Classroom choreographer.

It is the middle of winter in Kettering, a city located in southwest Ohio. I am hugging the fence in my backyard, trying to find enough courage to skate onto the ice rink my parents have built in the backyard. My parents, as always, are supporting my dreams. After taking a few ice skating lessons, I have developed a new passion and long to be the next Peggy Fleming. My dad stands on the sidelines, taking pictures, while my morn skates with me. I let go of the fence and start to glide, loving the feeling of almost flying.

I soon realized, however, that I lacked the skating talent for serious competition, and so I turned to dance. Like figure skating, dance is a combination of artistic and technical skills, of finding a way to express oneself within the confines of a series of eight counts. I loved choreographing routines, whether the steps were for my own performances or for students in the school musical. As a high school English teacher in Ohio and later as a college professor of future teachers in Florida, I viewed teaching as also consisting of both artistic and technical elements.

Figure skaters receive two separate scores for their performances. Each program has a certain number of required elements, such as jumps and spins, that are judged for the technical score. Each program also requires creativity and artistic interpretation, which contribute to the artistic score. Without the technical elements, skaters have no way of proving they know how to successfully execute a double axel. Without the artistic elements, a skating routine is nothing more than a series of unconnected jumps.

In teaching, required elements of the curriculum exist that teachers must cover during any given school year; this becomes the technical part of teaching. Teachers choose how to present a lesson in order make it interesting and connect with students; this becomes the artistic part of teaching.

In this era of standardized tests, teachers complain that no time exists for creativity. This means the focus remains on the required curricular elements--the technical part of teaching--thus losing the artistic part of teaching. We need to remember that how we teach is as important as what we teach. We all know this, although it becomes easy to forget when the media, government, or school administration discusses test scores; fear permeates schools and communities when money jobs, and school rankings are at stake.

When I wasn't dancing or figure skating during my younger years, I used to write stories and attempt to illustrate them. I was, and still am, a horrible artist, but I always preferred designing my own stick figures instead of completing paint-by-numbers artwork. In an era where OGT, FCAT, or whatever alphabet soup your state has for its standardized test has become the norm, I challenge you to think beyond a "teach by numbers" approach. Tom Poetter (2006) discusses how teachers relate to standardized tests and explains, "Many had simply accepted the way things are, the 'natural order" of things in education as we know it today" (p. 78). Teaching to the test becomes the simplest route, but unfortunately it is the one that causes teachers to lose their identities. Originality ceases to exist.

As a teacher, I discovered that when I help students think critically and provide them with unique assignments, their test scores improve. I remind myself that dance routines commence as a series of eight counts. The choreographer determines how to connect all the eight counts to create a coherent, spectacular performance. So I choreograph interesting and creative lessons by connecting the parts of the curriculum required by the state through activities that have meaning and value to students. I am a classroom choreographer!

Choreographing a Lesson

When I was a kid, my morn was a teacher and my dad was a city planner. From listening to their conversations, I observed that the city planning process of survey, analysis, plan, implementation, and feedback also applied to teaching. I created a process I refer to as RICE to link the artistic realm to the technical and to keep my creative strategies in a "teach to the test" environment. RICE is an acronym standing for Reflection, Innovation, Collaboration, and Evaluation. Just as rice is a basic food that can be combined with any number of other foods, RICE is a process that can be adapted by teachers to fit the needs of their own classrooms.

Reflection: Survey and Analyze Lessons

Reflection involves thinking about teaching and putting all the pieces of the curriculum together. I like to think of it as a game or puzzle to make it more fun. How can all the pieces fit together? What worked? What didn't work? What could / should / would be different the next time? During hectic teaching days, reflection sometimes happens quickly. Possibly an activity doesn't work with one class and I have four minutes between bells to decide if I want to try it with the next class or do something else. Other times, I need a longer period for reflection. For over 10 years, my reflection time took place between the television shows Friends and ER. I didn't watch any of the shows between them, so I used the time to think about my week of teaching. I congratulated myself on my successes and evaluated why certain activities may not have worked. I thought of my stories from the week, both personal and professional. D. Jean Clandinin and F. Michael Connelly (2000) elaborate on the value of studying stories, explaining, "Narrative inquiries are always strongly autobiographical. Our research interests come out of our own narratives of experience and shape our narrative inquiry plotlines" (p. 121). We live stories; we then retell and reflect on the stories and develop new narratives that will help our lives and our teaching.

