When Personalized Learning is Too Impersonal

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash 

I remember the first time I heard the term “playlist” used in an educational context—it was in an audiobook I was listening to on the treadmill.

The author talked about this new charter school called RocketShip in the Bay Area.  He described how the teachers used playlists to personalize the learning and allow each student to pursue mastery of learning targets.

I remember being so excited that I yelled out, “Yes!” and pumped my fist into the air a few times as I was walking (perhaps not the coolest thing to do in the gym, but hey, I am a certified learning geek).

A playlist—using technology to help teachers navigate the logistics of bringing fluidity to our standardized system—this seemed brilliant!  I wanted so badly to go see it action, but the demands of my job and the shortcomings in my finances prevented such an expedition (so far).

 

Then, recently, I read something disturbing about playlists in education—the “playlist cycle of doom!”  

The playlist cycle of doom?  How could something designed to give learners exactly what their brains needed—based on where they actually were instead of where they were supposed to be—have turned into a cycle of doom?

This article’s author, Rupa Chandra Gupta, described the program her school was implementing:

“In 2015, our school was selected to join the first cohort of a personalized learning program that involved a web-based technology platform, curricula, digital assessments and extended training.  A foundation of the program had students learn the content (facts, definitions, procedures) largely on their own.  Students work through an online set of activities—called a playlist—for each topic.  They then take a quiz to demonstrate mastery.  Ideally, this is done with little support.  That way, teachers can spend more time working with students on application of content and projects.

As I observed classrooms, I noticed a significant portion of students go through a disturbing cycle: do the playlist, take the assessment, fail it.  Do the playlist (again), take the assessment (again), fail it (again).  Do the playlist (yep, one more time), take the assessment (uh huh), fail it (surprise, surprise).  It’s a frustrating experience, especially for struggling students.”

 

What Gupta described was not what had me pumping my fist into the air and embarrassingly yelling out loud in public. 

No.  This was not my vision of an educational playlist.  This “personalized” learning was far too incredibly impersonal.

I was excited about the possibility of using technology to allow teachers to bring fluidity to the groups of students they worked with, so that students were always able to work in their struggle zone—where it was never too easy nor too hard.  Where they had multiple opportunities to engage in Attempt—Fail—Analyze—Adjust in a supportive learning environment.

I never imagined creating a system that expected learners to learn on their own. 

Most of us need to work with others to access the true power of our amazing brains.  Humans are social creatures.  Learning is almost always most powerful when it is a social endeavor

I never imagined creating a system that did not include coaching. 

Beginning learners, who are on the low end of the learning curve, are not usually knowledgeable enough about the type of adjustments to try when engaged in a cycle of attempt—fail—analyze—adjust.  Having someone from further up the curve offer suggestions (coaching) about what types of adjustments to try is an extremely powerful key to learning. 

Analyzing and adjusting is a vital component of powerful learning and one that doesn’t happen with dependent learners without powerful coaching.  That is, unless you’re engaging learners in reflection about their own learning with others who are at the same stage of the learning curve (and who have previously learned skills for examining and sharing their own thinking).

 

Fortunately, Gupta did not leave us stuck with a vision of the Playlist Cycle of Doom.  She went on to describe just such an example of personalized learning that employed the power of shared self-reflection.  She discussed a second grade teacher who coached her students to reflect and share their strategies for reading non-fiction.

 

Unfortunately, Gupta’s school is not the only one to have experimented with taking the personal out of personalized learning. 

I attended an online school billed as a “competency-based” approached to higher education.

What that meant for me was almost no actual human interaction.  I was assigned a mentor at the beginning of my program which was a feature that had really drawn me to the school when I was conducting my research into master’s programs.

I was very excited by this feature.  I’d never truly had a mentor before and was really looking forward to someone who could push my thinking and point me in directions I might not have considered on my own.

