Last Wednesday, February 6, I had the opportunity to participate in Digital Learning Day in Washington D.C. In one way or another all fifty states, nearly 25,000 teachers, and millions of students participated. I had the opportunity to be a part of a panel of four educators (here are my slides) to kick off the event at the Newseum. It was then followed up with a group of educators sharing some innovative ways in which they are engaging students, through technology, and providing more meaningful learning experiences in their various K-12 classrooms. We then all moved downstairs to the big studio for the digital town hall. All in all it was memorable experience. I was able to connect with dozens of educators from across the country, see first hand what they’re doing, and share ideas on how to improve our practice.

The days leading up to Digital Learning Day were filled with tweets and links and blog posts (many of which were retweeted by me). Along with that came the critics. There were also a few comments made the day of February 6 and some following up the days after. I believe in discourse and sharing. We all learn far more about others (and ourselves for that matter) by asking questions than by assuming answers. So I decided to ask some questions. Here is how it started…

I’m not sure if you read that entire 72+ tweet-versation that we had, but I invite you to. There were a lot of great questions asked.

And let me say this now, the point of this post isn’t to point out what ONE individual is doing, but to ask what’s the point of this so called Digital Learning Day; is it necessary; and are we asking the right more important questions about learning.

If you had a chance to look back through the tweets, you’ll see Will and Jon both ask (essentially), why have a “day” devoted to all this? They question its purpose, focus, and relation to “regular old learning.” Will continued to press. His questions were/are important. He reiterated that all teachers need to be teaching with technology. That’s a given. But why a “day” for all this?

Well, why do we give a “day” to anything? Why do we take moments in time to reflect and focus on something? My good friend Rachel told me, “Change comes from deliberate and attentive focus. And actions.” We need days like this that provide us an opportunity to refocus.

I think change comes in phases. I look at educational technology. It could be a cycle. Most everyone one starts with an infatuation for a tool or a device. They are distracted by the bright shiny object. It’s cool. It’s novel. Then that novelty begins to fade into utility. We see the tool or device as a means to an end. We begin to share with others how we are using it professionally and how we have began to implement it in our classrooms. It’s no longer bright and shiny, but covered in finger prints and smudges.

And honestly, that is where a lot of teachers stay. The tool helps them do a lot of the things they were already doing, but digitally (which is what I believe is one of Will’s concerns from our conversation). Why do we get stuck here, though? What keeps some educators from moving beyond using the technology to merely digitize our “old ways”? I think. I think it is because we don’t all have people around us asking the more important questions — this could be a segway into PLNs and all that, but I’ll spare you. We need those people. We need Wills and Jons asking, “Why?” It makes sense, but only when we begin to listen to those questions and search for answers. Hopefully light bulbs begin to turn on and we start to rethink our practices and ask ourselves what’s most important.

Then comes the next part of the cycle. We realize that it isn’t so much about teaching or the tech (which Will points out). It is about learning. The teacher shifts from worrying about how they will “deliver” a lesson to how they will provide a space in which learners can self-direct and create meaning from what they are learning. The tool is no longer seen as a means to an end, but a means to support us along the way. The process becomes our focus.

Now I may have left out a few (read: many) nuances that we go through in this cycle/process, but I think you get the idea. My point is, not all of us are at a place where we are as reflective and thoughtful about the tools. We need people asking those questions, the more important ones, along the way. We also need a place to start, however. So that is why I say we need days like Digital Learning Day. We need opportunities to see the bright shiny objects being used in more meaningful ways by teachers AND students–most importantly the students.

I appreciate the tweet-versation that I had with Will and Jon, and the many others that supported and pushed back (again, make sure to read the tweets). The one thing that stood out the most to me was Will’s emphasis on the idea of learning. That should be our larger question. What are we doing to improve student learning in our schools? It makes me think of something Thoreau said about technology,

So what are we doing to improve that end? What are the bigger questions that need to be asked?

Side Note: Here is a link to the context of Thoreau’s quote regarding technology

I have to give in.

I have to

break.

I had been holding them back for some time now. But I got what I deserved today.

Just after tweeting out my frustrations, I went upstairs to the office to look for my principal so I could whine. Instead I found a toothless, curly-haired alternative. She was sitting on the red pleather double chair where most kids wait to be picked up, just inside the office door. She grinned at me like she does every time I catch her in the hallway. And like I normally do, I asked for a hug. The involuntary tremor in her arms, the focus on her face, and the satisfaction when she finds my shoulders. I didn’t mention this, but my little toothless friend has cerebral palsy. And each day I look forward to her unsolicited smile and that awkward embrace she so willingly shares.

