Rules

A student in my form's father is dying. Well, probably. It's advanced stage cancer, detected very late, and it's not a sort with a good prognosis. Hairy Boy is 13 and he has a younger sister, and their uncle, who has no kids, decided to buy them a family holiday to make the most of the months they have left with their dad. Fair enough. Lovely plan. Only, it's in term time.

We can't say 'Wait til Christmas' because it's already payed for (and they're not wealthy), and, well, Dad might not have that long, at least not in good enough health to go on holiday - but we can't say yes.

New rules came in at the start of this month that say that no holidays can be authorised apart from in exceptional circumstances, for students who have never taken a holiday in term time before, and whose attendance for the last 12 months is over 90%. And Hairy Boy's attendance is 85% - he was really sick last term for a week. So we can't authorise, and there's no appeal system or higher-up power to appeal to, just the rule. You can't. Teacher's can't be trusted to use their professional judgement, so we end up with absolute regulations like this and have nowhere to turn when we find a situation in which they are clearly devastatingly misguided.

Oh, my form

Grumpy 14 year old boy, storming out of my classroom unhappily: *mutters* 'I don't know why everyone says you're such a great teacher, you're not exactly a good form tutor...'

First week back

It was a long week! Let's do this by numbers.

1: snapping at children ('Don't whine, Ali!' to a year 7 bottom set child)
1: putting my head in my hands and telling my TA 'That was the worst lesson in the history of ever' (this 
     happens quite often)
2: times I made a new year 7 cry
2: balls of string used in lessons and now hopelessly tangled
3: hopelessly miss-set children (2 have now been moved...)
3: 'Miss Roots' Magical Homework Pass's given out, to much admiration and joy

4: detentions given to 13 year-olds for calling out in class
4: times a student who had me last year told a student who is new to me this year 'Yeah, she really will do
    that'
5: detentions given (a year 8 girl forgot her homework. Yes, I'm mean.)

And finally...
12: times being called 'Mrs'. Nope, not married!

More Mistakes

I don't know how to deal with a student making a mistake. I mean, really, I don't. My current strategy goes something like this:

If it's in front of the whole class, say, 'Hmm, that's not quite right, can somebody help X out?'

If it's one-on-one with a usually capable and confident student, say 'Nope, that's not quite true' or 'You've made a mistake in this problem. Can you spot it?' - and then wait.

If it's one-on-one with a less confident student, say 'This one here isn't quite right. You do it like this:.... What do you think the answer is now?'

It's fairly disastrous. The first two are more-or-less ok, mostly because the students are fine with making mistakes anyway. Another teacher in my department always says 'Bad luck!' when someone makes a mistake in front of the class, which I like, but in a way I'm not sure it matters what words you use - they know what it means. It's the third scenario where there are huge problems. Fluffy, my smallest and spunkiest year 10, is always kitted out in fluffy bed socks (Why? She's fifteen!). She's the kid in my bottom set who is failing everything. When she's told a problem is wrong, she will totally shut down. Head on the desk, snatches the book away, and grumbles.
'Leave me alone! I'm doing it! Just let me work!'
'I'm pleased you're working, Fluffy, but I think you've made a small mistake in one place. Let me look and we can sort it out, then you can carry on.'
'I know what I'm doing! Stop picking on me! You can look at the end!'
'I don't want you to make the same mistake again, so I need to look now.'
'God! I'm just trying to work! Go away - I'm ok! I know what I'm doing!'
'I'm really sorry, Fluffy, but I'm not sure you 100% know what you're doing, because you've made a small mistake. So we need to go over it.'
'It's fine! It's not a problem! Leave me alone and go and hassle someone else!'

She's crying, I'm frustrated, and we don't get anywhere with the maths. Sometimes she will continue working during the conversation, whilst covering her book up and refusing to stop writing. More often, she won't pick up a pen again for the rest of the lesson. I always feel awful for pushing her, and I can't see it as naughtiness - she's upset and defensive, because she can't deal with being wrong, again.

The only possible solution I've thought of so far is really small problem sets, where each one needs to be checked before going on to the next. That way at least she knows it's coming, so she's not always worrying about me coming over, and I'm not 'picking' on her. I'm sure she won't like that idea, though. There's got to be a way that's less hurtful for both of us!

At the bottom

I've just found out that I'm getting bottom set 11-year-olds next year. It's pretty exciting, because I've never taught that level before - I've taught higher level 11-year-olds, and bottom set 13+. Bottom sets at that age are a bit of a mystery to me, and from the frantic research I've been doing, to a lot of people. Before they enter the world of GCSE target grades (usually 'Get a grade! You're upsetting our A* to G %!') nobody really minds what you do with them. In fact, it's terrifyingly unsupervised and unsupported. And here's the shocker.

Most children in bottom sets in the UK make no progress in maths between the ages of 11 and 14.

None, in over 3 years. That's the sort of stat nobody wants to own up to, and it's the sort that nobody even tries to address, because it looks pretty impossible.

There was an ugly facebook argument last week that I saw, where someone suggested that education isn't good at producing clever, useful people because, well, teachers aren't clever, useful people - if they were, they wouldn't be teaching, would they? They'd be writing software, or working in finance or consultancy, or the civil service, or something a whole lot better than teaching.

It got quite a response, which I shan't bother repeating - if you're reading this, chance are we don't disagree about this anyway. However, it got me thinking of a parallel argument:

Maybe education is so terrible at catering to the needs of the bottom 5% of the (mainstream) school population, because none of the teachers were ever in the bottom 5% of their school populations. In a conversation recently, it turned out that none of the people present had ever been in anything lower than set 2 in school. Bottom sets are a mystery to teachers, and to education advisers in local or national capacities.

A bottom set year 10 kid had me in tears a few weeks ago when she apologised for her shocking behaviour, and explained that she'd just found out she was failing Drama GCSE. As in, she was predicted to get a U, and the teacher couldn't see a way for that to change. She said 'Drama's my best subject! It was the only subject I thought I might get a grade in. Now I'll have nothing at the end of next year - no grades at all. What's the point?'

When she arrived age 11, she met with a host of teachers who had never been in her position, and had little idea how to teach her. She's stuck in a system that really doesn't cater to her, because it was designed by people who had never been in her position. It's probably too late for her to get much out of secondary school, but I want a different experience for my new 11-year-olds, fresh-faced from primary school. How?

Hunt

Year 9 arrive at the classroom. It's the last lesson of the year, and excitement is running pretty high about what they'll be doing. There's a notice taped to the door:
'Wait til everyone is here, then come on in'

At 1.30, they enter and find the room empty, with a large note on the table - in code. They grab some whiteboards and start arguing (love this class!). They decode it to 'Come to the canteen quickly', and they run down.

Taped to the canteen door is a notice reading:
'Grab a clipboard from below, and your first clue is over there >'
There are questions all around the grounds, with answers above them. They answer one question and find the answer on the top of another sheet of paper, answer the question underneath and so on, until they come back to the canteen door. I snuck back and replaced the notice, so now there's another code there. They decode it (this takes them a while - it's a substitution cypher and they go the wrong way, but then realise their mistake) and it reads 'If you are a cookie monster, go to N15' Where there are, naturally, cookies.

I'm sure there are better ways to increase class independence than literally not being there to help when they're desperate to solve something, but I don't think there are as funny for me, watching from various windows!

Novelty in Equation Solving

I tried a new method for getting kids to rearrange equations this week. Astonishingly, given the amount of stuff out there, I haven't been able to find it anywhere on the web, but I'm sure I can't be the first to think of it.

It was stunningly easy. The majority of the class could already do basic rearranging, such as 3a + 4 = 2a + 6 . I gave them that question then, after they demonstrated the method and answer, asked them to divide themselves into 2 roughly equal groups, based on confidence. Now, I hear what everyone seems to be saying about grouping by ability, but I had a real reason for this. Also, it was the kids' own choice which group they went in. Some of them surprised me. Most got it right. The ones that didn't quickly realised and moved.

Each group then got given a bunch of equations on slips of paper, and each student taped one to the top of their whiteboards (held portrait). The more confident group got fiendish, nasty, horrible equations. The others got ones of the sort above. They sat in a circle. Each student had to write the first step of rearranging the equation under the taped paper, then pass the whiteboard to their left. They would get handed a whiteboard from their other side, read what was on it and write the next step for that equation.

