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Edited by Heidi Hayes Jacobs
Table of Contents
by Heidi Hayes Jacobs
Imagine James, a new graduate 100 years from now, thinking back on his time in "school." Will he become nostalgic for the good old virtual learning magnet program? Will he remember all of the projects that he and his global network buddies produced? Perhaps he will bring out the holographic yearbook to reflect on the good times. What is probable is that the very forms of school life that James knows will have evolved into more liberating, engaging, and exciting possibilities from those we know now.
The United States has seen reform movements in education since the inception of formal education. The intentions behind reform have varied, but it could be argued that many of these reforms have merely taken an existing practice, bent it a bit, and tinkered with it, thus ending up with the same basic form. The proof is the fact that the overwhelming majority of our schools run on the same length of school year and the same daily schedule, with the same rigid grouping of students and the same faculty organization, and fundamentally in the same type of buildings as in the late 1890s.
Our present century has opened up the possibility of new kinds of forms. For example, when software solutions are moved to new versions, the term platform is used. The image clearly describes a systematic, interconnected change in all functions rather than one small adjustment. A new version takes all components on the platform and revises them systemically. The new version has all of the elements working in concert. It is for this reason that I use the word version when a group of school leaders elect to make significant and concerted changes to their existing school program to improve the lives of their learners in school. The Latin derivation of version means "to turn" or "turning." It is easy to construe the verb "versioning" as an active process for education leaders to develop in their attempts to create viable 21st century learning environments.
If we develop a 21st century curriculum and continue to fuel it with innovation and new knowledge, then we must keep turning the platform that we share with our learners to explore that curriculum. As discussed in the previous chapters, we can make worthwhile upgrades in curriculum and assessment practices, but our options are limited by the basic program structures that house our practice. Those structures become the proverbial "box." Ironically, the central purpose of this chapter is to make the case that in order to build a 21st century school reinvention and reform movement, we must put into operation two classical, fundamental tenets: (1) form should always follow function; and (2) the whole is the sum of the parts.
As noted in Chapter 1, four interlocking structures are fundamental to the options that schools have for implementing dynamic curriculum and instruction:
The interplay between these structures determines how effectively we can upgrade our curriculum.
To move our school structures into more open, fluid, and correspondingly inventive forms, we need new forms, not reform. The four structures work together and can be separated only for the sake of discussion, but in practice they are, indeed, interdependent. Arguably, a pivotal reason why schools have such difficulty functioning is because decisions regarding any one of these factors are made in separation from the others. We can zoom in and look at the options, but then they are brought together on the drawing board.
For example, in any composition, the composer can closely consider each element in the ultimate design but eventually will need to connect it with other elements. When writers are developing a novel, they will look at the characters and the plot that emerges from who the characters are in a specific setting. Musical composers make choices about the rhythm, melodic pattern, instrument, harmony, or dissonance but, again, weave these elements together to orchestrate an integrated whole. An architect who is aware of various materials can consider them but needs to match them thoughtfully with the selected style, function, and proportion of the building that will be constructed. Similarly, in designing a school environment, we can consider a wide range of options for each component, but then we need to match these program structures with the actual needs of students. As a 5th grader in New Jersey once said to me, "You know, our school is a kind of biosphere."
To think in fresh ways about the shaping of new versions of school, preparation and research are essential. Otherwise we will simply reiterate what we know. The Greeks talked of the prologue as "setting the scene before the action of the play." We need an active prologue stage, when extensive and exciting study commences. I propose a redesign task force for long-term research and development with a goal of creating possible proposals for new versions of school. The first focus should be on viable drafts, sketches, and scenarios for potential action. The essential questions that should govern the programmatic structures we use to support student learning should be as follows:
Depending on the size of your task force, it is certainly possible to have subgroups investigate each of the structures, but it is critical to weave together the possible implications for the various combinations of each structure. With this requirement in mind, I would like to stimulate investigation by posing possible options for each structure as a way to promote a similar process in your setting. I do not presume to have complete answers or even complete questions, but I hope to prompt your inquiry by sharing some thoughts and observations from extensive field experience and travel to schools. To organize this discussion, the following sections present each of the structures, with highlighted provocations for your consideration.
