Residency Reflection

I started this post a few weeks ago.  I guess I needed some time, space and perspective to finally finish it.  Here you go: 

I just finished a big week with four classes of fourth graders.  Their teachers told me they were a tough group on the whole, but of course it's only through experience that I figured out what that meant, exactly. 

I've had tough groups before, but these kids confounded me, actually.  There were bright spots in each class, and there was also some good thinking and creating, when it happened.  But, on the whole, they could barely stay in their squares.  They would forget any verbal instructions I gave.  I had to stay within two feet proximity to get any attention at all.  Most of them could not consistently find the center of their dance spaces.  They took every gentle reminder as a power struggle.  Transitions such as moving from sitting to standing or dancing to not dancing with control was a herculean effort for them.  

Don't get me wrong.  These were not 'bad' kids, just kids with a lot of challenges.  I've spent a lot of time over the years figuring out how to help kids control their bodies while moving and then again when the moving is done.  I've also spent many years helping kids become more aware of where they are in space and where in space they are intending to go, with good results.  But this particular week, none of my strategies seemed to work.

I often compare my week-long residency to the first week of school.  By the end of our time together I've figured out exactly what each particular class needs to be successful, but by then it's time for me to go on to the next school, or the next group of kids.  Not really understanding who I'm teaching and what they need as individuals and as a class is my least favorite part of the job.  If I had the week to do over, this is what I'd do:

• 30 minute class length, or less.  I am contracted to implement my program within certain parameters including the amount of time each class has with me (usually 60 minutes at a time).  Classroom teachers who implement Math in Your Feet in their own classrooms have the flexibility to work on it in ten minute chunks or whatever length they choose.  My 4th graders this week had to hold it together for a whole hour with me each day, which was a loosing proposition. 
• Take it out of the gym and find a more enclosed space.  The gym for this particular week was not a bad gym in terms of sound issues, but it was a gym none-the-less.  I never use the whole gym and always define the limits of our dance space (with tape!), but if we could have put walls around us to enclose the space somehow, it might have helped the kids feel safer and may have helped the focus issues. 
• Reduce transitions.  It's a hard reality, but we have to get up and move, and then we have to sit down and listen.  We do both in short bursts, which these kids needed, so I'm not sure exactly how I would have done this.
• Dance for them more to keep them focused on the reason for why we were together. 
• Teach one two-person team at a time. The only times they were really quiet, focused and, well, not argumentative and actually helpful, was when a team was up in front of the class showing work in progress or demonstrating a math concept through their dancing.  If I could do this over I'd take the plunge and just teach one team at a time while the others watched.  I think we would have gotten a lot more acomplished this way.
• Acknowledge the issue of 'first reaction' sooner and with all the classes.  I think I got this idea from a parenting book I read in the the last year.  Essentially, each one of us reacts in our own way to new situations.  We have either a negative first reaction or a positive first reaction.  Knowing how we operate in this regard can help us overcome the challenges each present.  For those with a negative first reaction (hold back, regard with suspicion, decline to participate, or exhibit unhelpful behavior) it just means making sure that they know that I understand they're not into it at the moment and that's okay with me.  At that point I usually outline what my minimum expectations are for participation-- stand when the rest of the class is standing and sit when the rest of the class is sitting, and that's it.  I've had success in the past acknowledging the reality that kids may not love what we're doing as much as me, but I still expect them to give it a shot.  By the time I realized what I was working with, it was too late in the week for this strategy to have much effect.   That usually gets us over the hump, but not this week. 

So, all in all, we did get through the week.  I suppose the bright side of all this is that I'm a little more ready the next time I encounter a group like this.  And, I'm still a big supporter of using dance and movement in integrated ways for all children.  Just because it didn't work for them the way I wanted this time doesn't mean that it can't.  It just needed to be different.  Too bad my time machine's in the shop, or I'd try again.

Like I said at the beginning, there were some bright spots.  This is what one girl wrote in response to a reflection journal prompt:

"Ten years from now I will remember how hard it was to learn and how much fun it was.  The challenges I had were putting pattern A and pattern B together.  The thing that helped me work through them were because I had D. as my partner and he was always hard working and an on task friendly boy. :)  I loved this program."

Picture Perfect

 

A few weeks ago I published a post about focusing on transitions in a moving classroom.  To illustrate the post, I looked around the internet for a picture of a color wheel to show the transitions of colors changing from one into another, but wasn't satisfied with anything I found.

