PechaKucha! and Final Narrative

Click here to watch the PechaKucha, "Sarah Kristiansen, Storyteller"

My name is Sarah Kristiansen and I am a storyteller. When I used to think how I would sit with my sister on my mother’s lap, listening to her read, I always connected those memories with who I was as a reader. As I have gotten older, and the stories that she told moved from Dr. Seuss’ Are You My Mother gave way to The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, and To Kill a Mochingbird, I realized that it was not simply the reading and the books themselves that I was drawn to, but the stories themselves. My mom wasn’t the kind of mom who sat on the floor and played with my sister and me, she always made sure that we had cousins around for that, but she loved to read to us, and never missed an opportunity to do so. She had a brother, my Uncle Larry, who would visit with his boys–cousins who were more like brothers–and the two of them would sit and drink cocktails and tell stories. So many of my childhood memories are backed by the soundtrack of my mother telling stories. In my freshman year of high school, my father died. I was not quite fifteen, so I relied on the stories from my mom, and from his beloved sister, to help ensure that I didn’t forget him. It has been thirty-three years since he died, and my teenage children can tell you much about Grandpa Charlie, thanks to the telling and retelling of those stories. 

Before I was a teacher, I was a photographer of weddings, families, and babies, and it was a job that I loved for a very long time. I approached phohtography as a storyteller as well, in the hopes that the images I was making would tell a story that would long outlive the moment itself. Even the photos that hang in my home all have stories that we know and love to retell. There is a particular photo from Christmas morning and Jane is bounding into the living room, Sam close on her heels, and we put it out on the mantle every December. Sam and Jane have long outgrown the Santa story, but that photo takes them back to those days of magic and myth, and they inevitably start telling stories about Christmas Eves past, gifts they loved, traditions they cherish, and family they miss. It is in these ways that stories are not only a kind of afterlife, but a time machine as well. 

Stories led me to teaching, but not in the way I expected. When I stopped pursuing photography professionally at 40, I returned to school to become an English Teacher, and I approached that work with a list of books I could not wait to teach. My pedagogy centered on stories, but I was looking to the wrong ones. In my pre-service days, and certainly in that first year in a classroom, I still believed I was a teacher of English. It wasn’t until my second year that I recognized that I am a teacher of humans, and English content is my vehicle with which I can connect to my students. A veteran history teacher and mentor told me once after a humanities department meeting where a school leader talked about rigorous assessments that the real secret to teaching are the “three Rs,” but not reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic. He said that it goes relationships, relevance, and rigor, in that order. Like Sir Ken Robinson understood, education is not a mechanical system, it is a human system (Robinson, 2013). Without foundational relationships, without knowing and understanding who you are teaching, you can not expect to have success with either relevant or rigorous curriculum. In that first year, I spent countless hours trying to create relevant and rigorous units for my high school students, but I was missing the foundational relationships I needed. 

I recognized the power of storytelling as a relationship builder the first time I led a Morning Meeting at school. Four days a week our school gathers together at the very start of the day to hear presentations, inspiration, celebrations, and announcements. In my first foray into this tradition, decided, naturally, to tell a story. Though I was a teacher at the school, I taught only half of the students, and the rest didn’t know me at all. I decided to tell a story about myself. About failure. About the Container Store. 

When I decided that I was ready to not be a photographer anymore, I learned that a Container Store was going to open in my town. A Container Store! I love containers! I love putting stuff into other stuff! I applied, had an amazing interview, and felt certain that not only were they going to hire me, they would probably make me a manager. I believed that whole-heartedly until I got the email that said “thanks, but no thanks.” Ouch. That was a painful rejection. I felt awful, I mean, the Container Store doesn’t even want me. A few weeks later I was photographing the MassBay Community College commencement ceremony. Their speaker spoke of failure, of feeling low, and using that as a springboard to the next great thing. I was moved. I thought about that idea of failure as a springboard the whole drive home and the next morning I enrolled at CCRI, the first step toward my teaching degree. Now when I go into the Container Store–remember, I love putting stuff into other stuff, I am filled with gratitude for that failure. 

My students love this story. I think they enjoy the relatable human-ness of feeling awful after a rejection, the fact that my path to teaching was long and winding, and to be frank, I am adept at telling a story; I am, after all, my mother’s daughter. They like to bring in little fun containers and tell me that they thought of me when they drove past the store. This past school year, a teacher gave me an empty box for my birthday with a note inside that said “Happy Birthday, SK! This is just a really great box!” It is not only a story that I tell, it is a glimpse into who I am and into what makes me, me. 

The Greene School is unique in the way we are intentionally diverse, with students coming from almost every district in the state. A freshman class of fifty students might come from thirty-five different middle schools. Not only are they strangers to me at the start of the year, they are strangers to each other. I believe that students learn best when they have a sense of belonging in their classroom, and a connection to each other. I believe that this starts by being vulnerable and brave, and open to each other, addressing one of the fundamental driving questions that students have: Who am I? (Wesch, 2016). Grade 9 students begin our school year attempting to address that question by writing Where I’m From poems. Once their writing is complete, we share. I take a page from Linda Christensen and explain that yes, of course I want them to be excellent and proud sharers of their work, but more importantly, though, I want them to become amazing listeners. Year after year, students answer the question of who they are with beautiful, emotional, hilarious writing. They share hopes and fears, loyal pets and favorite meals, struggles with mental health, and why peanut butter sandwiches are the best. Sharing is not easy. Sharing details about your identity to a room full of strangers can seem infinitely worse. Sometimes students trip over their words, but like Sherry Turkle noted, “when we stumble, we reveal ourselves to each other,” (Turkle, 2021). These moments of vulnerability are often the best drivers of connection in our classroom. Before we ever move into our relevant and rigorous curriculum, we are building those most important relationships. 