At the most basic level, curriculum is nested within long- and short-term schedules. Examining current practice versus current possibilities suggests a number of intriguing alternatives.
To focus our discussion of different schedules, let us start with the big-picture question: Why do we need school to run for 13 years, kindergarten through 12th grade, to say that Johnny has graduated? This structure is the ultimate seat-time problem. If Johnny can endure 13 years rather than 10 or 14 and can show up often enough, take tests, and make sure his pulse is beating, then the diploma is his.
Commencement means beginning, and we should take that literally so that students can launch into their futures. We need to give our learners the time that they need to grow and to be ready for launch. Many students drop out of school in part because they cannot make a particular deadline in early June at precisely the same time as their peers. What if these students had another year, or even two years, to work toward a meaningful diploma? Consider the students who are sophomores or juniors in our high schools who are ready for higher education yet have to wait. We ask them to tread water because of their maturity or ability. Something is wrong with this picture.
The Rhode Island requirement involving digital portfolios, which David Niguidula details in Chapter 9, provides the basis for a useful alternative. What if students are expected to demonstrate their readiness to graduate with independence? What if it takes whatever time it takes, with reasonable guidelines? The problem of curriculum planning is compounded in the United States by the shortest school year of any industrialized nation.
The school schedule can be broken down into minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months. Rather than jumping directly into the question of block schedules versus traditional schedules, the larger questions should be these: What type of time frame matches the nature of the task? What kind of time do my learners need to carry out a specific task? A totally free and flexible schedule would not work for many teachers and learners, where continuity and structure are essential to learning.
Another approach is to have both structured and unstructured time, strategically planned. I have always thought of teaching time as a form of currency. With a $1 bill, I can buy certain things; with a $20 bill, I can buy others. In a similar way, the question that might be asked is what type of classroom activities are possible and well serviced in a 20-minute block of time, in 40 minutes, in two hours, in a half-day, in a day, in a week, and so forth. Currently we have submitted to the concept that the only thing we can do is what the schedule allows. We think, "I only have 40-minute blocks, so I can only do 40-minute types of activities." It is no wonder that a school's schedule becomes the tyrant of boredom. Teachers and students look at the clock as the mechanized referee of an endurance contest. Conversely, parents and teachers have seen children seemingly "lost in time" when absorbed with a task or interest they are fascinated by.
Technology has also changed the way that we consider time. We should never take for granted the convenience of checking our e-mail on our own time frame. I find it difficult to remember how certain phone calls had to be scheduled and how all mail correspondence was on paper with postage. Yet even though we have embraced change in this area, we seem to be relying on the old habits of time and schedules when it comes to our schools. It is not that we should throw all sense of structuring time out the window, but we should consider our planning from a different angle.
I advocate that your strategic planning team begin by matching time frames to tasks. Let function lead form. Consider these "time as currency" questions:
These are the questions that we as teachers want to ask. Sometimes, in the best of conditions, we can ask them. The point is that far too often we don't ask these questions but use reversed thinking and wonder, "What can I stuff into the 40 minutes I have for math?"
I propose a professional instructional schedule that would give adult professionals the opportunity to envision the learning experiences first and then match them with the time configurations available within the limits or possibilities of the school. This approach also suggests that sometimes learning does not have to be structured in the school space but can be handled in virtual space, which is, indeed, one of our four critical programmatic structures in versioning.
When scheduling, we tend to start with a box and create time sections within it. Complaints about a crowded, cramped day, with time blocks that restrict and generate boredom, have long been common. The advent of the block schedule was intended to give teachers more time to carve out variations within the time frame. Certainly some schools claim a block schedule has been helpful, but others have found the set rotation of an A/B day and the larger blocks also tyrannical. The sameness of these schedules forces sameness into curriculum and instruction. The form is leading function, and the old-style schedule has led us into decades of restriction.
Consider other scenarios. What if schools gave classroom teachers and teaching teams the option of three or four full weeks to go into depth on their personal projects, research investigations, creative generation of digital products, and onsite visits? These weeks could be planned throughout the year and would provide an open opportunity to create exciting interactive sessions. What if schools provided a larger canvas of time with built-in variety for teachers to employ that matched the needs of their students?