It was fantastic. The amount of brilliant maths talk, productive arguing and explaining was huge. Students were teaching each other and figuring out what worked and what didn't. A sample exchange:

Kid 1 'This step isn't right' *passes board back*
Kid 2 'Yes it is, see, I multiplied by 3p'
Kid 1 'Huh, yeah, I guess you did'

pause

 Kid 1 'But I can't see what to do next, after that step. I don't think we can solve it starting like that. Can you do a different step?'
Kid 2 'Oh, I guess not, ok, sure'*

I sat with the less confident group to start with, and when they'd got on the the second set of equations I moved over. The others were really struggling, but making lots of progress. At the end, I did the litmus test.
'So, who learned something today?'
'Who was challenged today'
A resounding success. So much so, that next lesson I got them to split into 4 smaller circles, and we did some more.


*For interest, this equation had a quadratic on the top of a fraction, which they needed to cancel - if they didn't, they ended up needing to factorise a quadratic with a non-1 value of x squared.

Manage Me

I got assaulted by a student this week. That's a powerful word, 'assaulted'. I wasn't the one to use it first, but I heard it when, upon telling the head of year, he grabbed the deputy head and said '*Name*, Miss Roots has just been assaulted by a student.' That's when I knew it was going to be ok.

It wasn't major, as assaults go, and I'm not seriously hurt. The assault was a little complicated - I was standing in front of a door that was partly open towards me, and Trouser Boy (remember him?) reached past me and yanked the door into me, as hard as he could. He was trying to leave the room. He had a detention, but wanted his cigarette. He was in an awful mood and had had an unsuccessful lesson, in an area where his confidence is rock bottom. These are not excuses, but they are reasons. My Head of Department came through, having heard the commotion, and I told him. We went and found the head of year, who grabbed the deputy head, and used the word 'assault'.

Last year, at a different school, I was assaulted more seriously by a student. The school did not deal with it - I was told the student would be sent home, but saw him later the same day. I received no offers of support and no help with sanctioning the student or teaching him next lesson. After many, many tears of frustration, I asked my mentor how to make the school take it seriously. She said, and I quote: 'Start using the word 'assault'. It'll scare the shit out of them.' It did. I think it conjures up the spectre of unions and legal responsibilities and contracts and duty of care and all the stuff that we shouldn't need to be protected from assaults, but we do.

When the head of year said 'assault', then, I knew the school would take this hugely seriously. You can ignore an 'incident', but you can't not deal with an assault. I was right. After sending people off to pick up Trouser Boy, find forms and notify people, the head of year turned to me.
 'Are you all right?'
 'I, uh...yeah, I...think...'
 'No.'
 'No.'
That was when I burst into tears. My head of department, the head of year and the deputy head turned to each other and immediately began organising cover for my next lesson, so I wouldn't have to teach. I was sat down, made a cup of tea, then Matron was sent for (I was fine). After 20 minutes, the deputy head came and sat with me. He chatted with me, then asked what I had to do the rest of the day. He asked if I would like to go home, and said it would be fine for him to cover me. That is so unusual, I was blown away.

After another 15 minutes, I was feeling much better, and my Head of Department said I could go and take over my lesson whenever I wanted, although I shouldn't feel I ought to. I headed up and everything was going smoothly, so I took over for a very relaxed last 20 minutes of the lesson.

I am feeling so lucky in my school this week, and in the people we have in charge. The contrast to my last school's management is stark, and it's the things like this that make all the difference, that make or break teachers and can drive them out of inner city or deprived schools, out of the state system, or out of education.

Making Conversation

In the inclusion centre, for kids who can't cope so well with mainstream, or who can cope but not for 5 lessons a day. I am teaching a sewing class, which I volunteered to do in my gained time now the year 13s (upper 6th) have left, to 3 girls, Big Hair (13), Scottie (14) and Beehive (15). The atmosphere is a lot more relaxed than in the rest of the school! All 3 girls have had multiple exclusions from multiple schools.

Beehive: 'So, how old are you, Miss?'
Me: 'I'm sorry, love, but I can't really tell you that, you know?'
Beehive: 'Oh, OK, year, fair dos'
Me: 'Thanks'
Big Hair: 'But you're, like, young, right?'
Scottie: 'Yeah, she's definitely young'
Beehive: 'Can we have an estimate, Miss? Like, around about?'
Me: 'Um...'
Beehive: 'Like, you're in your 20s, right?'
Me: (safe territory) 'Right, I'm in my 20s'
Beehive: 'Cool, thanks Miss.'
Big Hair: 'You're really mature for 20, Miss. Aren't 20-year olds always, like, clubbing and drinking?'
Beehive: 'She's in her 20s, idiot, not 20!'
Big Hair: 'OH! I thought she looked old for 20!'

New Kid

Year 8 make for a fairly happy classroom, rid of some of its troublemakers and with some others subdued by the sheer weight of constantly followed-up expectation and still others cajoled into compliance with praise and adaptation. We get along pretty well, and they will humour me and laugh with me, and I am some way to figuring out how to get their best out of them. The cycle of demand-denial-demand doesn't happen very often, and there's a fair bit of maths talk, sparks of genuine interest and, every so often, moments of quiet thought. Then there's a new kid.

Maybe I'm naive, but I think of new kids as being initially, at least, quiet and reasonably compliant. That has overwhelmingly been my experience, even if they're just new to the class and not to the school - they're checking the new teacher out. Not this one. I am unaware of his existence until he bursts into the classroom before the lesson begins, then barrels out again. As I step into the corridor, he (let's call him Deep) demands that he sit next to one particular kid, 'Cos he's my only friend, Miss!' I realise he must be new and say that we'll see, and that in this class, students must sit in a seating plan. His voice is, as you may have gathered, quite extraordinarily deep for a 13 year old, and he is very tall and large. When the class enter, he takes himself off and sits next to yet another kid. I have to ask him to stand up and place him somewhere more suitable. I exchange a glance with my TA and we both take a deep breath.

As the lesson starts he begins to make loud and silly comments, stating the obvious. 'Miss, miss, I don't get it, I think it's because, you know, I wasn't here last lesson!' The other kids initially think this is funny, but the repetition soon annoys them. Deep talks really loudly and really deeply, and seems immune to the annoyance of kids around him. When I ask him to stop talking, he apologises then does it again. And again. I give him a warning and put his name on the board. I explain what this means to him and the consequences if he continues, quietly. He argues back, loudly, that he can't have an after school detention! I explain that that is the final sanction, that it would be set for a later date, and anyway, I'm sure he can manage to not get that far. He shouts at full volume as I walk away 'But Miss, are you, like, proper sure?'

Deep improves marginally, but I'm worried by the bizarreness of his behaviour. At one point, in the middle of my explanation to the class he begins to laugh loudly. When I ask him to stop making noise, he explains (again, loudly) that he was 'just laughing at the funny man on the wall', pointing to my small picture of Einstein. He seems genuine in his shock at being reprimanded and sincere in his attempts to behave.

Now you might think that surely, surely I must have had some information, some guidance, before another student was added to quite difficult a class of 32. Our IT system is down, so it wasn't until the next day that I accessed the email. I gave his name and age, and that he would be joining my class. It said that no more information could be given, because his previous school was in Scotland and had not provided any data. They could not get hold of his mother. My TA is specifically trained in autistic-spectrum disorders, and we were both saying 'Asperger's-like?' to ourselves by the end of the lesson. We clearly failed Deep spectacularly, failing to deal appropriately with his behavioural needs or address any maths with him. I still have no idea of his mathematical ability (he has been placed in my set, the middle, for want of information). My only excuse is that I was so surprised by his appearance and behaviour that I found myself unable to judge whether his behaviour was a deliberate challenge or an unfulfilled need.

As to the other 32 students, I feel sorry for them.

Excited

A year 7 arrives early in my classroom. She is quiet and shy, so I take the opportunity to talk to her.

Me: You're getting on really well in maths at the moment. Are you feeling ok about the test?
Year 7: Yeah, I've done lots of revision. I'm a lot better at maths now than I was in primary school.
Me: Oh? How come? You're pretty good at maths!
Year 7: I didn't really like it at all in primary school, but it's better now, and I find it much easier.
Me: Why's that, then?
Year 7: Well, my last teacher was a maths specialist and she always said it was really important and she was really serious. She wasn't enthusiastic like you - you're always excited. And we didn't get to play any games.

