier, Peter Johnston highlighted the importance of a teacher’s talk being proleptic (yes, I had to look up this word!). Proleptic means acting “as if” something exists now that we expect to exist in the future. Acting “as if” the student is already successful supports the student to become self-directed, motivated, and agentive. A teacher’s “as if” attitude is central to the Conditions of expectation and approximation.
· Accepting and encouraging a student’s response to each other. Sharing her experience allowed Mia to be a mentor for the other students. Jacob picked up on this as he enthusiastically recognized Mia’s brilliance. This is as much a celebration as Mia’s discovery itself since strong classroom relationships are a principle of engagement. This is one example of children becoming teachers for each other in their classroom, which is something we will never regret!
Try this out
· What have you wished you could try out with your children? Perhaps it’s time and space to write every day or maybe it’s being more consistent in reading aloud to your students. What’s holding you back?
· Talk with your learning team about your desire to bring your instructional wish to life. Figuring it out together can strengthen your team and perhaps keep you from feeling alone in your endeavors.
· Don’t forget to be kind to yourself as you make changes. And, don’t forget to plan for celebrations of your own learning. (Please share your wishes, try-ons, and celebrations in the comments section so this community can learn from you!)
Thanks Debra for the inspiration. Loved reading about your daily poetry experience with third graders, including what that experience looked like and sounded like --and Mia's proud discovery of a poem in a nonfiction book. Naming and explaining the "conditions of learning" makes the teaching/learning experience explicit.