Schools that counter all conventional schooling not for the sake of experimentation but out of good sense and for the ultimate clients, the learners, can be called "heroic" schools. The schools in the Metropolitan Regional Career and Technical Center are heroic. Based on the groundbreaking work of Dennis Littky, the Met Center is composed of six small public high schools in Rhode Island (Littky & Grabelle, 2004). More than 50 schools across the country have followed the Met Center approach. The innovative educators at these schools offer a tailored curriculum for each learner, "one student at a time." There are no bells and no 45-minute blocks of time. Part of their work is to examine the real world through internships and projects. With this type of schedule, it is possible for innovative curriculum work and instruction to focus on six basic tenets:
At 7:00 a.m., a group of American high school students pour into the videoconferencing room at their tech center, yawning, stretching, waking up with coffee and orange juice in hand. They are in the advanced French class at the school. Simultaneously at 1:00 p.m. in Paris, a group of French adolescents file into their videoconferencing room with coffee in hand. They are in the advanced English language class at their school. For the next three hours, the two groups will converse with one another actively, humorously, and vividly. Other than a plane trip and a visit abroad, there is simply nothing that will match the quality of this type of classroom virtual space for an authentic learning experience.
One of the most promising new forms of learning experiences is the Virtual Learning Magnet (VLM), which matches learning time with engaging and purposeful tasks, offers self-selection on the part of the learner and the teacher, and connects cyberspace with physical space. Tom Welch, a dynamic and innovative educator working with the Council of Chief State School Officers (CCSSO), explains that VLMs are highly modularized, dynamically sequenced curricula that are based on performance rather than seat time. They are designed to take advantage of open-source content delivered via individualized instruction based on the highest levels of competencies and standards (www.ccsso.org.projects/virtual_learning_magnet/). The project is at the proof of concept stage, to be field-tested for possible dissemination.
A key feature of the Virtual Learning Magnet is to link our finest cultural and scientific institutions directly to the student in a focused experience using Internet-based tools. The CCSSO has produced a viable and exciting 21st century design that includes "stretch goals for every learner," with a direct connection to possible career and academic goals. Envision the VLM for Space Science and Mathematics designed in collaboration with NASA, which offers opportunities to replace traditional courses. Disseminated to virtual schools for full online experiences with electronic site visits, the program will offer students the possibility for direct coaching. Tom notes that by using game-based environments for teaching complex material, participatory online network environments, and possibilities for active research, students can create unique and exciting problems to investigate as part of a larger community. The VLMs have evolved from online courses to become more dynamic and creative in their use of sources and tools.
Reflecting on the work of Tom and his colleagues at CCSSO, imagine if your school could offer students a virtual curriculum menu. Students could peruse a set of options that they could work on at home on their own time as opposed to using seat time at school. The notion of a virtual school is provocative. It can stimulate excitement and anxiety because it challenges our fundamental sense of place. Has technology eliminated the need for students to congregate in common spaces during regulated time frames? Perhaps the real question is how to maximize and rethink the use of our schools and schedules for children and expand our view of other ways and places (both physical and virtual) where they spend that time.
To the extent possible, we should group students to best suit their needs so that, again, form follows function, in contrast to the common practice of using preexisting grouping patterns to determine how we package our learners. Grouping in school can be thought of in terms of three fundamental categories: institutional, instructional, and independent, with the first two being those that most of us are used to considering.
Institutional grouping involves fundamental choices based on criteria such as these:
Instructional grouping involves the teacher's choices in response to the internal needs of a classroom. Here are some examples:
Independent grouping applies to activities that usually take place outside the school day and are voluntary in nature. Here are some examples:
The tendency for form to lead rather than follow function has far-reaching and often disheartening results when it comes to decisions on grouping students. At their worst, our systems can do damage, even if our intentions are good. For example, the debate regarding homogeneous versus heterogeneous grouping can at times seem specious. Students in any class, whether it is AP physics or basic biology, will always display a range of skill levels. In short, to some extent all classes are heterogeneous, and the wrong question is being raised. Rather than asking whether homogeneous or heterogeneous is the best generic grouping, the question should be, "What type of grouping would best support learning for a specific group of students to address specific objectives?" The real issue is what commonality makes sense to support student learning. In short, sometimes grouping patterns are too sweeping and imprecise. Consider some scenarios that might sound familiar.