Unfortunately, my mentor did none of those things.  I’m not sure whether it was a design of the program, or her own lack of clarity of what the role of mentor entailed, but my assigned mentor only acted in the role of “accountability partner.”  She allotted me 15 minutes a week and the main purpose of our calls was to make sure I was getting my assignments complete and turned it.

15 minutes a week is not a lot of time to build a relationship with someone.  It certainly wasn’t enough time to ponder all the questions I had about teaching, leading, learning, and where my place might be in the vast universe of shifting the paradigm for how schools work in America.

So, if the mentor wasn’t going to build a relationship with me and help me to ponder those questions, perhaps my professors might.

Except, I didn’t have any professors.

Each “course” I took in this program only had assignments. The “competency-based” approach meant that I could tackle these assignments at my own pace and whenever I wanted. There were materials I could access and boards I could post to if I had questions.  And, to be fair, if I had posted questions, I am sure that a real human with real knowledge would have replied to my query. 

But, I did not post questions.

The kinds of questions I had required a relationship and trust to be asked.  They weren’t the sort of questions I was comfortable posting for strangers.

I still haven’t finished this master’s program.

I dropped out (for now) at the very end because I didn’t have the emotional, institutional or financial resources to make the capstone project happen.

I am not trying to blame the pain of that personal failure on my unnamed school, but I am issuing a clarion call along with Rupa Chandra Gupta.

“Playlists alone don’t equal personalized learning” and personalized pacing alone doesn’t equal competency-based education.

We need to keep experimenting with how to use technology to allow personalized pacing and targeted lessons, but we must never forget the very human and social aspect of learning and the power of coaching along the way.

The Rocket Fuel of Learning

 

“Attempt—Fail—Analyze—Adjust” these words have formed a mantra for me ever since I first heard and saw them during my training as a Read Right™ consultant.  Dr. Dee Tadlock drew them as a cycle and explained that that is how brains learn a process.

I’d never heard it put that way before, and it struck a deeply resonate note within me.

Attempt—Fail—Analyze—Adjust—and attempt again.  A continuing cycle of learning with FAILING and making mistakes taking center stage in the learning process.

That certainly wasn’t how I’d been conducting my learning life.

Mistakes were things to be embarrassed about and minimized. 

Failure was definitely not good.  Up to that point in my life, I was pretty adept at avoiding it—mostly by making sure that I stuck to my lane and did things that I was already pretty good at.

My history was filled with abandoned learning journeys.  Things that I’d decided I just wasn’t very good at like singing, dancing, selling, writing, getting published, playing sports…..  Oh, the list was long.

Then I read Carol Dweck’s book Mindset and “Attempt—Fail—Analyze—Adjust” sang even louder in my ears and in my heart.

This—this thing we were teaching our teachers and that they were teaching their students about how learning works—this WAS the growth mindset.  If they could really grasp this idea about learning from their time in a Read Right program, they could use it in the rest of their lives to power their learning in other areas.  This was powerful!

The thing is, we didn’t always do a good job of highlighting this valuable way of looking at learning.  Attempt—Fail—Analyze—Adjust is the foundation upon which the Read Right™ methodology is based, but we only ever talked about it on the first day of training when we introduced teachers to the methodology and the theory that underpins it.  Those words are never again mentioned in our manual or in my trainer’s manual.

I changed that.

I put it Center Stage during my trainings.  I’d draw it on the board and talk to students about it.  I called it “The Rocket Fuel of Learning” and would bring in stories of famous people who had shared how they had learned through their failures.  I shared my own stories of failing and trying again.  I encouraged my trainees and the students in their classes to share stories of learning through failure.

For ten years I have been traveling the country and working in classrooms to help people understand the power of a personalized competency-based approach to getting better at reading.  I love this work.  I love what I get to do.  I love the difference I get to make in classrooms and in the lives of students who have an opportunity to get better at reading AND at understanding how learning works.

And yet…

And yet…

I fear we play too small a game.