Depression

It's been a tough couple of weeks. At the end of last week, a kid in my form had a breakdown, and I had to deal with it. Totally. Because I was the only person he would speak to. It's flattering, and surprising, as I haven't spoken to the kid much previously. Mostly, thought, it was terrifying - I was worrying I would say the wrong thing. How to deal with a teenager who tells you that, every so often, he has sad thoughts that 'spiral out of control', and he can't stop crying? When he says he's afraid of how he feels, and of what he might do? I knew the long-term stuff to do (Mental health and child protection referrals etc) but in that instant, when I was called, came running, and saw this kid staring at the wall with tears running down his face, what to say?

I spent half an hour talking with him and his best friend, in what turned into a sort of group counselling session where we talked about fears and self-worth. I am in no way qualified to do that, but he wouldn't speak to anyone else. Not the school counsellor, or nurse, or his mother. So it was me. In the end, his mum came and we sorted a plan and he went home, and... then it was half term.

I've been thinking of this kid all week. These situations are so hard to put down, especially when I have a whole week to worry in. Maybe I need a session on fears myself. I'll see him tomorrow.

Talk to me

There's a very quiet child in my form - let's call her one-eyed girl, as that's the hair style she opts for. She struggles with communication with her peers and with me, and she's a chronic lier, but also really wants to please. After many form-tutor meetings and conversations with her dad, a history emerges: a young childhood with an emotionally abusive mother. The effect of double bind instructions (instructing someone such that nothing they do is correct - e.g. telling them to be affectionate and then pushing them angrily away) is so profound that it's a whole area of developmental and abnormal psychology. One-eyed girl seems to have experienced this all the time, from her incredibly demanding but opaque mother. Interestingly, her mother has recently been diagnosed with autism.

At the start of this academic year, she went to live with her father and step-mother. It wasn't easy - she lied to them as well as us, often for no reason at all. She frequently disappeared, and her father found her frustrating and very hard to communicate with. It seemed to be gradually improving, as her grades went up, her appearance and punctuality improved and she seemed to be getting on better with the other kids. Yesterday she told me she's moved back with her mum, because she feels she can't manage the demands her dad is making of her, and she thinks she's making him and her step-mum miserable because she knows she doesn't communicate with them, and that this frustrates them. She thinks it's 'best for everyone' if she goes back to her mother, who she knows was angry that she had left and wanted her to return. Her father is livid. One-eyed girl is distraught, and not doing any school work. I am useless.

Interested

Sparky has been put on report. Form tutor report, so she has to see her tutor every break, lunch, and after school and show her comments and scores from every teacher she's had that day. It's humiliating, time-consuming and daft. She is on report for not listening  in class.

She is a gifted kid who is bored stiff by most of her lessons, which are very much teach-to-the-middle lessons designed for 11 year olds. The other lesson she did a question that almost exactly resembles a question that was on yesterday's AS level maths paper (for 17 year olds). She stares out of the window in class and doesn't engage unless it's difficult. She's not motivated by competition, rewards, shame or simply completion. Give her some questions that are too easy and she'll work at a snail's pace, no matter how fun the format or what incentives you provide. Give her something she can't do at first glance, and she'll worry away at the problem for hours or days. She is, in essence, an intrinsically motivated kid - a kid motivated by the honest-to-goodness content of our subjects. How fantastic. What a treat.

Only nobody else seems to think so. They complain about her lack of engagement and her laziness, and her refusal to conform. She doesn't always do all that well on tests, because she usually can't be bothered and she isn't motivated by getting a high score. I've heard her described on more than one occasion as 'that rather dim girl'. Now she's on report, designed for the naughtiest kids, to try and force her into some semblance of paying attention.

I give warning: I am getting this kid, this gifted, fantastic, insightful and intrinsically motivated kid, for maths. It's now her favourite subject. I think she's as gifted in the other areas, but they see her as lazy and a bit thick, and they don't engage her. The world could do with more brilliant female mathematicians.

Parents evening

Twice, last night, a kid contradicted their parent.

1.
Mum: 'Well, she should be doing well, she loved maths in primary school'.
Sparky: 'No, I didn't.'
Mum: 'Yes you did! You were good at it!'
Sparky: 'It was horrible.'

2.
Mum: 'Now look, my daughter is scared of getting a detention in your class and that's just not right. She's a good kid and shouldn't have to be scared, it's completely unnecessary and bad for her education. I want to know what you think you're achieving by scaring my daughter!'
Me: 'Uh......have I ever given anyone in your class a detention? I don't think so...'
Kid: *bright red* 'Uh, Mum...it's not this teacher.'
Mum: 'Ah, right, well, sorry then, I guess...'

Quote of the Week

'Miss, when my mum met you at parent's evening, she said you looked about 10. How old are you?'

Make it better

Thursday of this week, I had a dreadful day. The morning was packed with 12 year olds who'd fallen out with each other, and with maths, and at least 3 kids told me they 'couldn't be bothered' to think. It probably didn't help that my classroom was baking. At lunch a teacher I team-teach with told me she was ditching the class because she needed more planning time and had allocated me another teacher to team-teach with... 4 weeks before these students go on study leave. She said she was 'sure you'll agree it's what's best for the kids'! What? No! Add to that the looming prospect of a really long parents' evening that night, and I was not looking forward to period 5 with my naughtiest group.

My TA came up to my baking hot room and found me with my head in my hands, frustrated and tired and at the end of my tether. We had a chat, and I was reminded of something I've read a lot: I, as the teacher, set the weather in the classroom. Fair or stormy, I decide. I had 31 11 year olds about to turn up, who'd done nothing wrong, and I needed an attitude change before they came in! With my TA, I threw open all the windows on the shady side of the room and pulled down all the blinds on the sunny side (yeah, windows down both sides). Whilst we did this, we re-wrote the lesson plan verbally. Minimal silent individual work. We made some problem sets paired challenges, and others we decided to scrap and work wholly on the mini whiteboards for that section. We thought about questions to ask, and how to help them through the tougher bits.

We heard them yelling outside, so I plastered a big smile on my face and went out. The corridor was really hot, and I was happy that my room felt much cooler. It was dim too, which I thought would help calm them down. They lined up looking dishevelled and muddy after a lunchtime of football, but I got them in fast. I suggested they all take their jumpers off, and got right on with the lesson, using my favourite trick - saying it was a really hard lesson, but they'd done so well last lesson I thought they could handle it. My TA and I tag-teamed round the room, making eye contact and assessing which students needed us most, and where to position ourselves in the classroom for whole-class work. There were no tears. There was very little frustration. They took to the challenge, and the room felt full of positivity. No one whined at me, and no one was 'not bothered'. Everyone had some success. Random and my other 2 naughties stayed in the room the whole lesson, and did their work with minimal coaxing. When they filed out I turned to my TA and we both let out a long breath. 'Thank you' I said, 'That was a triumph'.

It's so easy to let my own frustrations spill over into my teaching, and it was so good to be reminded that I can change what feels inevitable, if I change my approach.

Head to Head

Yesterday, last lesson, I kept a Fiery Kid behind. He had failed to show up to a detention before we went on break (I hadn't even had him picked up - how was he supposed to remember?) and I had not only remembered this fact, but remembered it at the end of our lesson, which was the last lesson of the day. And I said he would have to stay for 10 minutes to do the homework he had failed to do in the first place (yes, we don't set much homework. School policy).

Fiery Kid told me he couldn't stay. I told him that school policy is that the day ends 15 minutes after the last lesson (even the school coaches don't go til then) so we can keep kids for that time. He began to get really angry, and I failed to take this seriously. He was playing to an audience, shouting 'Am I talking in another language or something? Everyone else gets it - I'm going! Why can't you understand? Are you stupid as well as ugly?' Then he said it was 'f***ing ridiculous', and on discovering that he could swear without the sky falling down, proceeded to run around the room swearing, before running out.

Today he was suspended internally all morning (sat in the back of my head of department's room) and was brought through at lunchtime to speak to me. He looked like a different kid. He mumbled at me, agreed promptly when my HoD told him he had been out of line, and did his homework with me before leaving. He didn't seem embarrassed, so much as crushed and worn out from arguing. We didn't have any real dialogue and, whilst I'm sure he'll behave himself tomorrow, it seems weirdly unsatisfactory.

We were discussing what students would ideally be like when they leave our school in inset tonight, and the verbs were strong: ambitious, confident, independent, daring. We don't seem to be encouraging these qualities in Fiery Kid. We seem to be crushing them. Could there be another option?