The moment 5-year-old Amy starts school, she is placed, labeled, and created into a product. She is placed in a grade level that will be coeducational, although it is possible that a multiyear program that groups girls together for some of the math instruction could make all the difference in the world.
Chuck is a 7th grader who struggles in math. His friend Johnny excels in math. The middle school policy gives highly capable math students in 7th grade the option to accelerate their 8th grade year, better enabling honors students to move rapidly through the high school program. This option appears to truly match Johnny's needs, but it has two drawbacks. First, the school offers no counterpart for Chuck and many others to "decelerate." With extra time and the opportunity to work at a different pace, not only would Chuck understand more complex mathematical concepts, he also would have a greater likelihood of success in high school. The second drawback is that 80 percent of the students in the accelerated program are male, which is certainly statistically significant. In this particular school, would segregating the sexes in mathematics in earlier years lessen this disparity?
An extremely motivated and competent high school sophomore, Maria, wants to graduate early and has a genuine interest in pursuing a career in psychology. To graduate, she must complete a full-year series of course requirements, which she could actually complete online, independently, during the summer. She would prefer spending time doing an internship with a community social service agency in the afternoons during the school year.
These examples illustrate the direct link between the schedule of a school day and the grouping of students. Think how different a child's life might be if school planners began with a variation on the question that has run throughout this chapter: What grouping patterns would best help our learners meet their needs?
A programmatic structure that touches the very identity of a teacher is the array of possible professional affiliations. The way teachers are grouped obviously affects whom they work with and see regularly, but it also has direct repercussions on the learners. We are creatures of habit, and day to day, forms and labels can go beyond habit to the realm of rut if not thoughtfully reexamined. Consider how arbitrary and habitual our usual patterns are. In most schools, grouping is currently based on the following:
The standard and isolated nature of these groupings is a large contributor to the gaps in student performance. Curriculum mapping reviews help us consider that if a group of 4th grade teachers does not interact with other teachers, then their decisions are not formally informed by 1st, 2nd, or 3rd grade teachers, let alone the 5th grade teachers who will receive their learners. Reviews remind us that high school students do not advance to one department—they matriculate to a group of teachers who work with them throughout the year. Our old forms of working in isolated departments is almost to the point of those departments becoming self-sustaining colonies.
I would recommend that personnel consider multiple types of affiliations and groupings as well as the duration of such groups to provide variety and perspective in their work. These affiliations should not be random but targeted and strategic.
The wrong people meet regularly in our schools. Instead of meeting by department, what if we were to meet around problems? What if we were to meet strategically with the best people to address a problem? For example, if issues arise related to poor performance on 8th grade math tests regarding balancing an equation, then the group that is most likely to meet are the 8th grade math teachers. A more strategically planned group would be teachers in grades 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 who would meet virtually to examine curriculum maps and consider the requisite building of skills; furthermore, English teachers should be involved to help determine if, in fact, the test results reflect a reading problem rather than a math problem. What is more, to see if students have a real understanding of an equation, it would make sense to involve a physics teacher who relies on applied mathematics when students demonstrate the application of equations in their study of the laws of force and motion.
Similarly, if curriculum means "a path to run in small steps," then perhaps one of the most logical groupings for ongoing discussion and dialogue would be vertical teams. Yet it is striking how rarely teachers who share a child over time and over years actually meet.
A deliberate personnel policy might eliminate the static nature of professional relationships. The goal of the policy would be to encourage teachers and administrators to join several communities and networks outside their school site as well as inside. Consider expanding the traditional list to add the following groups in your school or district:
The last suggestion should be a network of educators from throughout the nation and the world sharing their curriculum maps to examine a unit of study from global perspectives. This sharing happens now because users of certain curriculum mapping software have access to any classroom teacher who uses the same software. With this type of link, a kindergarten teacher in Milwaukee might have a peer coach from Auckland, New Zealand, sharing points of view on reading readiness. A social studies teacher in El Paso, Texas, might have a peer coach from Doha, Qatar, sharing points of view on examining the role of oil in world economics. This notion is clearly possible now, given the ease of technological access to peers at the state, national, and international levels. Having said this, it is the internal connections and the communication between colleagues within a location that are critical to the development of the individual learner.