I fear that too many of the students we reach do not take the idea of Attempt—Fail—Analyze—Adjust out into their other classrooms.  I fear that they do not apply the Rocket Fuel of Learning to math and science and Literature.  And I fear that lack of application is because the culture and the structures of their schools are not yet set up for that.

They are not set up for that. 

They are set up for grading.  For assignments.  For tests.  For one and done.

I know.  I see it.  In state after state.  In school after school.

And yet…

And yet… 

The change is coming!  Glory, hallelujah, the change is coming!

I see it!

I see it in Monte Syrie and his Project 180 blog.  In his tagline, “Do, Reflect, Do Better.”

In his words as he daily blogs about the lessons he and his students are learning as they attempt—fail—analyze—adjust—and attempt again:

“The 180 experience is a cycle of practice, feedback, and performance. The kids practice. I give them feedback. They perform. I assess their performances. Together, we adjust their aims and trajectories, and we enter the next cycle. When learning is a circle and not a line it obviates the constructs of anxiety and finality. When kids know they have practiced the performance (practice looks identical to performance), anxiety is greatly reduced, for they know what to expect. This is not always the case with “tests,” many of which are often the embodiment of the “gotcha game” that some teachers play under the guise of “rigor.” It is no wonder, then, that kids experience anxiety, especially in high school, where they arrive with their deeply conditioned responses and continue their “conditioning” throughout most of their educational experience, up to and including college. Further, when kids know they have another shot (multiple if necessary) to demonstrate proficiency, they come to learn that assessment can and should be “for” learning. And, too, they learn that the notion of finality is really more a teacher’s choice than a dictum of the system, but it has been their reality for so long they may never fully grasp the “untruth” of the nefarious notion of a test being an end rather than a bridge. And that is what I want performances to be: bridges, crossings to the next stage. I don’t want them to create anxiety. I don’t want them to connote finality. I want them to be natural steps along the learning journey. But that takes time, and that takes trust. I speak it. The kids hear it. But they do not yet believe it. After all, I am up against years of conditioning, so I will be patient and diligent. We will get there.”

 

I see it in other teacher bloggers who are making the same transition to classrooms and schools without grades and sharing the hashtag “#goinggradeless”.  More and more teachers experimenting—attempting, failing, analyzing, adjusting, and attempting again—as they figure out how to empower students to own their own learning and push themselves up the learning curve.

 

I see it in the stories of schools, districts—and ENTIRE STATES—moving to mastery-based learning models.  Stories that are posted regularly on www.competencyworks.org.  Beautiful articulations of the learning journeys of educators that are transforming their learning environments through the process of attempt—fail—analyze—adjust as they learn what works and what doesn’t.

 

So, yes.  So far, I and the company I work for, have been playing too small a game. 

We make a difference for the teachers and the students we get to reach, but our message of mastery-based learning that starts with wherever a student is at and lets them progress at their own pace through cycling until mastery is achieved, is not yet reaching beyond the confines of our Read Right™ classrooms.

But our learning journey is not done.

I am adapting and adopting the mission statement of Education Reimagined as my own.

They say:

“Education Reimagined exists to accelerate the shift to learner-centered education in the U.S. such that it is inevitable and irreversible.

I say:

Growth Deliberate Consulting exists to accelerate the shift to learner-centered, mastery-based holistic education in the U.S. and beyond such that it is inevitable and irreversible.

 And I am learning from others who are up to accelerating the shift as well.  Others who are sharing their learning journeys and lighting the way.

So thank you Monte Syrie.  Thank you Competency Works.  Thank you Education Reimagined.  Thank you Read Right and thank you Dr. Tadlock for helping me to see that F A I L simply stands for First Attempt In Learning.

 

The Death Knoll for the Bell Curve

In 2004, as a fairly new teacher, I sat in a room and listened to district leaders explain President Bush’s plan to improve education—the now defunct, but then new law—No Child Left Behind.  They put some charts up on a screen and explained that by 2014, 100% of America’s children were expected to reach proficiency in reading and math.