New Adventures

I got the news this week that I'll be teaching A Level maths next year (that's 16 - 18 year olds) as well as my usual 11-16 year olds. In a school like mine, with a big 11-16 group and a small sixth form, it's a pretty big deal - everyone wants to teach A Level! But I'm a bit terrified.

I keep on hearing that there's so much to get through in A level, and that you've got to just teach from the textbook to cover everything, so don't take risks and anyway they're too old to appreciate any fun stuff. This seems so untrue; I remember A level as being reasonably light on content, to be honest, and I don't see why a 17 year old wouldn't enjoy an open-ended, creative, problem solving style lesson as much as a 13 year old. Maybe it's just too hard to come up with lessons like that for that level of material? I don't know. I just know I've got a lot of reading and thinking to do before I'll accept that I've got to teach from the textbook all lesson, very lesson! Surely that's not what our brightest and best mathematicians should be experiencing?

Drama

Yesterday, I was informed that one of my tutor group had been suspended. Knowing the student involved, I was disappointed but not wholly surprised, until I head the reason. She had, quite seriously and with some forethought, tried to set fire to another student.

Never let it be said that truly terrible behaviour never happens in 'good schools'!

E.g.

At the maths workshop I went to recently, my head of department and I planned an activity around one idea: asking questions of the form 'give me an example of...' There are 3 main ways of using this, and I've been trying them a lot recently.

1. Ask students for an example of something, and keep adding criteria until there is one correct answer (attributed to lots of different people, as far as I can tell). Cute, but I don't like the idea of their first answers being 'wrong', so I want to be careful about how I phrase this. Also, it's less focussed on creativity.
For example: 'Give me an example of an even number.' 'Now see if you can find an example that's a multiple of 3' 'Now see if you can find an example that's a square number' etc. until everyone has, say, 36.

2. Make it really open ended: 'Give me an example of a hard question for this topic. Why is it hard? What would be an easy question?' I like this in really small groups or one-to-one, but in a class of 30+ I find it tricky to have everyone involved in the discussion.

3. Ask for an example of something, then compare. My favourite way of doing this involves everyone thinking of the first thing that comes into their heads. Get it down on paper, get it out of the way. Now the pressure's off, everyone's got someting, think of another example that you don't think anyone else will have got. I did this with 2 classes last week, asking each of them for a shape with an area of 5. After the initial shapes (rectangles, mostly, and a few right triangles), it got interesting. I asked them all to stand, then asked the people with rectangles to sit down. Then the people with triangles, then parallelograms, then trapeziums. Then we looked at what was left. The second time I did this, I talked more about the different categories as the students sat down, or rather, got them to talk about 'how to draw an x with area 5', which allowed them to share expertise and made those ideas seem more valued.

We extended this into another favourite tactic, question swapping, by asking each student to pick an integer between 6 and 20, then draw a shape with that area on a card. Then I paired them up and swapped them, and they had to find the area of the shape drawn on the card they were given, and check their answer with the person who drew it. Paired by ability, this meant I managed to challenge most of them. Incidentally, it also meant I won a bet with my head of department: I said that I was sure at least one of my top set would draw a circle. 'Surely not! What would you even write on it? The radius? Like....root of (5 over pi)?' In fact, I got a circle with a decimal radius, but said I wouldn't accept inaccurate answers, could they write it accurately please? Then they had it! Never underestimate.

The creativity in maths is so often lost, especially when the teacher does all the creative work! What would make a good question here? How did they get that answer? Handing the reins over for a bit was far less work for me in terms of preparation, though harder in terms of generating ideas and think-time. It got some kids involved who rarely volunteer answers in maths, either through anxiety about their ability or general shyness. It was so nice to see the kids who usually think their strengths lie in what they see as 'creative' subjects have a chance to shine in maths, and it gave the 'good-at-maths' rule followers pause for thought. I just wish more lessons could be more like this.

Flattering

'Miss, you're the most responsible adult we know, so will you come with us to a gig tomorrow? Under 16s have to be accompanied!'

Words

A student in my youngest group is really, really funny. We'll call her Bird Girl, because it reminds me of her name and demeanor. She likes to use the longest words she can to talk about things and, as we do a lot of talking, she gets to do this a lot. She also writes reams in her exercise book when given a task such as 'discuss and write down what you think we mean by a 'square root'. She covers her mini whiteboard whenever I ask a question. It's all very like me!

Also like me, Bird Girl writes as small as she possibly can. In tiny colourful handwriting she uses up every square of her exercise book, drawing lines with her ruler to separate the different pieces of work. She likes word problems and puzzles, and enjoys thinking for herself.

Does she sound bright to you? Does she sound engaged? I imagined from the first few weeks that she was near the top of the class (set 2), and the tests confirmed it, including the recent whole-year test that I neither set nor marked. She's clearly pretty able. However, when I told this to her parents at lats week's parent's evening, they were astonished. 'Bird Girl really struggles with maths. She was in the remedial group at primary school, and had extra help. She's never enjoyed it and is very anxious.' I looked at her (students come to our parents evenings) and asked if she felt that way. She said she used to hate maths, but she really liked it now, and also, it seemed a little easier. I don't know, but I suspect it's the general creativity and language-linked aspects that helped her. It seems sad she's never encountered these before!

P.s. A very big shout out to my most faithful reader, my sister, whose birthday it is today! Happy birthday sis!

Lovely

Last Friday night I got a disclosure of the sort of abuse that you don't even read about in the papers - horrible things that nobody wants to know about it.

 

One kid, Lovely, in bottom set, is really bad at maths. She did 20 - 9, got 29 and was happy with it. She doesn't really understand any of the operations. I drew her rectangles on squared paper for times tables, 2 the same size, and we counted the squares in each, but different ways. She was surprised that we got the same answer, even though she knew they were both 5 squares by 8 squares. I'm helping her a little extra, because she wants to understand so badly and the funny thing is, she's doing well in most of her other subjects, and she just doesn't seem like a bottom-set kid. No diagnosed difficulties, very articulate and hardworking - why wan't she getting it?

 

After a few weeks of one-on-one, I worked out that she had somehow missed place value. She's never grasped it, and it had messed up every subsequent maths concept for her. But why? Surely they do that a lot at primary, how had she missed something so central? So I asked her. I said: it seems like you're missing a piece of the puzzle, from when you were very little. Does that sound right to you?

Yes, she said. Yes, because I didn't go to school much then.

Oh? How come?

Well miss, I wasn't allowed to go, because ...

 

You occasionally read about these things. Kids kept home from school to disguise abuse. It's even used (unfairly) as an argument against home education. But in the flesh it's completely heart-rending and incomprehensible. I have goosebumps and pricking tears even now from writing this, and the thought that she's lived with this in silence for so long, just getting on with it, never acting out, never having a clue what's going on in class because when those crucial concepts were covered, she was hardly there, and when she was present 'I didn't seem to concentrate all that well, Miss'. Her literacy has mostly recovered, but perhaps because of it's linear nature, her maths hasn't. And I am so angry.

Pirates

I've had enquiries about the piratical lesson, so here's what we did.

We'd looked at probability trees the previous lesson, and whilst they hadn't seen them before, they were pretty happy with them, so I gave them this puzzle: You've been captured by the dreaded pirate captain. He wants you to walk the plank, but some of his crew think you might be useful and want you to join the ship. To test your intelligence, he sets you this puzzle. (Being a pirate, of course, you can never be certain of succeeding; you just have to give yourself the best chance possible.)

He gives you 4 gold coins and 4 silver coins, and 2 identical bags. You must put all the coins in the bags, then place the bags on the deck. The pirate captain will pick a bag at random and then pick a coin at random from it. If it's a gold coin, you get to stay. (adapted from the wonderful TES)

They really went for it, and it was a good application of what they'd learnt. Have a go! Mathematicians who saw the solution instantly: how do you explain how you know that's the best option? I struggled a bit on that.

Then they made a pi paper chain, and the great bit about that was I gave it to my earliest finishers on the pirate puzzle to organise. I gave them 2 copies of the first 200 digits of pi, 10 piles of strips of coloured paper and 5 staplers. It was an interesting organisational problem, of the sort that kids often don't get to try in school, and they loved it.

Best of all, after everyone had hunkered down for the pirate puzzle, I heard one kid say very quietly 'How come maths is the fun lesson this year?' It's not all about the fun, but if the learning is fun, they'll learn more and retain it better. His test scores show me he's learning, so I'm delighted he finds it fun.