When I think of education thought leaders, one of our authors, Stephen Wilmarth, always comes to mind. He has shared with me an example that underscores the possibilities of combining new ways of grouping students and personnel, using virtual space, and renegotiating time—the social learning framework. Stephen has described this as "leveraging social production, social networks, new modalities for discovery, media grids, and an organic learning process" (February 7, 2009; personal correspondence).
An example is the Penn LPS Commons, from the University of Pennsylvania's College of Liberal and Professional Studies (see www.sas.upenn.edu/lps/commons). Here is not just the possibility but the reality of an educational platform that encompasses new global faculty relationships, new kinds of student groupings and network relationships, activated curriculum queries, flexible use of time, and virtual space. Will this approach replace the contact time between teacher and student in a room called a classroom? No, but the reverse is true as well. The traditional classroom cannot replace the new forms. Our new versions of school need to reflect the times in which we live and continue to be open to new and dynamic structures.
Location, location, location. Any historian or anthropologist will tell you that where people live has everything to do with their possibilities in life. It is precisely the same in education. Where a school is located and how it sets up internal structures determine its possibilities. Today we have a new way of discussing how space affects our learners: virtual space. As Prakash Nair states:
Let's start with the fundamental building block of almost every single school in this country: the classroom. Who seriously believes that locking 25 students in a small room with one adult for several hours each day is the best way for them to be "educated"? In the 21st century, education is about project-based learning, connections with peers around the world, service learning, independent research, design and creativity, and, more than anything else, critical thinking and challenges to old assumptions. (Nair, 2009)
Most schools were not really built for children, let alone for learning. They tend to be buildings with uniform-sized classrooms, although the students vary in size at different ages. Chances are that the majority of readers of this book work in a place that has restrictions on the use of space. You have inherited a space dictated by a mind-set about school design that is highly limited. However, there are genuine ways to rethink any space more effectively. One way to provoke discussion in your redesign task force is to consider how existing school space might be used differently. I would invite your students to take an architectural walking tour of the school and suggest different ways to use traditional classrooms as well as ancillary locations. Younger sets of eyes help us see in new ways, and students bring the perspective of actual users of the building.
Over the years, I have enjoyed perusing the school designs of award-winning architects from around the globe at DesignShare (www.designshare.com), one of the most exciting sources for ideas on improving the quality of life and space for learners. With a truly global reach, architects, educators, planners, and designers visit the site for inspiration regarding their work for all levels of education, nursery through university. DesignShare has partnerships with leading organizations and initiatives such as Edutopia, the National Clearinghouse for Educational Facilities, Great Schools by Design, and the United Kingdom's School 4 Life. Annually they present awards to dynamic designs that match the needs of students in specific settings with a remarkably imaginative range of architectural solutions. Many of the winners do not have large budgets, but they focus on how to best support engagement on the part of their learners. Some have effectively used light and space to promote a more soothing place to think and to play. Sometimes the transformations are small, such as a window seat being expanded to become a reading alcove; or, in a school in an underdeveloped nation, lowering the blackboard so it can be easily viewed by children sitting on a floor in a space without chairs and desks. Sometimes the design involves reconceptualization of large spaces so that a whole campus flows with the environment. The positioning of balconies and walkways can connect students to classroom activity rather than separate them. The boldness and the power of the solutions are inspiring and striking. I encourage you to see the remarkable International Award School Designs at various international locations. Visit www.designshare.com.
Most people reading this book will not have the resources to make significant changes in their existing school architecture, but we all can walk through an existing structure and rethink its use. Possibilities might include pairing certain classrooms or using a space that sits empty because it is assigned a label such as "auditorium" or "band room." With some imagination, these spaces can be used for other types of classroom learning. Could your auditorium be used by the English department for poetry slams, or for screenings of documentaries in science or social studies followed by discussion groups? Could an office adjacent to a library be devoted to a video podcasting station for book talks? Might there be an LCD projector showing PowerPoint slides from field trips or interesting class unit studies projected on a wall in the cafeteria during lunch? Is there a spot in the schoolyard that might be set up with a bench for quiet reflection?