I remember thinking at the time that President Bush was insane and had no clue about mathematics.  Hadn’t he ever heard of the bell curve?  Didn’t he know that it was impossible for 100% of students to reach proficiency?

We have always had winners and losers in American schools.  I did not see how just setting a goal for 100% proficiency would be able to change that paradigm or change the ways our schools were operating.  

I left that meeting feeling depressed about the future of education.  I was deeply afraid that pushing for better test scores was not just impossible, but likely to cause extreme damage to the way that schools worked.  I envisioned a narrowing of the curriculum and a move towards “teaching to the test”.  I envisioned shaming of teachers who were working with some of the toughest kids in some of the toughest schools.

Those who have been involved in education since 2004 will know that a narrowing of the curriculum and teaching to the test did indeed occur in many American schools.  In fact, some schools resorted to cheating as a response to high stakes testing.  Many districts cut programs—like art and music—that were not being tested.  Public shaming of teachers happened.  Newspapers published lists of teachers and schools who were not doing well at raising test scores.  

A lot of damage to education was indeed done in the name of No Child Left Behind.

However, something kind of wonderful happened as well.

Teachers started talking more.  We started looking at data in new ways.  We started asking questions about students that weren’t learning.  We started getting more inventive—if our leaders empowered us—and looking beyond the letter of the law.

The professional learning community (PLC) movement became stronger and schools and districts began giving time and resources to enable teachers to work together and get better at the art and science of teaching.

In the 13 years since that day, I have learned a lot about teaching and learning.  I have been training myself in the science of learning—both from a psychological perspective and from a neurological perspective—and I am now ready to throw out my unhelpful story that it is impossible for 100% of students to reach proficiency.

I am ready to declare the death knoll for the bell curve.

I now believe that the bell curve is a product of expecting all students to learn at the same rate.  It is a product of expecting that all students can be sorted by age level and are equally ready to learn.  It is a product of expecting that all students in a grade must be studying the same things at the same time.

Although I don’t know of any school or district that has yet achieved a system that has truly killed the bell curve, I know of many (and more joining them every year) that are well on their way towards creating personalized learning systems that harness the natural power of human brains to learn.

I recently discovered Competency Works—an organization that posts daily doses of inspiration about what schools, districts, and entire states around the country are doing to shift the model of American education from a grade-level based (what some have called a factory) model to a personalized model that allows students more “choice and voice” in their learning.

Here is just a brief snippet from a post by Karla Esparza-Phillips and Ace Parsi.

“In his book The End of Average, Todd Rose describes how a faulty belief in the idea of an average student has led to the design of one-size-fits all systems.  Rose state that “there can never be equal opportunity on average.  Only equal fit creates equal opportunity.”

This is the premise of personalized learning—designing systems flexible and responsive enough to address students’ needs as well as build on their strengths and interest, thus recognizing what every parent and teacher has always known—that every child is different.

Our hope is that personalized learning may present the opportunity to flip the traditional model upside down.  Or better yet, put it right side up.”

The work these schools have done to empower teachers, administrators, parents, and students is awe inspiring and fills me with deep wells of hope for public education.

I can now envision a time when American educators have been empowered so much that they are able to give each brain exactly what it needs to learn

I can now envision a time when all students are empowered enough to see themselves as powerful learners who are fully capable of mastery of anything.

I can now envision a time when I no longer hear students saying things like “I hate math.” or “Reading is stupid.”  

I can now envision a time when 100% of students in a school are excellent readers.

I can now envision a time when we shake our heads at people who believed that the bell curve was a reflection of natural intelligence much the same way we shake our heads at people who believed the shapes of our skulls indicated our intellectual potential.

 

Does Practice Really Work in Schools?

Photo credit Clem Onojeghuo at Unsplash.com

I recently clicked on a link to an article in which New Yorker columnist Maria Konnikova wrote about the impact of practice on expert performance.  “Practice matters,” she stated, “but in many fields, it matters much less than you might think.”  She then referenced a 2014 meta-analysis that concluded that deliberate practice did not improve performance in education.

