I’ve spent about 30 hours over the past two weeks reviewing portfolios. The portfolio is the final assignment for Master’s of Education and Master’s of Educational Technology students at MSU. The course, (CEP807/ED870) run by Dr. Matthew Koehler, is built to support the iterative design of a culminating, web-based representation of each student’s accomplishments in the degree program. As an online course, it is extremely well designed and I have loved being a part of the instructional team for a lot of reasons. Along the way, I’ve learned a considerable amount about what makes for an exemplary web-based portfolio — and I’m planning a whole-sale revision of my own portfolio as a result. For starters, though, I’ve crafted a top-five list of things that the most exemplary portfolios seem to get right.

1. Uniform aesthetic:  Although I tend to prefer neutral colour palettes and liberal use of white space, I have found that this matters much less than uniformity in the aesthetic design choices one makes. This is surprisingly difficult to accomplish but the portfolios that do it well stand out from the rest. When designing a web space, it has become clear to me that one must think about the aesthetic properties of every visual element and how well they complement one another. The essentials include background, font, color, images, borders, image size — but the placement of every element also counts. The feng shui – or balance of energy — of the portfolio matters too — and there should be consistency across pages. Every design choice contributes to the overall aesthetic in a portfolio — and when designers get it right, the portfolio feels like a compelling visual space, inviting me to explore every nook, cranny and hyperlink.

2. Voice: The portfolio is an online representation of one’s accomplishments. It exists in the vast wilderness of cyberspace as a beacon — a little light shining among the millions of other lights that says, “I’m here — and this is who I am”. The portfolios that rang most true for me were created by authors who wrote with honesty and conviction about their professional strengths, their ongoing development, and the challenges that they still intend to address. If I finished a portfolio review with a deep appreciation for the unique contributions this colleague has made and will continue to make through his or her work, I felt a sense of awe — and awe is such a good thing to evoke in a reader!

3. Evidence of Excellence: This one is sort of obvious. And yet, the best portfolios actually created an argument for the quality of their work — both in text with description, but also in the careful curation of work samples that, together, provided evidence of the author’s professional skill set.

4. Good Citizenship: The best portfolios are also models of digital literacies — including the literacies associated with fair use. Savvy portfolio designers attributed the source of borrowed multi-media and cited the creative commons licenses for each attributed item.

5. Professional with a dash of personal: This is an idea that I have been thinking about as a portfolio designer myself. Some authors choose to keep their portfolios entirely focused on professional accomplishments — and this is a choice that I most assuredly respect. However, I think there is a certain je ne sais quoi — or a certain indescribable property that emerges from a portfolio that includes just a little something extra. For the teachers whose work I reviewed, I found it in a couple of different places — the About Me page that provided a richer profile of the author’s interests, family, and/or pursuits outside of school. It also emerged on Student Work pages where authors posted multi-media examples of work their students had created. This factor is not unrelated to #2 – Voice – but the trick here was to add only a dash of something personal — not so much that the purpose of the portfolio became unclear, but enough to give insight into their unique story. With a  glimpse into the broader interests, life and work of an author I found myself able to construct a deeper understanding of his or her professional work samples, and also of the student as a powerful model of excellence in his or her teaching context.

A real first…

April 1, 2013 — Leave a comment

This email goes on the list of best emails ever. Here’s what it said:

Good Evening!

I attended your presentation at MRA, and was so excited to take your thinking back to the team in our district that is redefining our former Summer School program.  We would love to try out the pst2ic3 this summer with our struggling students.  I was wondering if you had any additional pieces of your work that you would be willing to share that we could use with teachers to help them to be more successful with implementing something like this with a group of kids.

Thanks for any help and guidance you can give!

This is the first time someone I don’t know has attended a conference presentation and (a) emailed me after for more information and (b) has told me that they would like to use ideas that I’ve been working on to frame their own practice with students.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I read this this morning!