Creativity

This week I went to a mini maths conference, after school, with 20 maths teachers from my county. I went because my Head of Department (HoD) noticed my frustration with the lack of innovation and creativity in school, and wanted to help. He took me there and we actually got to talk about maths for the first time.

It was amazing. It was the first training event I've been to that I really felt was worth it, and it was worth it by a long way. I got so many ideas and resources that I'm itching to try out, and when we had to plan an activity based on what we'd been talking about, my HoD and I had so many ideas that it was hard to pick. We planned a pretty awesome activity, which ended up being extended to an entire lesson with the help of some other people, and which I'm going to trial on Tuesday. This is completely outside the scheme of work, but my HoD's not bothered. In fact, he's really excited, and we're meeting after the lesson to discuss it and talk with some of the other maths teachers at school about it.

I feel really re-energised by seeing 20 other maths teachers as excited and creative as I want to be. There were only a couple of NQTs, so I have hope that it's possible to sustain this level of enthusiasm and innovation. I realised how frustrated my HoD feels with the worksheet-teachers at school, and saw how supportive he is of new ideas.

His tolerance was further proven today when he walked into my top set lesson. The kids were all kitted out as pirates, making appropriate noises and walking round the classroom to consult with each other, on a massive problem solving exercise. It was pretty loud, but all the talk was about the maths. He looked at me, grinned, shrugged and walked on.

Compliment of the week

11 year old boy, apropos of nothing:

'You know, you're really not that old, miss. I mean, my mum's 37 and I think you're probably younger than she is.'

What's the point?

'The focus should really be on progress. People complain that the children don't enjoy my subject, and not many of them carry it on to GCSE or A Level, but that's not the point. That's not what OFSTED are looking for. Progress is what really matters.'

That's a direct quote from an 'expert' on an INSET day this week. It terrifies me. I'm all for not needing to be liked as a teacher, and not needing every lesson to be fun, and not sacrificing subject content for the sake of sheer entertainment, but if you're making students dislike your subject, to the extent that they don't want to carry it on, something is wrong. Statements like these, from professionals, make me think that all the Standards and OFSTED stuff about 'teachers should inspire a love of learning' is not being taken seriously. Of course it's harder to measure than academic progress, but we shouldn't chuck it out because of that.

I think, as a maths teacher, that it's massively important that students feel confident working with numbers, and not put off by them for the rest of their lives. Moreover, we may lose our best students from the subject if we take the approach that we don't care if they enjoy it as long as they're learning - the brightest will learn, but they'll drop it as soon as possible. Two kids who now have level 8 in year 9 told me at the start of the year that maths was their worst subject. We need more bright kids doing maths A level.

What about the gender divide? Stats suggest that girls are even more likely to be put off a subject than boys by a 'shut up and learn' approach, and their talents are more likely to be left undiscovered. We can't afford the gender gap in maths to grow any larger.

So much for the top end, what about the other side? If the weakest students don't enjoy maths, they will feel less confident and be even more likely to chuck in the towel and give up. We don't need their motivation to decrease any more - for these students, it will interfere with their progress, and that (so say these experts) is all-important.

Some kids are never going to like maths, say its detractors. Maybe. But we're losing kids who could like maths, at the top end where it's affecting the people we have in the subject, and at the bottom end, where it's affecting progress. Besides, I'm not so sure that some kids will never like maths. Let's try a bit harder before we say that, no?

In Blantant Disregard for the Healthy Eating Policy

To wrap up a topic on surface area and volume, I wanted to do something really exciting, and investigatory. It's not a topic that lends itself to that so much, as most of it is learning to correctly follow formulae (at the early KS3 level). I'd read Fawn Nguyen's post on doughnuts as great vehicles for this, and it seemed too fantastic an opportunity to miss. I messed with the lesson a bit, talking about models with the kids first (a cylinder inside a cylinder, or one long, bent cylinder?) and helping the weakest ones out with some of the rules they'd forgotten, but otherwise it was mostly the same.

The one thing the kids did differently to Fawn's, though, was that almost all of them wrote their calculations on the large sheet of paper I'd put the doughnut on. The drew lines by the doughnut and labelled them with measurements, and wrote their workings around them. I had a 'no touching the doughnut' rule, and they were really good at that, so the doughnuts stayed fixed until their estimates had been approved. They had to justify their estimates as well - I don't know it Fawn's kids had to do that.

The sheets looked really awesome by the end and they all took photos. I wish I'd got some, they'd be great for my display boards though I'm sure they'd make the other kids jealous! We did this 2 weeks ago, and already it is a legend around the school: 'The maths lesson that had doughnuts in!' I think that says something sad about maths lessons, mine and everyone else's. Clearly we can't reach doughnut-eating heights of kid enjoyment every lesson, but we should at least be trying to compete with that on a regular basis. It shouldn't be an event so massively out of the ordinary that everyone in school has now heard of it. So, what's as awesome as doughnuts?

A backhanded compliment

From a 13 year old, on parents' evening:

'I don't know why everyone says you're so bad, Miss - I think you're a really good teacher!'

Damaging Children

Random is 11 years old, but looks about 8. He has the concentration span of a goldfish, and the communication skills of a particularly frantic chicken. Unfortunately for health and safety, he also has the acrobatic ability and disregard for danger of a monkey, and the mental health of, well, Eeyore. Random is clinically depressed, and the combination of this with his constant twisting and turning and above all shouting his every fleeting thought neural impulse to the entire class, makes him an interesting character in a class of 31 without a TA because, believe it or not, this child is not statemented. He is, however, profoundly disturbed.

His behaviour has deteriorated since he arrived in September as he seemed to lose the few coping skills he had, and resort to gestures, shouts of anger and lots of throwing things whenever he didn't like a situation. He was expelled from 2 primary schools. In my class, if he understands the work and I stand next to him, he will work quietly, with occasional breaks to say exciting things to the poor child next to him ('Willy's elephant's having a baby.' 'I like to break my teeth.' 'Why do you love education?'). If I remove myself so far as a meter, however, he cannot cope and will do no work whatsoever, but start his acrobatics and shout to the entire class.

Last week I had him removed from my class after a rousing rendition of a speech that might be entitled 'This is What Gay People Do', accompanied with quite astonishing actions and acrobatics, because blatant homophobia in front of 30 other 11 year olds is too much. On other days he will actually fall asleep on the floor if left to his own devices even briefly. Today, he informed me that he was going to kill himself.

I am beyond worried for this child and the situation that has produced him, and the 7 younger siblings at home, all now diagnosed with communication difficulties. We are damaging him by putting him repeatedly in situations which he so obviously cannot cope with. I want to allow him his coping strategies, destructive as they are, because it seems so cruel to take even that away from him and punish him for it, but I am worried for the rest of the class. It is disturbing, as an 11 year old child, to be exposed to ideas, language and behaviour like Random's, and I have no idea what effect it is having on the other children. That is why I try to contain him, and remove him, when his shouting and actions dominate the class for minutes on end. What does Ankle Socks, sitting quietly and working away at the back, think of all this? What is it doing to her? Can I stop it?

Stressed

I had a kid for detention today for failing to attend a detention for failing to do the homework, for the second time. One of those sagas. She's a nice enough girl, just a bit mardy, and she has blue hair, so we'll call her Blue Frown. She sat and did the work set whilst other kids trooped in and out of the room, collecting work and chatting with me. When they'd all gone, I thought I'd try and have a chat with her, so I asked her something - I think it was 'How come you're not doing the homework at the moment? Are you having a tough time?' and she started talking. It's starting to sound repetitive, I know, but it really does happen like that and it astonishes me every time. One short question and they talk for 20 minutes.

She said she hated school, and she's neither academic nor popular, so I wasn't very surprised. She only comes to school because she can't 'stress my mum out' any more. Apparently her mum was hospitalised with 'stress' for 3 nights last term, and her older and younger brothers are completely off the rails so Blue Frown is really scared her mum will go back to hospital. She said there are constant arguments at home since her dad left, 18 months ago, so she doesn't go home til 8pm. She tries to help her mum, but sometimes she can't help being cross at her brothers and then she feels really guilty.

I almost hate this sort of situation the most. She's clearly in a horrible situation, and frankly I'm not at all surprised she isn't doing her homework - and I don't blame her. But there's nothing serious enough, or that ticks any of the right boxes, to get agencies involved. There's nothing we can do, and she'll still get detentions for not doing homework. I did the only thing I could - I promised to never be mad at her for not doing homework: even though she would have to have detentions like everyone else, I would never be cross or stressed at her, and we would do the detentions and forget about it.