I was stunned.  I worship at the feet of Daniel Coyle and Anders Ericsson.  I preach the power of deliberate practice to students and teachers in reading classrooms across the country.  I have seen the impact of deliberate practice in the rapid increase in reading skills and the improvement of teacher skill over and over in my ten years as a Read Right training consultant.

Yet, I am a believer in science over personal experience.  It is possible I am wrong.  It is possible that deliberate practice does not really improve teacher or student skill.  I determined to open my mind and look deeper.

I clicked on another link in the article and looked into the meta-analysis itself.  The study found that percentage of variance in performance in education that was “explained by deliberate practice” was only 4%.

4%!  Holy Cow!

And that wasn’t the worst of it.

Reading the article, it became clear that what the study meant by education was the relationship between practice and students’ performance—not the relationship between practice and teachers’ performance.

Teachers’ performance was not studied independently but lumped in with other professions. In the professions, the relationship between “deliberate practice” and performance was only 1%!

Another bigger, louder Holy Cow!

Could I be that wrong?  Was my belief in the power of deliberate practice misguided and not based on the science?

I looked a little deeper.  In the study, the authors frequently refer to deliberate practice, but they do not define it the same way that Ericsson does.  They say that deliberate practice is “engagement in structured activities created specifically to improve performance in a domain.”  They do not define it as repeated attempts within someone’s zone of challenge with a focus on finding and fixing mistakes as Ericsson and Coyle do.

There is no attempt to distinguish the type of practice that is actually taking place.  They don’t differentiate the type of practice that typically takes place in schools and the type that takes place when someone is training for a sport or learning a musical instrument.

This is where the “aha moment” happens.

Of course, there is a weak relationship between “practice” and performance in education.  It is still the rare classroom that has students or teachers engage in true deliberate practice.  Our schools are not yet designed for that.

Ericsson states:

“When most people practice, they focus on the things they already know how to do.  Deliberate practice is different.  It entails considerable, specific, and sustained efforts to do something you can’t do well—or even at all.  Research across domains shows that it is only by working at what you can’t do that you turn into the expert you want to become.”

Deliberate practice is not any practice.  Deliberate practice is not just doing the skill and trying to do it right or even better.  This is the type of practice that mostly happens in our schools.

In schools, teachers usually “practice” by teaching.  Most teachers (contrary to some popular opinion) actively engage in working to get better at the skills of teaching.  They read articles, listen to podcasts, and attend conferences and trainings.  They try new skills and implement new systems.  If they are lucky, they work in professional learning communities and have opportunities to share new ideas and new methods with their colleagues.

But is only the very few—and the very blessed—that actually have the freedom and support to engage in repeated deliberate practice.

The very blessed have the time and freedom to teach the same lesson over and over while engaged in focused inquiry about what is working and what is not working.  They get to attempt-fail-analyze-adjust each lesson until excellence is achieved.

They do this a lot in Japan–it is called jugyokenkyu or “lesson study”.  Japanese teachers work in teams to perfect a teaching method by teaching the same lesson over and over and fixing aspects that are not working.

We don’t really do this in

the United States.

Fortunately, this is changing.  For an example of teachers engaged in true deliberate practice check out the work of the Teaching Channel Sarah Brown Wessling demonstrates how to squeeze every drop of learning from a lesson by revisiting what went wrong multiple times.

Somehow, I don’t think this is the kind of “deliberate practice” that Macnamara et-al included in their study.  This is something more than “engagement in structured activities created specifically to improve performance in a domain.”

In schools, students usually “practice” by doing school work.  Most students start out actively trying to get better at the things they are learning in school.  Some of them are able to maintain a strong focus on learning throughout their school careers.  However, far too many of our students have learned how to “do school”, not how to engage in repeated deliberate practice of the skills that are important to them.