I sat with her for a moment while she waited for Mom to come pick her up. She wasn’t feeling well. She couldn’t tell me why, but simply said she was feeling, “…yuck.” And that’s when my eyes welled up and I had to “scratch” my eye before anyone noticed. She didn’t know why she didn’t feel well. She doesn’t know why she has to hold the railing on the stairs. She doesn’t know why she has someone following her everywhere she goes on the playground. Yet, she smiles on.

She asked about a small plastic baseball cap that hangs from the lanyard around my neck. Curiously wanting to know, “What’s this for?” With every “s” and “r” making a different sound in every word as she tries to accommodate for her missing front teeth.

I smiled and told her, “It’s for my favorite baseball team, the Phillies.”

“The Phillies,” she repeated.

“Yup. That’s your new favorite baseball team. Isn’t it?”

She looked at me with sunken eyebrows. I’m not sure she even knew what baseball was, let alone why anything would be called, “The Phillies.”

I then pointed at the picture on my nametag and asked, “Who’s that guy?” In response to my question, she poked my cheek. And so commenced the welling, again.

I asked if she knew my name, and just as she shook her head no, I said, pausing for her to repeat each part, “Mr … Macdonald.”

After a few minutes of practicing baseball teams and my name (which also included the word “hamburger” and “how about just, Donald”), I decided I needed to head back to my classroom. The lump in my throat was suffocating me and “itchy” eyes were blurring my vision.

I hurried downstairs and put myself to work. Hoping I would find a way to hold on.

And then I thought,

“You’re lame.”

Here I had been moping around, complaining about people complaining.

My frustrations, my challenges, my gripes are all NOTHING!

This little girl is living with a severe brain disorder and I’m over here dying of hoggish self pity.

How dare I.

What happened to my innocence?

Why can’t I look past my own nose and doleful outlook. Instead of seeing this life for what it is — a time of possibility, of joy, of learning, of excitement, of awe — I see it as something I have to deal with; something I have to get through.

Shame on me.

This little girl has grit. She has a determination to live; to find joy in curiosity; to embrace the moment.

And then I wonder how many moments like this one, today, have passed me by. How many times have I been distracted by the inconsequential or irrelevant and missed the brilliance of the moment? How many times have I done this to my students? To my own children? To my wife? To me?

My heart aches for my impiety, but it breaks for my selfish myopia.

While I can’t be sure of the extent or duration of my nearsightedness, I can resolve today to live like my curly haired friend –

with no concern or comprehension of how difficult it may be tomorrow;

with a smile;

It feels like the emotions that I felt back in February were from another lifetime. That experience feels distant. I had plans. We had plans. I was going to change that little girl’s world and save the day. Mills would have it’s first public library/book exchange. My student would soon feel like she had a special place in Mills. She would quickly gain confidence in herself and in her ability to make and keep friends. Her love for books would spread and everyone would be reading and sharing books throughout the community. Cue the sad trombone.

None of that happened. Life happened instead. We began to look for community support, but soon we lost contact with the individuals who had made promises. Local businesses and organization soon became too busy to collect a few books for this cause. My student was quick to create signs and posters to put up all over school, but they now sit, rolled up and half complete, collecting dust on my back shelf. She hasn’t mentioned the book exchange or the posters for over two months. But neither have I.

Sadly, nothing has come of this. Nothing. Her life hasn’t changed for the better. In fact, since this all happened, things at home have gotten worse. An individual has since been removed from the home by law enforcement and various government organizations are investigating a number of situations.

I wish I had an excuse. I wish I could blame my lack of follow through on some other life-halting crisis, but I can’t. I failed. Plain and simple. This has been weighing on my heart and mind for several weeks. I put off writing and reflecting for working and resenting. I allowed myself to work right through an opportunity to do more.

Fortunately my heart has grown because of all of this. I continue to advocate for our students at Mills. I advocate for more love and less condescension; for more patience and less pride.

A lot of things contributed to the timing and outcome of those five minutes. First off, I didn’t think I would cry. Do not get me wrong. I’m a cryer, but not in front of several hundred of my peers. The tears felt right, though. They were already part of the story. I cried the night that my friend told me her daughter had “overheard” our conversation and wanted to help. She wanted to start the book drive with books of her own. I bawled. Sweet release. Her innocent charity cleared my mind and softened my heart. I needed to share that same sentiment, again.

Once my heart took his place on my sleeve, the rest was all feeling. I felt the words of the story for the remaining thirty seconds.

And then it was over. Our hearts were full.

The next day my principal had asked me to post the video to YouTube so he could see it (he had to leave early) and share it with our staff during our afternoon meeting. So I did, but I didn’t realize that once I uploaded it, that it would send a tweet out. I had planned on writing a blog post and then sharing the link with others. I didn’t anticipate to have that unexpected tweet to be retweeted and then shared and then posted to Facebook.