An obvious way to find new space is to leave the classroom for field experiences, both nearby and far away from the school. Local visits to museums and conservation areas with fieldwork observations have been a staple of the school experience for decades, but often they have been special events, such as the annual field trip. We would do well to put both Web-based field experiences as well as ongoing internships and field experiences in the forefront of our planning.
Travel-abroad programs expand the perspectives of our learners for a lifetime when they go beyond the simple tour model to promote a genuine connection with the people in a specific culture. Wilmarth's program for "global ambassadors" (see Chapter 5) exemplifies a level of growth that dislodges students from their school comfort zone.
In thinking about space, we should also respect our learners' need for privacy. Award-winning school designs almost always include a quiet place for reflection. The hectic nature of school life is often amplified by the actual space available to students, with cramped quarters and shared narrow corridors. Even if it is only a small corner of a school, a place for solitude would be welcome.
I believe that a core reason for the self-imposed limitations we find in schools is the separation of the four program structures—schedules, grouping patterns for learners, groupings of professionals, and space. These four structures are totally intertwined, mutually dependent, and systemic. New school designs, and even the reformation of existing school programs, need to do more than stay out of the box—they need to dump the box entirely.
Long-term new versions of school need to have the capacity to be elastic and responsive. So here is the essential question that drives the provocations in this chapter: Could your Curriculum 21 review team generate a version of school that had both flexibility and regulation in long-term and daily schedules, supported multiple professional affiliations, offered a wide range of student groupings, and used physical and virtual space in direct response to the actual students you have been charged to educate? Think like architects.
Frequently, when I have taught curriculum design classes at Columbia University, Teachers College, I have invited an architect to teach with me. What I have learned is that educators would do well to follow many of an architect's design habits. The architect first asks the client (1) whom the building is to serve and (2) what the building's function will be. Then the forms emerge. In a similar way, our Curriculum 21 teams should always begin thinking about new versions of school by asking whom are we serving ultimately, and how can we best meet the needs of our specific learners?
As architects begin with sketches, we, too, should begin by drafting possible solutions. Our versions will always need to bring the four structures together. The main contention of this chapter is that a key reason reform efforts often have limited effectiveness is that they are not made in concert with corresponding adjustments in the other structures. The reforms themselves are often tepid and stay within the existing conception of an organization. Most important, the motivation for the specific reform is too often detached from the curricular and instructional needs of the specific learners. Changes in one structure affect the others.
I advocate that Curriculum 21 teams research a range of possibilities in program structures before coming to the table to create a unified programmatic blueprint. Ultimately, form should follow function, and as we expand the possible functions of curriculum and instruction, we should expand the menu of forms available for both formal and informal learning experiences. A worthwhile exercise is to create a flowchart that reflects the reality of a school or educative program. Using visual-thinking software, a school beginning to draft its possible new version should consider the direct flow of decisions for the various components discussed in this chapter. Starting with the supposition that form should follow function, the school group should start with who the students are in order to establish a mission statement based on their needs.
The curriculum should then be established based on their needs, followed by the consideration of each of the major structures in concert. The ultimate goal is an effective environment for learning: students grouped to work with the personnel organized to match their needs in time frames that support their work in both real and virtual spaces.
When I work with planning teams, one of the most eye-opening tasks I ask them to do is to create a flowchart showing the flow of decisions regarding the basic school structures that directly affect the curriculum that reaches the student. It is clear that this flow affects instructional method and whom teachers ultimately work with in terms of both learners and colleagues.
I agree with David Hyerle's conclusions from his masterful work on the power of visual representations to make meaningful changes in both how individuals process information and how groups can make more meaningful decisions. Hyerle (2008, p. 2) writes that change "offer[s] a way through the great dichotomies and supposed polar opposites on which we so endlessly query."
Often, frustration occurs because structures are dated and lead the learning. Rather than being victimized by our program structures, we should be creating new types of learning environments for a new time and for various types of teaching and learning. Not to do so is a declaration not to learn. It is precisely in the area of developing new versions of school that we need risk-taking educators to create bold ideas to transform the whole notion of school. Some might argue that we should hold onto the old notions because it more sensible to do so. I would argue that it is lacking in good sense to hold onto structures that do not match their time and the purpose of education for our century. Form should follow function. The whole is the sum of the parts. These two timeless premises support new solutions for a new time.
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