They may engage in deliberate practice outside of school but it is only the very few—who little idea how blessed they are—who engage in repeated deliberate practice that involves doing the same task over and over with feedback until excellence is achieved.

For an example of deliberate practice, check out this video.

Deliberate practice is practice that is specifically designed to engage the learner in his “zone of proximal development”.  It is practice that is challenging for the learner and requires some type of adjustment, some sort of failure before the learner can achieve success, yet which is not so challenging that the learner cannot achieve success with a sufficient number of attempts.

Deliberate practice is practice where the learner pays attention to what they cannot yet accomplish, what is not yet excellent, and tries again and again with the specific intention of achieving excellence.

Deliberate practice is iterative.  It is attempt, fail, analyze, adjust, and try again.  It is not do something once and turn it in for a grade. It is do something, analyze how it could be better, and do it again and again and again until you achieve a reliable ability to do that thing consistently excellently.

Deliberate practice is fierce!  It requires us to face our fears and persevere in the face of embarrassment.  As Daniel Coyle says it requires “…a willingness to feel stupid.  To endure the unique social-emotional burn of repeated clumsiness.”

“The journey to truly superior performance is neither for the faint of heart nor for the impatient.  The development of genuine expertise requires struggle, sacrifice, and honest, often painful self-assessment.  There are no shortcuts.  It will take you at least a decade to achieve expertise, and you will need to invest that time wisely, by engaging in “deliberate” practice—practice that focuses on tasks beyond your current level of competence and comfort.  You will need a well-informed coach not only to guide you through deliberate practice but also to help you learn how to coach yourself.  Above all, if you want to achieve top performance as a manager and a leader, you’ve got to forget the folklore about genius that makes people think they cannot take a scientific approach to developing expertise.”

The Making of an Expert, K. Anders Ericsson, Michael J. Prietula, and Edward T. Cokely, Harvard Business Review

Macnamara et-al concluded that Ericsson and his colleagues were wrong in their belief in the power of deliberate practice in education and the professions.

I suspect, however, that their study illuminated something else.

Holy cow we have a long way to go in figuring out how to practice well in schools in the U.S.!

Figuring it out will take bravery, shame resilience, fierceness, collaboration and support.

We will have to be willing to fail—repeatedly—as we invent the kinds of schools and cultures that allow our teachers and our students the time and flexibility to engage in true deliberate practice.

But there are amazing teachers and leaders and students engaged in this work and more and more of us are getting grounded in the science of deliberate practice and calling for learning environments that allow us to iterate and fail until we get it right.

The Reading Wars Revisited

 

 

 

 

I woke up this morning in the wee hours with the strange thought going through my head that it was time to gird up my loins, put on some armor, get ready for battle, and head back out to front lines of war.

The Reading Wars, that is.

I have been on the sidelines of these wars for the last ten years—quietly, insistently, raising my voice and fighting small battles one school at a time.

I think the reason my subconscious issued me a call to action this morning was that I recently reread Daniel Coyle’s excellent book, The Talent Code.  Coyle’s perspective on learning is empowering and echoes and reinforces the lessons I have learned in my ten years as a Read Right training consultant and my seventeen years as a student of how learning works.  Coyle stands firmly for the science of how the brain learns by repeated practice that is focused on fixing mistakes.

I am with him!  Attempt, fail, analyze, adjust—this is the mantra I live my life by.  And it is how people get better at reading.

But, I think Coyle missed the boat with his take on the Reading Wars.

Here is Coyle’s view:

“For the last forty years or so American Education has been divided by what’s become known as the Reading Wars.  On one side stand the traditionalist forces of Phonics, who believe that the best way to learn to read is through memorizing the sounds of letters and letter-groups.  On the other side are the followers of Whole Language, a theory founded in the 1970s that says all children possess the innate ability to read and write, which arrives according to fixed developmental stages.  They believe the teacher’s role is to be, as the saying goes, “a guide on the side, not a sage on the stage.”