A Letter

I have received 3 sincere letters of apology in my life - the third today, from a student. A rare and significant thing.

Control

Three weeks in to this year, I was helping one girl in my bottom set when she stopped responding to me. I don't mean she stopped responding positively, or engaging, I mean she stopped speaking, making eye contact or doing anything at all that I'd asked. She continued to twiddle her hair, but it was like I wasn't in the room, never mind speaking to her. After a minute or so she called across to her friend, and I though it was over, but she still made no response to me.

That's how I discovered that Silent Girl is a selective mute. What that says about the SEN system is another matter altogether, but what it meant for me in that lesson was unclear. I tried, I'm ashamed to say, to force her out of it. Threats escalated as she continued to completely ignore me, including an instruction to leave the classroom. She had an hour's detention, which she eventually did, but we failed to have any productive conversations.

It started to happen a lot, and the pattern wasn't complicated: when the work got too hard, or if she got something wrong, she'd start ignoring me. Once or twice, when something was said that made her realise that an answer was incorrect, she scribbled over it violently before becoming mute. It wasn't a physiological problem in any sense, as she was still able to talk to her friends (so her throat wasn't constricting with nerves, for example). I was at a loss as to how to solve it.

The only thing that seemed to work was ignoring her, and coming back later, but that seemed like an admission of defeat, like I was giving Silent Girl the control in our relationship. When I realised that, it made more sense. In the bottom set age 14, Silent Girl had comprehensively failed at education for the last 8 years. She's sat in classrooms where - however basic the knowledge, however 'easy' the task was proclaimed to be - she couldn't follow. Age 14, she couldn't count to 20 reliably or subtract at all, and she was forced to go over the same concepts again and again, although she still didn't understand. She had no control, and she wanted some.

I was further convinced of this in January, when I witnessed a confrontation between Silent Girl and her form teacher. She'd been avoiding her form teacher, so he found her at the end of my lesson. She ignored him. Clearly very frustrated with her, he began to shout. He hadn't lost his temper, and I could see it was carefully controlled, but it didn't work. She sat there staring into the distance as he shouted until the end of break. He left and she still sat there, and she began to smile. She had, she thought, won some power over him - he could not break her, and she could make him furious.

Ever since then, I have never got cross with her. She occasionally references the incident - 'Do you remember when my form teacher yelled at me? He was really mad!' - and she still ignores me. When she does, I stay as calm as possible and never stop smiling. I explain what she needs to do, leave her for about a minute and return. If she hasn't done it, I repeat my instructions, making sure it's something she's capable of and still being extra cheerful. If she hasn't done it after that, I outline what she needs to do by the end of the lesson, and keep returning - she stays in the room until she's done it.

She ignores me less and less, and when she does she usually gives in after a few repetitions of the instructions. I'm pretty boring to bait now, and it works. It doesn't tackle the root of the problem though: she still has no control over her days and very little understanding. Unless we fix that, she's not going to cope when suddenly, in 18 months time, she has complete control.

Making Mistakes

Last week, I went to a dance class. I'm a pretty dreadful dancer, and it's no surprise that I was a complete beginner. It went really well, and I enjoyed the successes of getting to the end of each dance in tact - until the last dance. As soon as it started, someone called across to tell me I should be doing something, although I thought I should be standing still. No one had said that I should be doing this thing, but it was obvious to everyone else, as they were more experienced. It was really tough after that to catch up with the dance, and to figure out what was going on, and I got more and more confused until I gave up and ended up being pulled and jostled through to the end. I was feeling pretty cross with myself and with the instructors for not making it clear to a beginner. I felt that I was dreadful at dancing, and that it was pointless to try to improve.

As I was heading home, the parallels jumped out at me. The times when a child panics in class because they don't 'get it', and I tell them to wait - I'll help them later - but they feel the class is running along without them. The times when a student declares a test 'stupid' before they even try, because of a previous bad experience. The many students who give up when they start to find something hard, and look for someone else to blame.

So what can we do about this? How can I make failure less damaging to kids self-belief and attitude, and to my own? Someone once told me never to start by saying that something was easy. It puts the students in a lose-lose situation: if they can do it, that's no big deal, because it's easy. If they can't, well, they must be really dumb, because it's easy. The converse can help here, I think. If the teacher starts off by saying 'this is really tricky', it instantly becomes more ok to make mistakes. If the dancing instructor had said 'this is a tough dance', I'd have felt better when I went wrong.

We can get even more explicit than that though, and I've been trialling it this week with my youngest students. 'This topic is really tough. You guys are probably going to make loads of mistakes, but that's ok, because that's how we learn best.' When mistakes are made, I've been quietly observing them and then writing them on the board in an altered form for everyone to discuss, pointing out how useful the mistakes are. Most kids didn't recognise their own mistakes on the board, because I'd changed the numbers, but the ones who did didn't seem to mind.

I think this can only get us some of the way. I don't want to get into discussing the 'learning objective' culture in detail, but it seems to me that if you have a fixed objective, failure is always going to be more problematic. If it's open ended, not being able to do something is ok. Obviously we need kids to be focussed and have goals, but I think much of their learning should still be open-ended. They don't need to be driven to a specific goal every lesson, and when they instead set off and see where they end up, without fear of failing to meet a criteria, they allow themselves to make mistakes.

...and one I didn't catch

I got an email yesterday to tell me that a kid I teach, and chat to, and get along really well with, has just been diagnosed with severe anorexia. I had no idea. I didn't notice anything.

Again

The other day, a bright, cheerful girl in one of my classes was not concentrating. She was talking to the person next to her, and I when told her to stop, she did - but resumed 5 minutes later. I was pissed off, and told her to move seats. When she'd moved (after a 'no, I'm serious' comment from me), she stopped doing any work, and just sat there. I told her to stop being so mardy, and gave her a minimum amount of work to do, which she did.

At the end of the lesson, I asked her to stay, but before I spoke to her I turned to put some papers on a shelf. As I let my breath out with the lesson over, I realised: this is not how I do this. This is not the right way to do this. My frustration with a normally delightful student was stopping me doing what I know is right. I took a deep breath and turned around to her grumpy face. 'Hey, looks like you're having a bad day. What's up? Are you ok?'

It all came out - a worrying friendship issue and an argument with mum this morning. No big issues, but big enough when you're 12 to distract from long division. She talked for a few minutes, then apologised for her behaviour. I told her that I hoped she felt happier soon, and the next lesson she grinned at me and worked away cheerfully.

Every time. You have to do it every time. When you're tired, when you're frustrated, when you have a headache, when you've got a thousand things to do. I have to listen every time

Maths in the Library

Last week, there was a maths class in the library for the first time ever at my school. It was amazing. I was trying to figure out why that 'data' topic - a quarter of the course - is so damn dull. I found it dull and, as I discovered at uni, I love stats! I figured that it might be partially to do with the fact that you never get to deal with data you care about in school, so of course the results are boring. And frankly, the colours-of-cars / survey pseudo experiments that are often said to be the solution are almost worse than the textbooks in terms of providing data the kids might actually find interesting.

So, the library. Every kid got a data set that they were actually interested in - world records for the 50m front crawl, for the boy who swims for the county. CD sales per month for the girl in love with Bieber. And one kid - that one, and he's top of the class - comparing sales of cheese to GDP.

Now, every lesson they all draw a particular type of graph - Thursday was scatter graphs - using their own data, and to their own level of challenge. Pick the scales for your axes. Find equations of lines of best fit and predict more data, do some research, do other people agree with you?

It's amazing, producing nearly 100% engagement and raising interesting questions about how to present difficult data that doesn't fit neatly into categories. As a side benefit, I chummed up with the librarian. She just emailed me with a question.

The library 'maths books' budget hasn't been spent for the last 8 years. The ordering deadline for this year is a week away. Is there anything you'd like me to buy?

So, everyone, is there anything I should buy - of course there is! What?

Quote of the Week

At the bus stop, some girls were talking about boys and makeup and other such topics. A very short boy gave a loud sigh, turned to the (male) teacher next to me and said

'Can't we talk about something manly? Like...like... Philip Pullman?'

Invention or Discovery?