Friends and family were commenting and leaving messages about it before I even realized that it was “public”. Totally unexpected. I don’t like self-promotion. I don’t feel I have a lot to prove. I do what I do and I love doing it. That should be evidence enough. That said, I did send a few DMs with the link to some folks because I knew that they would appreciate this special story. My sister left a comment on my blog. I didn’t think she even knew I had a blog. My mom left me a very heartfelt message, before calling me. Friends from home shared the video. I wasn’t expecting all this.

Best of all, I have a community now that wants to help. Our school counselor is planning on taking my student to a few local business to help find more donations for her book drive. Friends and family in town are asking where they can drop of books and how they can help.

As for my student. She is excited. She offers to show me her backpack each day. She wants to regain my trust. She understands that she made a mistake to take the books. We are talking about how to set up and manage the book drive and eventual book-trade. She sees that there are better ways to share and serve than to “robin hood” her way into acceptance and friendships.

I thank everyone for helping me share this story. But again, this is about learning to lead with our hearts in the moments that students need us to the most. I am still learning to do this. It’s easy to stick with tradition, the norms, the expected. Sometimes I like things to be easy, but in those moments I’m only thinking of me. I will continue to work on this. I will hope and pray for patience, clarity, compassion, and empathy. I know that’s asking a lot, but the trials will only help me grow. What about you, though? What experiences have you had that required a soft heart instead of a clenched fist? I would love to know how you have done the #unexpected and changed the course for a child or for yourself.

We were coming back from ITSC 2012 (#itsc12), there in Portlandia. I’ve been going for about four years now and I have always preached to the interwebs and the twitters that it gets better each year. This year was no different — by far the best year yet. What sets ITSC apart is the sense of community that accompanies the sessions and workshops. It literally encompasses the entire conference.

As a part of the conference’s evolution, this year’s program included a Soirée of Slides. The premise was based on the Ignite style presentations — five minutes, 20 slides, 15 second transitions. I had known about it for some time. I had several ideas fermenting in my mind but none of them called to me. So I procrastinated like any other overworked and underslept human being. I prepared most of the slides at the hotel, between sessions and the many late night hangouts.

But where was I going to go with it? I had no idea. Well, that’s a lie. I had a couple ideas, but wasn’t sure which direction to take. I had the fortune of having dinner at Tim Lauer‘s house with several of the ITSC cast. And that’s where I met Rushton Hurley. We shared our plans for the Soirée and he convinced me that my two ideas were not entirely separate, but parallel and powerful.

See for yourself.

It was a special story that I had to share this past Tuesday. I still get emotional when I think of the compassion and generosity of Ivy — her immediate willingness to give of her own to someone that may never understand what all this means now to so many.

My student was at school today. I still wasn’t sure how I was going to approach the situation and my (our, thanks Jen and Ivy) plan for a book drive. She met me in the principal’s office. I asked the school counselor to be there as well. Just the three of us. We sat almost knee to knee, her and I. And we began to talk. I asked her about the recent events. We discussed her thought process over the past several months and what had happened to so many books. He answer was simple. She didn’t know. She was not sure why she took the books other than that she wanted to read them. She talked about taking books that she thought her two year-old sister would like to hear or books that she could share with her neighbors. As the conversation went on I could see in her eyes that she really did not know what she had done was “wrong”; that the currency she had used to buy social interactions was not earned but stolen.

My heart broke again. This time, however, it was because I knew my reaction was the right one. Her eyes grew larger and brighter as I explained what her new responsibility would be in light of this situation. She said things like, “I’ve never done that before.” and “I get to be in-charge?”, and “I wonder who else would want to help.” So starting Monday, she will head our community book drive and organize a book-trade in which anyone can take or leave a book.

She may not have left the room fully understanding the moral dilema she perpetuated, but instead she left knowing that there is a better way to share her love for books with others.

As I stood up to hug this little girl my eyes met the teary eyes of our school counselor. Just moments before this meeting, she had asked the usual questions regarding punishments, detentions, and possible suspension for stealing. The unexpectedness of it all was more than she anticipated. She then saw what I saw — a little girl that already lived in a world of turmoil and confusion. Today was our opportunity to bring her out of that world, if only for a moment, and empower her instead of the expected belittling we so often justify.

I think my heart grew yesterday and even more today. I may need a bigger sleeve to wear it on after all this.

To do the unexpected leaves us vulnerable; vulnerable to unwanted criticism; vulnerable to the judgements of our peers; sets us up for failure; and often challenges tradition. That’s why as teachers, as humans, we often live for the predictable. We crave habit. It’s easy. It’s comfortable. I could have raised hell, I could have had the principal, SRO, and parents all in there to yell at her. That was the expected response; the easy way out for anyone involved, except for her.