For much of the 1980s Whole Language was on the ascent.  “Matching letters with sounds is a flat-earth view of the world,” wrote Kenneth Goodman in What’s Whole in Whole Language.  Schools started providing literacy-rich environments of books, words, and stories where kids could express this presumably innate ability.  Meaning was emphasized over mere sound; systematic instruction in grammar was considered passé.  Students were encouraged to ignore errors and use invented spelling.  The movement caught on in education circles, and politicians trotted after.  In 1987 California mandated Whole Language for teaching reading and writing.

For midde- and upper-income kids, Whole Language seemed to help, or at least not to obviously hurt.  For minority and low-income kids, however, it was an unqualified disaster.  By the early 1990s California’s scores on the National Assessment of Educational Progress ranked lower than every state’s but Louisiana.  Other states that adopted Whole Language experienced similar test-score drops.  In 1998 two major research efforts, the National Research Council and the National Reading Panel, found that the lack of Phonics contributed to lower rates of achievement for most students.  Charles Sykes writes in Dumbing Down Our Kids of a fourth grader who received above-average grades and a teacher’s comment of “Wow!” for writing, “I’m going to has majik skates.  Im goin to go to disenelan.  Im goin to bin my mom and dad and brusr and sisd. We r go to se mickey mouse.”

Accordingly, the pendulum whipped back toward Phonics.  Defenders of Whole Language have retrenched, incorporating Phonics into their theories but still lobbying for the essential truth of their view.  Phonics supporters, on the other hand, point to their own list of promising programs.  All of which leaves many teachers and schools wading through piles of seemingly contradictory theories and wondering who’s right

Looking at the question through the prism of the talent code, the answer is clear.  The relationship between Phonics and Whole Language precisely mirrors the relationship between deep practice and ignition.  Phonics is about building reliable circuits, paying attention to errors, and fixing them.  It’s about chunking: breaking down a skill into its component parts, and practicing and repeating each action involved in that skill.  It’s about the systematic firing of the signals that build the trusty high-speed skill circuits you’re using right now.

Whole Language on the other hand, is about ignition, about filling motivational fuel tanks by creating environments where children fall in love with reading and writing.  Like any ignition, Whole Language can create acceleration for those who already have the inclination and opportunity to deep-practice, but it is worthless for those who don’t.  To understand myelin is to understand that the Reading Wars should not be a war.  Students need both to succeed.”

I do not fault Coyle on his history of the Reading Wars or his science of myelination, but his view on what deep practice in reading should look like, as well as what constituted Whole Language theory, had me lying awake at 4:00 in the morning forming an imaginary rebuttal.

And Coyle’s voice wasn’t the only voice prodding my subconscious.  I also heard echoes of the high school librarian who appealed to me to help her convince her district’s leadership to keep their Read Right program going.

“They’ve cut our staffing—our program is basically dead.”

“I feel like this program literally saves kids’ lives!”

“We know what works—not providing it is akin to malpractice.”

“Why isn’t Read Right in the What Works Clearinghouse?”

“What can we do?”

Her words reverberated in my mind and refused to let me fall back into sleep.

“Not providing it is akin to malpractice.”

 

Someone else’s words kept echoing in my mind as well—a teacher I sat next to at a conference on culturally responsive teaching.

I shared with her what I do and my concerns that our schools were not currently excelling at producing excellent readers who are grounded in meaning and capable of reading completely comfortably and naturally.

I shared that in school after school that I visit, the majority of students are not excellent readers and how I think that is because we do not currently offer opportunities for students to keep training their brains in reading to the level of excellence—and we also often send students inadvertently down a path towards developing reading problems by focusing on intense direct instruction in phonics and decoding at the expense of making meaning.

Later she said, “When I listen to you talk, it sounds like you’re down on teachers.”

This made me sad, because I am not down on teachers.  I am a teacher.  I understand how challenging it is to work in classrooms today.  I have tremendous respect for all of those engaged in educating our youth.  The teachers who are doing direct instruction in phonics are doing what they know to do—what they have been trained to do—and what they believe is in the best interest of their students.