With snow flurries outside the windows and the prospect of an imminent school closure, you'd think nobody would be feeling particularly focused in year 7 maths, especially given the topic. Order of operations (or BIDMAS/BODMAS) must be one of the dullest topics in the spec, especially on a snow day. However, it was one of the best lessons this week, and I'm trying to work out why.

We always start with a question, such as 5 + 2 x 3 and ask what answers we could give. What would a calculator say? (Interesting, because it varies depending on the calculator.) With such a bright group, we raced through to 'because you do multiplication before addition' and 'because of the rule'. Then, because it's almost reflex by now, I asked 'Why?' It was a particularly bright girl, let's call her Sparky, answering, and she was flummoxed. Why do we have a rule? Why is it THAT rule?

S: 'Because that gets you the right answer'
Me: 'What do you mean, Sparky?'
'Huh?'
'What do you mean, 'the right answer'?
'...'

What makes one answer right? It stopped me in my tracks as well, as the whole class paused to get philosophical.

S; 'The rule says what's right'
Me: 'Why?'
S: 'Well, you've got to have a rule, or you won't know what's right'
Other student: 'Yeah - and people would do it differently'

We'd quickly worked out that the rule gave consistency, so we knew what people meant when they wrote that notation. But we couldn't stop there...

Me: 'So this is just a rule we picked?'
Students: 'I guess...'
Me: 'Is everything in maths just rules?'
Students: 'No, some of it's obvious, it's got to be true'
Me: 'What else is a rule that people decided?'
Students: 'Numbers?'

Then we spent 20 minutes talking about different number systems, and how the way we write numbers is an invention, like BIDMAS, but other things are discoveries. They'd done Roman numerals in history, but never made the link. The point that the rules can also be different was nicely made when a student explained that whenever you have a smaller number before a bigger number, you subtract, giving the example of IV. I wrote 15 on the board, and said 'So that means 4, right?'

They really love the ideas of having some rules, that varied between cultures (we got onto Egyptian, Chinese, Babylonian and Arabic numerals, all through them), and also having discoveries that didn't vary. It is so strange to me that this is the first time these students have thought about this - the idea of discovery and invention in maths. I think it might help a lot for those students who think maths is just 'a load of random rules'. It wasn't on the lesson plan, but I think they enjoyed themselves nearly as much as I did, and I think it was far more valuable than a worksheet.

Update on Trouser Boy

Standing at the bus stop this evening, I spotted Trouser Boy and his brother (who was expelled last year) on the other side of the road.

Trouser Boy: Hey there Miss!
Me: Hi, Trouser Boy!
Brother: Obscenities/inappropriate comments
TB: It wasn't me! Miss! He said that, not me!
Me: 'Yes, TB, I saw who said that. I know it wasn't you.'

They move on down the road, past me, then TB stops and looks back.

TB: '...sorry, Miss' *kicks brother*
Brother: 'Sorry!'

Given the obscenities TB used to greet me with, his history of inappropriate behaviour and his general disdain for all teachers ever, I was gobsmacked by his apology - for something he didn't do! Is this respect?

Misspelling of the week

Obchoos

Smile

Today, Lovely didn't smile at me. She's so sweet and cheerful, I have trouble even thinking of a name for her, so let's just call her Lovely. Lovely didn't smile, so something was up. I asked if she was ok, and she shrugged. She didn't put her hand up all lesson, so I asked again and she shook her head, and muttered 'Home problems'. I commented that that sounded tough, and she just nodded, so I left it.

At the end, she hung around a little, so I asked if she wanted to chat. She said yes, and when the others had gone, she pulled up a chair. I handed her an emergency chocolate biscuit and she burst into tears. Disclosures came thick and fast. Suffice it to say, she's a young carer for the only other two members of her household, and has been managing this for years. When  I asked why she chose to tell someone today, after so long, she said she was 'just feeling tired'. I think that speaks to the responsibility she bears, and it seems impossibly sad.

I passed on all the messages that sort of thing requires, and lots of different systems are jumping into place now she's told someone. There were violence issues, so Child Protection are involved, and so is the school counsellor and young carers worker. I'm not - all I'm supposed to do is pass it on.

This is my third major disclosure so far this year, and someone commented that I 'get them all', and asked why. I don't think I do anything special, but what I do do is notice, and ask. I like the fact that I'm there at the coalface with teenagers, when they're going through those awful ages, and that I can notice the differences and patterns that signal a problem, and get involved. I like it because it's real and raw and it makes a difference to them, and I didn't cry on Lovely, or when I reported it, but I cried all the way home.

I don't get it!

In one of my very able groups, there is a girl who thinks she is not so able. Short and Sweet declared to the class at the start of the year that she 'shouldn't be here', and had thought she was going to move down a set. She's small and sparky and cheerful, and nuts about badminton. After a few lessons I found that she does have some difficulties, but her background knowledge is pretty good and she is perfectly capable of the work we are doing - given enough time and encouragement. And that's a lot of encouragement.

 

Every lesson, I'd get 'This is way too hard for me!', 'Miss, I don't get it' and 'I give up!' loudly and repeatedly. Sat at the front of the class, she's throw her hands in the air at the slightest difficulty and start complaining. If I replied that I'd be with her as soon as I'd finished writing on the board/explaining/talking to someone else, she'd start telling the class about how stupid she was, and she was the worst at maths in the whole world. I got so sick of it.

 

One week, she didn't do her homework and forgot to turn up to a lunchtime detention for that, so I had her in an after school detention. As she sat there doing some work, I thought about why she was annoying me so much. I'd just been teaching a bottom set who are older than her, who had been struggling with basic concepts but persevering and building their confidence slowly, despite real difficulties. Short and Sweet, in contrast, had higher than average maths ability, even though she was near the bottom of her set. She didn't know how lucky she was.

 

I found the last test I had given the bottom set and took it over to her. We talked about why she thought she was bad at maths, and where she was in her year group. I asked her what she thought 'bad at maths' really looked like, and showed her the test paper - pointing her to where the student (whom I'd made anonymous) had tried to write the numbers from 1 to 20, but had gone wrong.

 

Short and Sweet was gobsmacked, especially when I told her that this kid hadn't given up, but was still positive and hard working. If this kid hadn't given up, I said, Short and Sweet had no right to give up. How could she throw in the towel and declare herself stupid if kids like this were still trying? How much would they give to have her maths ability? She looked like she was going to cry, so I toned it down a bit and explained how frustrated I felt seeing her give up when I knew she had the ability, and hearing her comments which to me were completely unacceptable - when she said she was stupid, what was she saying about the kids in the sets below her? I told her we were done and she ran out of the room.

 

She hasn't been perfect since, but I think there's been a basic change in attitude. She doesn't panic so much, or shout so loundly that she doesn't understand. Perhaps its the realisation that it's normal to make mistakes and find things hard, even if most people in her set don't. It raises a major and continuing problem, though: how can I push the very brightest, who have been bored by too easy work, and challenge them to push themselves, without making students like Short and Sweet, sat in the same classroom, feel inadequate? I know the answer involves more differentiation, where the ablest are given no method or the bare bones of one, and Short and Sweet gets a scaffolded method, but in a competitive atmosphere even that can dampen self esteem. I'm worried that her positivity is only temporary, and I want to make it last.

Finding Compromises

With bottom sets in years 10 and 11 (leading up to GCSEs), there's a big conflict surrounding what we actually teach them. Thanks to 'No Child Left Behind', we are mandated to teach them the GCSE syllabus, or at least all the content up to C grade level, so that every child has a chance to reach that magic threshold. It's a laudable idea, but in practice, this means that our schemes of work are full to bursting with topics like percentage increase and decrease, area of compound shapes and finding nth terms of sequences - all for students who cannot reliably count to 20.

If I was to try to cover all that content, I would have to go at a pace which means that almost none of it, not even the more basic areas (such as what percentages represent), would be comprehensible to the students. It would also totally prevent me from addressing issues such as: they don't know their 3 times table, they don't have any understanding of decimals, and they cannot subtract any number larger than 5. Don't get me started on division.

As most teachers do, I cobble together the best I can, trying to keep myself accountable but also addressing what I feel there children need to understand to allow them to function well as adults. It's a tricky compromise, and even more so when mock exams and tests are thrown at them ('We haven't done this, Miss!'). Even when I settle the time allocations, it's tricky to find ways of helping them with their basic concepts that are effective, not too boring, and don't feel babyish. Enter the 99 club.