And it couldn’t have come at a better time. Anyone who has worked on a dissertation knows about the self-questioning that so often leads one to wonder if it’s all worth it. I have wondered whether all of this effort will make any real, positive impact for students in schools. Will anyone care about these ideas? Will there be value in any of this for anyone? Is this a line of research I really want to spend my professional life pursuing? Will anyone ever hire me to teach this stuff…and the list goes on.

One has to believe, of course, that the effort is worth the sacrifice; that the work is good and valuable. I do believe these things. But I also think anyone who has written a dissertation will admit that having faith in the work is hard. The “limitations” of one’s own research are always easier to see than the strengths. N’est-ce pas?

So, thank you kind emailer. A message like yours is also a voice telling me to stay the course and to keep on…

I’m so pleased to have been invited to facilitate workshops at the Summer Institute in Digital Literacies this July! Other speakers will include Douglas Rushkoff, Renee Hobbs, Julie Coiro, Rhys Daunic, Jonathan Friesem, Mary Moen and Hiller Spires. The institute has been designed for teachers, teacher librarians, college faculty members, graduate students, and professionals whose work generally involves teaching and digital media. Here’s a link to the registration page for more information.

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Fan Fiction

March 22, 2013 — 2 Comments

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Last week, Zoë obsessively searched the Internet for images of Darth Maul. This week, she is all about Ahsoka Tano from The Clone Wars. As for me, I’ve started using Yoda speak around the house — teeth brushed, you should.

For at least two years now, she has written and told herself stories based on texts, games or movies that she has experienced. It just seems to be a part of her fabric to process narrative in this way.

Sadly, in this story, Ahsoka has been captured by Jabba the Hutt and seems conscripted to slavery à la Princess Leia in Return of the Jedi. The details of the “unhygienic clothing” (Zoë’s words) are particularly accurate, as are the expressions on Jabba’s wretched face. The story is not yet done…but I suspect the friends will be back to free Ahsoka from her terrible captor…stay tuned.

 

 

 

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As a graduate student, I have thought a good deal about the nature of student-professor dynamics, and about the investment one makes or feels in students when, like, you, they are already grown up. It’s easy to feel invested in children because, well, they’re children. But what is it that graduate student advisors and instructors feel toward their students when they succeed? Pride seems a little paternalistic or even a little presumptive — can professors really take credit for students’ achievement at this level? Last week, I found myself thinking about these questions when one of my students earned some much-deserved recognition for work she did with colleagues in a class I lead last summer.

A Master’s student whom I taught in the MAET Overseas cohort in Ireland contacted me via email. She is currently taking a literacy methods course and as an art teacher, she was unsure about her approach to a literacy-focused research project. We chatted for about 45 minutes, got caught up on recent goings on, and had a very constructive conversation about how she might proceed with her assignment. During our discussion, she also told me that she had decided to present a research poster, developed with colleagues during our summer courses in Dublin, at a graduate student conference at MSU. I was absolutely delighted by her initiative and wished her the best. The poster, which reviewed extant literature on parent-teacher miscommunication also offered practical solutions for building better home-school partnerships by using digital tools. As their instructor — I was totally impressed by the work for its intellectual rigor and its applicability to classroom practice. During our open poster review session in Ireland, other members of the overseas MAET community reviewed it, and loved it, too. The students’ work generated quite a buzz of discussion around this very important issue.

And so, I was simply delighted to learn that judges at the graduate student conference also saw great value in this work. My student and her colleagues who co-authored the work were honored with one of five poster session awards for research excellence! Hooray! Hooray!

And then, I started to wonder why I was taking such delight in their success. I didn’t create the poster. I didn’t write a single word that went on it. I certainly didn’t present it — in Dublin, or in E. Lansing. So why was I feeling so pleased? Why, even now, as a teacher of teachers, do I derive such joy from their achievements? In thinking about this, I have come to realize that the best I can do as a graduate student instructor is to create opportunities and learning structures that enable excellence to flourish. Come to think of it, this has always been what I have tried to do, whether teaching young children, adolescents or adults. Although there is always content that needs to be communicated from me to students, the truth is, that in most cases, I mostly try to frame the learning activity and get out of the way so that students can create things.