The problem is, it isn’t working.

Our experiment in “Whole Language” didn’t work.  Coyle’s reading of the history of the movement is correct.  Reading and writing skills deteriorated.

However, our experiment with “Explicit Instruction in Phonics” is not doing much better.  In 2011 California was still ranked 46 out of 52 states and jurisdictions according to the 2011 National Assessment of Educational Progress.

And I know from my visits to schools around the country that even in districts that are posting better test scores, most students are not avid readers who are grounded in meaning when they read.  In other words, most students are not excellent readers even when they are reading at grade level.

We can do better.

We must do better.

Read Right Systems has been demonstrating for thirty years that there is a better approach–one that acknowledges that reading is a complex neural process that happens mostly below the level of consciousness, and that brains can get better at this process by engaging in deliberate practice in real reading within the “zone of proximal development” with ongoing specific feedback about what is working and what is not.

Is not giving all the children in our care the opportunity to become excellent at reading akin to malpractice?

No, it’s not, if we are sincerely doing everything we know to do to help our students learn to read.

But once we have seen something that works, and works reliably with all types of learners, then, yes, we have a moral urgency to move forward and try that something new.

Chris Sturgis, from Competency Works, recounts how a teacher in Colorado felt about his district moving forward with performance based education (which is essentially what Read Right methodology is) after seeing it in action in California.

“I’ve heard this phrase before, of not having a choice but to go forward, during other site visits. Often it is described as “moral urgency.” I asked Cook about it. He explained that after visiting a district that had been trying to balance teaching students at their performance levels part of the day with grade-level curriculum the other half (as far as I know, this was a failed experiment, so don’t try it at home) he realized that trying to do P-BL in baby steps, small chunks, halfway, or as hybrids wasn’t going to work. “There are many who don’t realize that delivering grade level curriculum day after day to kids regardless of whether they are learning or not is based on an archaic pedagogy,” he explained. “Many students are harmed by this – they end up thinking that they aren’t smart or give up on school. We know so much more about how students learn today, and our schools should be shaped around it. But if they don’t know that they are doing something harmful, are they really responsible?” He continued, “Once you see personalized, performance-based learning in action, you face a moral question. Are you going to be like Thomas Jefferson who knew that slavery is wrong but kept doing it anyway? Or once you realize that there is a better way to help students learn, are you going to do it, even if you bump up against other parts of the system?” He emphasized, “As a school system, we need to be clear – are we chasing students or test scores? Or trying to do both at once?” (You can listen to Darren Cook yourself on this video.)”

My anguish is that in 30 years of training teachers to deliver a methodology that is working to turn struggling readers into excellent readers, Read Right has not succeeded in shifting the national conversation about how to teach reading.

I haven’t seen any research on our methodology other than what Read Right has done itself.

I haven’t heard anyone talking about the implicit aspects of reading and how those implicit aspects cannot be taught explicitly because the brain doesn’t work like that.

I haven’t succeeded in convincing any schools that Read Right methodology is more than a reading intervention that they should only offer to their struggling readers.  I ask them, “Why should we only offer the opportunity to become excellent to a few?”  Their answer is always that they can’t afford to deliver the methodology any other way.

So, yes, I believe I have a moral obligation re-enter the Reading Wars.  I have a moral obligation to be a leader of learning and begin to shift that national conversation about what brains need—and what kinds of environments give them what they need—in order to become not just good readers, but excellent readers.

However, now that I am fully awake, I can see that the metaphor of a war is the wrong metaphor.  I do not have enemies.  I have colleagues.

My colleagues and I are all engaged in learning.  We are all engaged in getting better at getting better.  We are all on a journey to move ourselves and our schools up the learning curve.

We are fellow travelers on the road to developing schools that work for everyone and reading environments that are personalized, engaging, holistic, based on brain science, and highly effective.

Image by Clem Onojeghuo from Unsplash.co