The 99 club is fantastic. It's not my invention at all, and it's used in primary schools across the country, but I can't find any company or organisation claiming credit. This is the way I do it. The students start off trying to do 11 times tables questions in an allotted time (say, 3 minutes). When they can get them all right, they try to do 22. Then 33, 44 and so until they can do 99. To differentiate it further, the '11 club' (where they try to do 11 questions) only involved the 2 and 10 times tables. One times table is added each club.

The students love the routine, and the fact that they're all working at their own level of challenge. Every student in my tiny bottom set can be on a different club. They can mark it themselves, and it ensures that I can start every lesson with 5 minutes of silence, followed by lots and lots of praise. And it motivated them to learn their times tables like nothing else I've found. It could be competitive, but I try to make it about individual progress, giving equal praise for any student who makes progress, whatever club they are on. Students who would argue about doing 5 for a starter will happily do 33 now, because the graded work means they start off being successful. As I collect the sheets in every lesson, looking at the hard work on them, it invariably puts me in a good mood.

Insult of the Day

12-year-old boy to 12-year-old girl: 'Go and sit in a pond!'

Spontaneity

Yesterday, a very able set were reviewing different types of quadrilaterals. This is usually covered pretty well in primary school, so a few years on I expected the review to take about 10 minutes. I always start this topic by giving the students a bunch of little cards with quadrilaterals on them, and asking them to sort them into groups however they want. It makes the categorisation come out of concrete examples, rather than being some names put on the shapes by a teacher. It makes them think about the properties and argue about them, and it's the only way I've ever had kids remember this topic.

However, NOBODY came up with parallelograms, trapezia and rhombi. After discussion (which took a while; there were some great groupings, and it's a good review of shape properties) I asked them to sort them into ones with 2 pairs of parallel lines and ones with one, but they still weren't using any names. So we played hangman! We finally get to trapezium, and they all said 'Ooooooooh, yes, we remember that word! But aren't they really complicated?'

Of course, it isn't, and they'd already sorted the shapes - with the classification coming describing the groups of shapes. They were soon happy with the definitions, but it appeared that they were confused with how the classifications related to each other. We were now totally off the lesson plan, and I knew they needed something else to reinforce the concepts and the relationships between them.


I remembered a fantastic idea I was introduced to last year, but didn't use. I got them to clear their desks apart from the shapes, gave each pair a whiteboard pen and told them to draw as large a circle as possible on their desks - board marker comes right off. They went wild. We drew a huge Venn diagram on their desks and they sorted the shapes into it, then added new ones. They were extending the diagram, talking about the relationships, discussing where the square and rectangle fitted, and generally squealing about drawing on the desks.

After 20 minutes, they sketched it into their books and as they packed away, one girl asked if she could take a photo on her phone. They were soon all snapping pictures, and I told them this was my new criteria for a successful lesson - so good the kids want to take a photo of it!

The Tale of Trouser Boy

Trouser Boy is another member of year 9 bottom set maths. He's not a great fan of this fact, or of me. First lesson, he refused to sit where I asked him and then refused to write. We've improved since then, but very slowly.

His mathematical ability is actually not too bad, but he manages to distract from this quite effectively. You see, Trouser Boy wears his trousers so very low that I can always see the pattern on his boxer shorts (waistbands, I can deal with - this, not so much). Perhaps this is because his trousers are too tight? They certainly look small, and in recent weeks he has taken to complaining about this fact loudly, combined with standing up, wriggling and - no, really - putting his hands down his trousers. Repeatedly.

He can't freak me out, he can't freak our (awesome) TA out, and the rest of the class are frankly bored of him doing this by now. However, the frequency and dramatic nature of these events had been increasing. So why? I'm not buying genuine discomfort, he's taking cues from and studying the audience far too much. He may have initially been trying to make me uncomfortable, but he can see that's not working. He's failing to amuse or distract anyone else- so he's doing it for him.

I got his parents in, eventually, to talk. I planned my strategy beforehand, opening with my perception of Trouser Boy's genuine mathematical ability. I described incidents when he had grasped a concept far better or more quickly than the rest of the class, and he grudging recalled those occasions, soon adding to my accounts as we talked to his parents. There was one problem, I said. Just one. They looked astonished, and that wasn't what I was meaning to say at all - there were multiple problems, culminating in the trouser incidents. They had looked so hopeful. I had to wrap it up in one problem.

'Sometimes, Trouser Boy, I think you look at the work and think you can't do it. It's scary, and you feel like everyone else is doing better than you, so you don't want to try it. So you look for something else to do.' After a pause, he started nodding enthusiastically. His dad started talking about similar feelings at school. We spent 15 minutes coming up with strategies and solutions, and emphasising Trouser Boy's ability when he pushed through his fear.

When his parents stood up to leave, his dad leant over. He thanked me for being so positive, and said that he'd expected 'doom and gloom', not strategies or even the acknowledgment of his sons ability. He asked to shake my hand, and as he did, he said quietly 'You know, no one has every talked about my son like that.' 

Perceptions of adult life

Small Mop: 'Mrs!'
Me: 'Who's marrying me off? I'm a Miss!'
'Oh, aren't you married?'
'No.'
'Oh........are you divorced, then?'

Other small child: 'That's rude! You can't ask that!'

Argh! Algebra!

Every year, with every class, in every school, it's there on the scheme of work: Into to Algebra. A lesson of review or true introduction, depending on the class, and how much they've forgotten from last year. There's rarely any guidance or ideas provided for this lesson, even though it's crucial to how the students perceive algebra. I haven't taught it the same way twice yet, but this is where I'm at so far.

We talk about how sometimes, either we don't know what a number is (how many pencils in this box), or the number can change (how many siblings someone has, will change depending on the person). This is when we use letters. We go straight from there into simplifying - one jar of sweets, plus another jar of sweets, is 2 jars of sweets. j + j = 2j

I haven't seen other teachers do this, but I think it's important to get straight into manipulating the letters, rather than using numbers straight away (substituting or solving), so the students get used to using the letters. We use the simplifying to explain the hidden multiplication signs in expressions like 2j, and then think about why we write 2n not  n2. I ask the students to tell me a thing that begins with n - the best so far is ninjas. If, I ask, Sophie and Charlie suddenly revealed that they were ninjas, what would we say? We'd say 'Look, there's....' I repeat this short pantomime until the whole class are shouting at me 'Look, there's 2 ninjas!' Would we say 'Look, there's ninjas 2!'? Clearly not!

That's enough abstract algebra for most 11-13 year olds to handle, so back to the numbers. Everyone pick their favourite number. Yes, go on, do it! You can call that number by the first letter of your name. Alex's favourite number is 7, so he's going to use A for 7. Then, using their favourite numbers, the students have to make a list of numbers that I give them, writing the rules using the letter. So if Alex was making 20, he could write A + 13. Students like to feel clever, so soon they start coming up with more complicated ways, as I encourage them to write multiple methods for the same answer. 2A + 6, for example, using their simplifying knowledge. It's a good lesson in equivalence too.

We review this exercise by asking people for what they wrote, and I write one 'answer' next to every target number on the board. For 20, I might write Alex's answer: 2A + 6. Then we try to guess Alex's number.

The great thing about this lesson is that, after some explanation of simplifying, the kids can figure everything else out by themselves. I go slowly on the simplifying, taking maybe half an hour, so that everyone can follow. Then they're off! They can make the problems as complicated as they like. I'd like to make the simplifying half of the lesson less teacher-led, and mind-mapping might work for older students, but when they haven't seen algebra before, there needs to be some instruction. Possibly a card sort could replace some of it?

Ankle-socks

Ankle-socks is 11 years old. She's small, blonde, pretty and popular. She's in middle set maths and doing well, but the rate at which she puts her hand up has dropped over the last term, from 4 or 5 times a lesson to hardly ever. It wasn't a total surprise when I got the email.

Ankle-socks is 'school-phobic'. Her form teacher and parents have noticed that, despite her academic and social success, she does not enjoy school. She seems happy enough in lessons, and I have watcher her at break times chatting with her friends, but when she gets home every night she bursts into tears, and when she gets up in the morning she is desperate not to go to school. She has panic attacks at the bus stop, and has almost completely stopped eating.

The lesson after I got the email, she was smiling and enthusiastic about the work, and chatted to her classmates. I noticed her drifting off sometimes, but that's not altogether unusual. If I hadn't seen her that morning in tears in the front office, with her parents and form teacher trying to persuade her into school, I would hardly have believed the email. What to do?