Happy Monday everyone! Our district is back to work today and expecting students next Wednesday. Cue screaming. What do you think the worst part about district training is? I think for me, right now, is that I’m in meetings when I want to be game designing in my classroom.
Some updates for the year?
I have a new class of 30 students. Yup, 30. You may think this is not a lot, but let me remind you, I’m an ESL teacher. This English Language Development class? Is packed!
I have a class with mixed levels–from total nonspeakers to borderline shouldn’t be in my class, so that will be fun.
With the exception of the ELD class, every single class has a student that is in at least one more class.
So those are the challenges that I’m facing right now, each of which is going to involve some different changes to the game? What are some of my solutions?
My class of 30 will be divided into 5 groups of six, each working their way through the game independently (and possibly competing to see who can be more successful at it.)
In my mixed level class, I’ll be running regular station rotations. One of the stations will involve students completing different activities and collecting information as they move across the map. Though they will do this in groups, they will, in the long run, be working as a class as they go through the story line.
Aspects of the game in each of my classes will have to differ class to class… like the location of the keys to the mysterious door in the library… but more on that later.
In other news, I’m still having problems with Screen-Cast-O-Matic. I sent an error report to the team. And they did get back to me in a day or two! So… great customer service. And they had a good suggestion: update the software. Because I’m apparently running an older version. But… it didn’t do anything to fix the problem. So… still working on cutting my first classroom set up video into something semi-watchable.
On the bright side! I ordered a Breakout EDU box, which should be arriving today or tomorrow. So I will definitely have an update about that up next week, if not before. I have literally been dreaming about Breakout EDU since I learned about it. I am so excited!
Note: I forgot to mention, I’ve played Werewolf with students grades 3 through 12, and while I’ve gotten positive reactions from the high school students, the elementary and middle school students liked it more.
Schools these days have a lot of trouble deciding what is acceptable for students to access online, and teachers often plan lessons only to find they are thwarted by technological blocks–like when I decided to make videos explaining parts of speech to students only to find out video streaming is not allowed in our school. But the one that bothers me more than anything else is “the category of games has been blocked.”
Now I get it, I do. I locked up my chrome book cart for a week because I was sick of my students getting on video games while I was leading class discussion. But I think we’re going about this all wrong. Because this message says games and school do not mix. Games are for home. When you come to school, you put the games away. But what we’re really saying is: school is supposed to be boring. Think about it. Games are fun. Games are so much fun that we play them for hours. We play them in the checkout line. We play them at the DMV. We play them in the car. We lose sleep telling ourselves, just one more level. Just one more level. Just one more level. Now imagine if you could make school like that. From day one of being a teacher, this has been my greatest goal in the classroom–make my class into a game. The proper term for this is “gamification.”
My most recent foray into this process lead me to create a classroom RPG. In case you don’t know, RPG means Role Playing Game. Think Dungeons and Dragons. It’s basically a method of co-operative storytelling, using dice to determine positive and negative outcomes. There are lots of different RPGs out there, but I made one up, trying to keep things simple for my students. I invented a fictional world (Bell’s Academy for Superheroes), wrote some scenarios, made some character sheets, and gave it a whirl with my students.
Now, I thought the game was pretty clever. In most RPGs, the characters have stats–numerical values that represent how good they are at something. Stats are usually broad categories, like charisma, strength, and wisdom. These make different things easier or harder for your character to do, or give you bonuses. You generally role dice to determine your stats. In my game, my students had stats in six broad areas–pronunciation, vocabulary, grammar, reading, writing, and speaking–and rather than rolling dice, they ranked themselves in each area on a scale of 0-3. Then, instead of rolling dice to determine how successful characters are at what they do, we used flashcards and assignments to determine success. The stats became attack bonuses–providing extra damage when fighting monsters. Oh, and I laminated the character sheets so we could use dry erase markers on them. I thought this was a particular stroke of genius.
So I handed out the character sheets, and began a role playing game with a group of students who not only have never heard of Dungeons and Dragons, they don’t know what either of those words mean. I test drove it for a week with two different classes and had some fascinating results…
In one class, students began to self-regulate, telling each other to put their phones away because they wanted to play the game.
I also learned that I didn’t need much of a story line. One day, my students’ characters did nothing but go to class. And they still had fun.
And then there were the characters.
One student decided to play Queen Elsa, from Frozen, but she had a secret pet dragon. Another decided shIt also gets students reflecting on their personal values. For example, I presented my students with this scenario: you overhear some teachers talking in the hall about a student who got attacked in the library. Do you follow them and find out more, or do you go to class? Every single one of my students decided to go to class. Every single one of them. I never would have done that. I absolutely would have followed the teachers. And what does that tell you about me versus my students, about who actually thinks school is important? e had the power of evaporation. A third chose the power of translation. And because she actually helps translate for new students, she didn’t bother to imagine herself with a new superpower–she recognized the one she already had. Other students reflected on their actual lives entertaining, if less poignant, ways, like the students who decided their weaknesses were food.