And so, I guess the delight I took in this poster session award  was deeply connected to a feeling that the activity itself had some value and that the learning ecology in which it was developed allowed these students to show the world their best. In some way, I guess there is delight to be taken in the knowledge that work I have done behind the scenes created a stage on which others could succeed.IMG_2500

I offer my sincere congratulations to Blair, Pilar, Jillian and Laura — and also my thanks, because their successes have prompted me to reflect on my work as a teacher educator. Always learning…

I am looking forward to presenting with my esteemed colleagues, Amber White, Anne Sherrieb and Cindy Lewis from Ruth Fox Elementary School at the Michigan Reading Association Conference in Grand Rapids, Michigan, this coming Saturday. The focus of our talk will be on instructional implications of the [(PST)2 + iC3] framework that I developed to support online inquiry and multiple internet text integration. My colleagues at Ruth Fox piloted the framework last summer with at-risk 5th and 6th grade readers during an intensive four-week summer institute. Our talk will give a little context for the strategic framework, but then mostly focus on what the kids did and how the framework supported their online inquiry processes as they researched and then wrote their own “Wonders” inspired by the popular Wonderopolis.org website.

I have created a website for [(PST)2 + iC3] with pages dedicated to the framework, MRA presentation, and to research that has supported the development of my work.

And, in case you would like to quickly preview Saturday’s presentation, here are the slides.

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Photo courtesy of Mrs. Ryan

Yesterday, I blogged about the celebration that my daughter’s teacher organized for Laura Ingalls Wilder’s 146th birthday and the biscuits I baked (in truth, that post was mostly an excuse to take pictures of the biscuits!)

As an aspiring literacy scholar, however, I just couldn’t pass up the chance to think about how these kinds of authentic, embodied learning experiences support children’s emergent understanding of literature, and of themselves as readers, thinkers and bricoleurs of understanding in a world that inspires so many questions.

I could wax on theoretically — but I think the necessary points can be made by simply sharing our dinner conversation.

Laura Ingalls Wilder joined us. She sat to my right — in precisely the spot where my 7-year old normally eats. She wore a printed dress and a bonnet. She had a shawl tied around her shoulders. She was surprised to have a fork, spoon and knife with which to eat her supper. Laura Ingalls told us that she didn’t usually have cutlery but instead had to eat with her hands. She also told us that she had only one plate, and that in her house on the Prairie, she had to eat outside, on the ground, because she didn’t have a table.

Laura told us about the great feast at school. Most importantly, she ate three kinds of pie — custard, blueberry and vinegar. The vinegar pie, which nobody else at our dinner table had ever eaten, apparently tasted like, well, vinegar. Other kids thought so too. The blueberry was her favorite. She also ate mashed potatoes, biscuits with maple syrup, and a muffin. She passed on the pickled asparagus but was surprised to find that she liked hulled corn, which is also called hominy. During the feast, there was no electric lighting which made sense, since there was no electric lighting in Laura’s house.

As we discussed what life must have been like for Laura and her family, we heard the story of her dog, Jack, and how he found his family after he had been separated from them — probably because dogs have such a good sense of smell. Laura also told us that Pioneers are girls who move a lot and have to build a new house far away from their grandparents…which makes everyone sad.

Laura Ingalls Wilder came to dinner at our house because a teacher loved a book, and after months of reading that book with her students, created a space in which they could all smell, taste and live, for an afternoon, in the skin of the protagonists. I can’t imagine any better way to make reading, learning, and literature meaningful.

Incidentally, when I asked my daughter whether she might like to read more Laura Ingalls Wilder books at home, she said no. She wants to re-read Little House in the Big Woods and Little House on the Prairie. “I want to live those stories again, Mom.”