Moments after I published the post, this picture showed up in my inbox! It's from my dancing friend in Minnesota, Julie Young, illustrating the many colors of a northern fall.  She had no idea at the time that she had just sent me the very thing I had been looking for.  Actually, it was much, much better than I had been hoping for.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I've already said too much.  I think I'll let the beauty of nature, and my friend's creative nature, speak for themselves.

The Space Between / Transitions

I think about a lot of things, and something I have thought a lot about are transitions.  When I teach clogging or step dance I think about how to explain to my students the variations and subtleties of transitioning weight or how to finish one step successfully and move on to the next.  My child, who has a regulation disorder, has needed me to pay close attention to the daily transitions/routines in her life since birth. I watch my own reactions to unexpected changes in my concept of what 'should' be happening in my day.  I am aware of, mostly after it's already started to happen, the subtle shift of life as it moves from now to past. 

(This seems to be a somewhat philosophical post, but even that is starting to shift...)

So it probably won't surprise you to hear that I think about transitions every time I walk into a classroom.  When one works with moving kids a transition can be a moment ripe with opportunity or a potential stumbling block, a great teaching moment or a train wreck.  I find these moving-while-learning kinds of transitions the ones that require a particular kind of attention and respect.

I suppose my approach to classroom transitions stems from my experience as an artist whose medium is space and time.  From where I stand, a transition is a moment when you have to simultaneously distinguish between something as it was, as it is, and as it will be.  Dancers (and musicians, too) encounter moments when they need to talk with themselves, the choreographer or other dancers about how to move from one moment or step to the next.  This attention to detail is just part of the process but its also a process that can be fraught with opposing viewpoints, confusion, and tension over all aspects of interpretation of the moment.  And, because dance (and music) exist in such temporal space (meaning here and then not-here in a split second) one usually spends 1000 times more time working out the transitional moments than actually performing them.  When resolved, the agreed upon transitional moment can be a thing of beauty, a seamless moment of artistry.

In my role as a dancer and a musician, dealing with transitions are part of the job.  In that particular context, if transitions don't get a certain amount of attention or respect all you'll end up with are unconnected pieces of movement or sound devoid of form or meaning or, at the very least, lacking the quality you would desire.  It's practically the same experience for me when I bring my art into an academic setting. 

I consider teaching (whatever the subject) the art of working in time and space to organize, focus and energize multiple bodies and minds.  If I walk into our dance space with my lesson plan but have paid no attention to the spaces between the bullet points, it is highly likely that my day will be quite unsatisfactory, perhaps even, as I said above, fraught with opposing viewpoints, confusion, and tension over all aspects of interpretation of the moment.

That sounds heavy, but just how do you stop bodies and ideas in motion?  The child's choice to pay attention is just that -- a choice.  It is, of course, expected that in school you pay attention and follow directions, but what if you are paying attention, just that all of your focus and intent is on what your feet are doing?  My own daughter gets so caught up in her projects that we continually have to strategize on ways to disengage her from her work when it's time for school, or dinnertime, or bedtime.  This is all to point out that transitions can be HARD, especially if you're emotionally invested in what you're doing now and are still in the now even when it's time to go to the next thing.

How do you stop bodies and ideas in motion, when needed?  My strategy has become to make the transition part of what we're learning and to make sure that as we go from here to there we are still on-topic.  Here's an example of a classic moment in my program, one that has often been "fraught with opposing viewpoints, confusion, and tension" for me, at least until I paid attention to it and found myself a solution.  This classic moment is called:
 

Me working the "Countdown to Silence"

Kids Are Standing and Need to Sit Down

Just telling a moving kid to sit down and expecting them be instantly ready to focus on verbal or visual directions is a hit or miss strategy, if you don't mind me saying.  A moving body needs a few focused seconds to calm itself down and turn on the eyes and ears.  Because I value the power of a group making rhythm together, I created a simple rhythmic countdown (which you can learn for yourself if you ever happen to see my work) which seems to do the trick.  It brings the whole room back to focus.  Kids can find their center even while sitting.  This countdown is a simple verbal and physical rhythmic reminder every time we transition from moving to sitting and is usually enough to help kids get ready to bring in new information.  This kind of transition also helps to maintain consistent composure of the group over the course of the lesson. 

Sometimes, if you just pay attention to and clarify the intent of a moment, especially an in between moment, the solution will be waiting.  A philosophical yet potentially useful mindset.