The game also had students reflecting on their personal values. For example, I presented my students with this scenario: you overhear some teachers talking in the hall about a student who got attacked in the library. Do you follow them and find out more, or do you go to class? Every single one of my students decided to go to class. Had I been playing rather than running the game, I absolutely would have followed the teachers. And what does that tell you about me versus my students, and who actually thinks school is important?
Now, this is not to say there were not problems. For example, what do you do when one of your students writes invicible for their superpower?
Or when you give your players a map of their location only for them to tell you there’s no bathroom.
Or if, in the middle of a battle, instead of fighting the monster, your student offers it tacos? I like to imagine this as a real-life scenario. You’re in class. A monster materializes out of nowhere, throws a book at a student. Half the class goes running in terror, the other half tries to kill the monster, and then this girl walks right up to it and says, “would you like some tacos? I’ve got some salsa too.” And the best part is? This is the student that the monster threw the book at.
We talk a lot about autonomy and creativity, and the RPC is a great mechanism for these. The open-ended question of “a monster attacks you, what do you do?” means that students can come up with literally any solution. And sure, if it’s too open-ended, you can always say, “do you want to fight it or run away?” Now when I set about creating this storyline, I drew on gothic literature, and I wanted to incorporate this theme of not letting your emotions control you–because that’s an important life skill. But my student beat me at my own game! She decided that when faced with a conflict, rather than respond with aggression or fear, she would respond with generosity. And she didn’t get there by sitting in a desk and taking notes. She got there by playing a game.
It has four sections: definition, purpose, quick memory tip, and examples. But here are the three examples for metaphor:
According to the poster’s own definition, a metaphor is “a comparison between two things that are nor alike and replaces the word with another word.”
Some examples I used when teaching my students are Shakespeare’s “Juliet is the sun.” Looking for something more familiar? Try Katy Perry’s “baby, you’re a firework.” And sure, while “the toast jumped out of the toaster” is an implied metaphor comparing toast to something that jumps–a frog, or a person, it’s not a good example for learning metaphor. And as for the others, what two different things are possibly being compared in “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse” or “I told you a million times to clean your room”? Nothing. Because they’re not metaphors. They’re hyperbole, which is totally different.
Today’s lesson? Students struggle with metaphor because people who are supposed to be teaching it don’t even know what it is. Oh, and Your Dictionary is a terrible resource. Don’t use it.
It’s May. Which means that I have been frantically locating graduation cards and gifts for my handful of seniors, and that I have such a bad post-testing burnout that I am actually putting more energy into plans for next year than in finishing out this one. It also means that I am spending most of my prep hour watching TED talks on education. One of my favorites so far:
What really stood out to be about this was “the default answer is yes.” I thought about how this would apply in my classroom. My first thought was that my students would say, “can we just play on our phones today?” And this, of course, makes me cringe. Of course, who knows? Maybe that would actually work out. My second thought was that my students have learned just how much I like games. So many a day, they say, “Can we play a game today?” And often, I do say yes. What if I always said yes? Actually, that sounds like a great class. And it sounds like a class that both myself and my students would enjoy. And speaking of games… here’s another TED Talk.
So my goal for the end of the year? I’m going to be play testing a what I am calling an RPC–Role Playing Classroom, which I am running through a powerpoint slideshow.
They don’t tell you that playground altercations will include such topics as whether boys can shout “no girls allowed” on the bouncy car, pushing too hard on the swing set and who gets to be a cheetah lizard. (and for that matter, they do not tell you what cheetah lizards are.)
They do not tell you that seven year olds can act as mature as seventeen year olds especially when you bribe them with bubble gum.
Or that seventeen year olds can act as mature as seven year olds especially when you ask them to put away their phones.
They don’t tell you that high school students can’t read clocks either. Or write in cursive. Though they do know how to tie their shoes.
They don’t tell you that kindergartners also swear. Or that they use swear words in proper context.
They don’t tell you that ninth graders like band-aids just as much as first graders but they are less responsible about where they put stickers.
They don’t tell you how to teach consent. They don’t warn you about the boys who will try to touch female students even after the girls have said no. They don’t prepare you for the crying kindergartner who just had a boy pinch her bottom.
They don’t tell you where to draw the line on student-teacher confidentiality. They don’t tell you whether you should report remarks from students of teachers’ favoritism on the basis of gender or race.
They don’t recommend that you open up about your own problems with depression. They don’t tell you how your students may find inspiration in the fact that you are alive.
They don’t tell you to buy a black dress or to learn how to say “I’m sorry for your loss” in Spanish. Because you never know when you might need these things.
They don’t remind you that trouble comes in threes and each time it will hurt more than the last.
They don’t warn you that guns can hurt a student body even when they are not fired on school property.
They don’t tell you just how complicated diabetes can get,
They don’t tell you that you can feel the full weight of a car crash from another town.
They don’t tell you that if it’s your student you may find out via text message.
They don’t describe the way the air grows heavy the next day as soon as the bell rings. Or just how empty his chair will look.
They don’t tell you that you are also allowed to cry.