At the end of each school year, I feel like Esme Raji Codell (1999), who writes, "Of course, I cried. There was so much I wanted to say. But the sands of the hourglass fell, and they left me, single file" (p. 185). I feel sad about losing each group of students, but I want them to leave my class knowing that their voices mattered. In order to help my students find their voices, I need to know mine. Anne Lamott (1994) argues, "The truth of your experience can only come through in your own voice" (p. 199). Regardless of how busy our lives get, we become better teachers when we have the chance to reflect on our teaching and the truths of our experiences.

Innovation: Plan Interesting Lessons

Innovation means adding interest without taking away from the information presented. Think about all the interesting information you remember because a teacher used a unique method of presenting it. I still recall the chemistry fact that the noble gases don't combine with other elements; my chemistry teacher told an elaborate story about how, if the gases were people, they would be home watching television. The foil concept in algebra will forever remain with me because my teacher hung a giant aluminum foil ball from the classroom ceiling as a visual reminder to help students remember the word. Even if what you teach is dictated by the standardized test, you can still present the material in a way that students will remember it. When I introduce "GUS the Grammar Monster," it helps my students remember to proofread their papers. I tell them that GUS is a harmless monster who lurks in the margins of their papers. He only gets provoked when confronted with errors in grammar, usage, or spelling, problems that spell out his name. I tell my students to watch out for GUS, and have discovered fewer errors in their papers. My students remember works of literature because I ask them to rewrite classic texts in modern settings, create a soundtrack for novels they have read, compare and contrast the book vs. the movie, or complete numerous other activities that dovetail the artistic and technical.

Regardless of my teaching decisions, my assignments transform into learning experiences for both me and my students. This is why I take risks with my teaching. A figure skater attempts a difficult triple jump in the tiring last minute of a routine knowing it could lead to a fall, but also to success. LouAnne Johnson (2005) writes, "Teaching superbly is like running a marathon by yourself in the dark. Few people even notice what you're doing, and those who notice don't pay much attention--but their oblivion doesn't slow you down" (p. 5). If you have a rationale for why you teach the way you do, don't allow anyone to destroy your enthusiasm. While state tests have influenced curriculum decisions, teaching to a test should not become the curriculum. F. Michael Connelly and D. Jean Clandinin (1988) explain, "Curriculum inquiry is a process in which teachers read and study curriculum materials in the same way that they would read and study potentially interesting texts" (p. 151). A figure skater may not want to attempt a triple-double jump combination, but does so for a chance at a medal. Similarly, I may not want to complete an intense study of the existing curriculum, but do so and think of a new way to present old information. One of the pivotal moments in the novel The Great Gatsby involves cars; I helped my students remember it by reenacting the scene with miniature cars. It became another innovative moment in what one of my students named the Birdology Teaching Method.

Collaboration: Implement Interesting Lessons To Create Community

Collaboration involves working with your students to create a classroom community in which students feel comfortable taking risks. I like to start class with a question connected to the lesson, such as "who is your favorite character and why?" Students write their responses on Post-it notes and place them on the wall or in their notebooks as writing prompts, answer the questions verbally, or respond in some other way, depending on the content of the lesson. The high school where I spent most of my teaching career had a very diverse student population. It made me smile to see students who had never spoken to each other conduct conversations about literature and writing. Sometimes the conversations even continued outside the classroom as students shared their stories. Erin Gruwell (2007) believes that "writing became liberating, as each student discovered they had a story and found comfort in the computer. Although they couldn't change the cast of characters, the computer became their confidant, their therapist, and their outlet, and many of them hoped they could rewrite their endings" (pp. 151-152). My students found comfort not only in their computers, but also in each other. The biggest compliment I ever received from a parent was that her child hated school but loved my class because it was like a family; this attitude got the student to school every day and eventually helped her to graduate.