And that’s why the unexpected can be so powerful. Today a little girl walked out ready to serve instead of walking out afraid of what awaited her.

It started with a handful of students not reading during an independent reading time this morning. I like to give my students opportunities to read throughout the day; read things that excite them or just interest them. A lot of my students enjoy these pockets of reading. Others apparently do not. A few students were off task–flipping pages, chatting with a neighbor, staring into oblivion–doing the usual things fifth graders do when avoiding something. After several suggestions and a few pleas to read, or even find a new book, these students still could care less about their reading. Or at least it appeared that way.

Then I wrote this:

My question about reluctant readers soon became a much much bigger frustration. It wasn’t the fact that a number of students weren’t reading at the moment, it was another issue; an issue of student perseverance and patience in the learning process.

So how do you teach that?

I work at a Title I school. We average about 94% Free or Reduced Lunch. Our kids come from poor homes. There is no question about it. Most of my students live in the now. If they have a dollar, they have to spend–even if that means buying something for someone else. For many it is about instant gratification. Sadly, many come from homes where if they don’t take advantage of something today, it most likely will not be there tomorrow. They are impulsive. It is how they survive.

So how do you teach with that in mind?

And there isn’t much that motivates them unless they get to enjoy it now, now, or now. “Mustang Bucks” (fake money put into baskets for drawings) are a joke to most. Missing recess is an even bigger joke.

So how do you teach with that in mind, realizing that little motivates them other than the instant extrinsic novelties?

I truly am at a loss here. I spoke with them. I asked them. I tried to discuss it. I got nothing. I’ve been at this school for six years and this is the first time I’ve ever felt like this.

Where to now?

Update: I feel I need to provide a little more context. Last quarter we did a fairly substantial Solar System project. Students drew, at random, their topic–they genuinely enjoyed the thrill of not knowing what they would learn about. Then, each group designed two guiding questions. The questions were to guide their research and inquiry. We then let them loose. They were given expectation of what the final product should contain, but the form in which they presented that was up to them. They dove in. Many go lost in the oceans of Google results and found themselves mindlessly wondering from link to link. They need help focusing back on their questions as the process continued. This took a lot of time away from other things we had hoped to do. Focus and refocus became the words of the day.

Now we are in another quarter. We have started another project. This time they chose their topic as a team. We are looking at natural disasters historically and learning about their impact on those who suffered through them and the impact on science today. For this project though, we provided each group with a list of links and videos to use for their research. No Google for this one. We had hoped to focus their reading and learning. But for some reason, most (if not all) have fallen flat. No excitement. Minimal effort. It could be the content. It could be a number of things, I suppose. It just seems uncharacteristic of these students. Like I said, I’m at a loss.

I guess my other question is this: How do you provide students with choice in the direction of the next project without getting too far away from the content that you are obligated to present them throughout the year? It is difficult enough to expose them all to it. How do you determine what they need to master and what they need merely be exposed to? I refuse to look at “the test” and teach from that, but I also want to make sure my students feel confident every time they go into the lab to test. I’m torn between what I know my deserve in my classroom each day and what I feel obligated to “teach” them by the end of the school year.

Technology has become an important tool in our classroom. It has, quite literally, changed the face and focus of learning for many of my students. Our class has an opportunity this year to have 1:1 iPads. It’s working for us. You can see it in their faces. Their attitude towards “school” has shifted from one of obligation to enthusiasm. Kids are engaged, genuinely engaged.

Now we get to share that with a lot more of you. My class, along with several others at my school and in my district, will be participating in Digital Learning Day on February 1, 2012. The Alliance for Excellent Education, in conjunction with a number of sponsors, educators and civic leaders, have organized this day to help improve the quality of learning for all students. And for several months a workgroup consisting of Education and EdTech leaders have come together to assist the Alliance in planning and promoting Digital Learning Day.

Education is evolving and technology is one of the catalysts that seem to be positively affecting change. We hope that through this effort we can provide educators, parents and the community with more resources to provide a higher quality of learning to each of our students. Events will take place on various levels, from what you are doing in your classroom to a National Town Hall Meeting in Washington, DC.

When you go to the Digital Learning Day site to Sign Up you’ll find resources, ideas, and strategies in the Toolkits, and be able to see what others schools across the country are doing in the Showcases.

There are so many ways to participate this coming February 1. Sign up so we can count you among those working towards improving our students learning. Start a conversation with your peers, your family, and your neighbors. Try something new that day. Use a digital tool to reshape a learning experience for your students. And please, share your success. We know you are doing amazing things. Showcase them to your friends across the country.