So how does a group of students from diverse backgrounds transform into a classroom community and feel comfortable sharing their writing, part of themselves, with each other? Collaboration builds community. If I ask my students to write, I write. Lou Anne Johnson (1998) elaborates, "Even when I have a cooperative class, I do every assignment with my students. Working with them keeps me on track and makes them feel important" (p. 193). Modeling and sharing experiences leads to the creation of a classroom community and turns a classroom into a place where students gain the confidence to express their writing voices and take risks. We support each other and believe in the possibility of dreams. I admit I am very optimistic about education, but more than a decade of believing that students can accomplish great things has shown me the amazing things a collaborative classroom community can do.

Evaluation: Receive Feedback From the Lessons

Evaluation involves grading students in authentic ways, not just assigning busywork. A standardized test represents one form of evaluation, but it should not eclipse more authentic types of evaluation. With any writing assignment, grading becomes an issue. I incorporate a combination of technical and artistic merit into my evaluation rubrics. Part of each evaluation rubric reflects the technical elements of writing, such as GUS, MLA format, and correct citations. Just like in figure skating, the element is either there or it isn't. The other part of each evaluation rubric reflects the artistic elements of writing, such as expression of voice and style. I want to reward creativity and encourage students to take risks.

Still, the pressure resulting from standardized tests often causes students to fear taking risks. In his book about voice, Tom Romano (2004) writes, "Another student, Jenny Bird, picks a bone with the contradictory dictums that her high school teachers laid down about writing: 'My teachers twisted my writing around like a windsock in a storm"" (p. 177). Who was that student? Me! I played the academic game well. I knew what it took to get a good grade on every paper. I learned a significant amount about writing, yet I rarely let voice creep into my papers. What if a teacher didn't like my writing? Worse, what if I got a bad grade? My perfect grade point average would be ruined. I cannot simply blame my teachers; I admit I often silenced my writing voice. As Linda Miller Cleary (1991) explains, "Students became good-grade junkies, and as they began to work for teachers, they stopped writing for themselves" (p. 67). I can relate.

My name is Jen, and I am a former good-grade junkie.

Now I see the same fears reflected in the eyes of my students. The fear of failure, of a bad grade, scares them away from creativity. I tell my classes that mistakes are okay, that risk in writing is okay. I have no desire to enable a new generation of good-grade junkies. In the college methods classes I teach, I use a 5-minute clip from the television show ER in which Noah Wyle's character, Dr. John Carter, tells Maura Tierney's character, Dr. Abby Lockhart, about a mistake he made when he was a medical student. I illustrate to my students that as teachers, we are not perfect, nor should we pretend to be.

Continuing the Choreography

At the end of their diary Erin Gruwell and her students, The Freedom Writers (1999), issue a challenge to their readers. They write that they hope their book will inspire other teachers by "encouraging you to pick up a pen and be a catalyst for change" (p. 277). I now leave you with a similar sentiment. I challenge you to become a catalyst for change and a classroom choreographer. The best figure skaters and dancers work with the existing structure called for by their routines and add their own unique style. Although the structure of the series of eight counts remains set, I still have the opportunity to choose how to perform within such boundaries. By combining the technical with the artistic in teaching, you can create a memorable performance.

References

Clandinin, D. J., & Connelly, F. M. (2000). Narrative inquiry. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.

Cleary, L. M. (1991). From the other side of the desk. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.

Codell, E. R. (1999). Educating Esme. Chapel Hill, NC: Algonquin Books.

Connelly, F. M., & Clandinin, D.J. (1988). Teachers as curriculum planners. New York: Teachers College Press.

Gruwell, E., & The Freedom Writers. (1999). The Freedom Writers diary. New York: Broadway.

Gruwell, E. (2007). Teach with your heart. New York: Broadway.

Johnson, L. (1998). Two parts textbook, one part love. New York: Hyperion.

Johnson, L. (2005). Teaching outside the box. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.

Lamott, A. (1994). Bird by bird: Some instructions on writing and life. New York: Anchor Books.

Poetter, T. S. (2006). My greatest fear: The day when no one remembers how to teach or make curriculum. Journal of Curriculum and Pedagogy, 3(2), 76-81.

Romano, T. (2004). Crafting authentic voice. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.