There is much to love about starting the year this way, but there’s a problem. Not every student wants to share, or feels bold or safe or brave enough to do so. The power of students sharing stories in their own voice is not universal in our space. For some students, their poems are read only by me, and perhaps a peer editor, but they remain un-voiced. I think the solution to this problem is a podcast. 

Before the Pandemic, I would have considered myself a techno-traditionalist (Noon, 2000). Virtual learning meant I was using digital tools to accomplish classroom tasks that I would otherwise have done with paper and pencil. There were a couple of tools I loved using, but they were always one-offs, fun exercises that existed as an addition to the lesson and the learning itself. Last year, I started asking myself what the point was for the tech tools I was reaching for. Unless it was going to act as a tool that would not only complement the learning but drive it forward, or deeper, I would skip it. I didn’t always hit the mark, either. Last year I attempted a podcast as an assessment; I recognized the power of students using their collaborative voices to show their learning, but the software was clunky, it required students to be together and record in one take. It got messy and frustrating for some students. I put a note in my planner that said “research podcast apps” in the hopes I would find something that would help me accomplish what I was envisioning. Thanks to this class, and Brittany Ahnrud, I have found Soundtrap. 

This fall, grade 9 students will write their Where I’m From poems and they will have the opportunity to practice being not only excellent sharers, but also amazing listeners. This year, however, using Soundtrap, all students will record their poem in their own voices. This tool will become another modality where students will practice not only being confident sharers, but amazing listeners. I hope that this will be the first of many times they tell their stories in their own voices. I hope that it makes them want to hear other people's stories as well. Stories are the connecting threads of community, a sense of belonging, and empathy. Once we have built a foundation of relationships through storytelling, we can move far beyond simply relevance and rigor to a learning revolution that will extend far beyond the walls of my classroom.

link to self-evaluation

link to final narrative as google doc

References

Noon, S. (2000). Are You a Techno-Constructivist? Education World. https://www.educationworld.com/a_tech/tech/tech005.shtml

Robinson, K. (2013, May). How to escape education's death valley. YouTube. https://www.ted.com/talks/sir_ken_robinson_how_to_escape_education_s_death_valley?language=en

Turkle, S. (2021). Connected, but alone? YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t7Xr3AsBEK4&t=19s

Wesch, M. (2016, April 15). What Baby George Taught Me About Learning | Dr. Michael Wesch | TEDxMHK. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SP7dbl0rJS0

Storytelling: through the lens of Disney and as an act of resistance

Stories are powerful, not just because they bring readers and listeners into new worlds. Stories, and who is telling and hearing them are connected to that power. In the last chapter of Rethinking Popular Culture and Media, Jerica Coffey writes a piece called "Storytelling as Resistance." In it, she notes that "everything we read, watch, or hear is a construct with underlying power." Like language itself, students must think critically about who has the power to actually tell the stories. 

Coffey has her students dig into the untold stories of people in their communities and write nonfiction narratives. She teaches in Watts, California, an area where there are plenty of stories told about the community but not by those who live there. Students recognize the ways in which Watts is portrayed in the media, and who has the power to tell those stories. Coffey has students connect with people (over 30) in their community, interview them, and then write their stories in the voice of the people themselves. 

Coffey and her students were clear that while their community might not have the kind of monetary wealth that more affluent areas had, they had "other kind of wealth," like aspirational, social, familial, and resistant wealth, among others. I was drawn to the concept of linguistic wealth, "the multiple language and communication skills that we use to support our communities." If ever there was a term that encompassed the asset-mindset of multi-lingual learners, it has to be "linguistic wealth." 

Coffee and her students challenge the dominant narrative told about their community in order to give a voice and tell the stories of the people who make up that rich, vibrant community. She is an educator who understands the value in understanding who is telling the story.

.....

In an earlier chapter in the book, Linda Christensen explains how she teaches her students to think critically about the stories that children are told, those that are so embedded in our culture that they "indoctrinate" us with ideas on how to act, live, and dream. She is talking, of course, about Disney. The ways in which filmmakers at Disney decide to tell peoples stories are fraught with harmful stereotypes. Christensen shows cartoons and films and has them think about the way these stereotypes are put forth with questions like "Who plays the lead? Who is the buffoon? Look at the race, station in life, body type of each character. What do they want out of life? What would children learn about this particular group from this film?" Like Coffey, Christensen challenges students to consider the power construct in who is telling the story, and about whom that story is being told. 

Looking at Disney films through this critical lens is important if we want students to become savvy and critical consumers of digital media. Watching a film the way we watched Encanto and charting the conventions and stereotypes within was enlightening, and something I will do in my classes this upcoming year. I will, however, ensure to balance the critique with the enjoyment of these films...it's a BOTH-AND situation! 

Disney Princess Conventions

QR Codes!

I am for any tool that can help me make connections with my students. I am definitely drawn to programs that are shiny and will create really fun products, but I often get mired down in the program itself and give up on it before it has helped me with the actual learning. For our tech tutorials, I wanted to show how I use technology to address a human issue in my classroom: bathroom usage.

Let me qualify that statement and say that I don't actually think that bathroom usage is an issue in general. I want students in my classes (in grades 9 and 11...so, young adults) to have agency over their bodies and learn to make decisions for themselves on issues of self-control. And. I also recognize that there are students who take advantage of that policy. As a result, some teachers institute a "no bathroom" policy in their classrooms (I will not do that) or offer tickets that students turn in and redeem for a finite number of quarterly trips to the bathroom (nope). My solution was to use a QR Code and create a digital bathroom pass. 

A "quick response" or QR code is a type of bar code that can be scanned by a mobile device that will direct the user to a specific URL or webpage. 

My first step was to create a quick google form for signing in and out of my classroom. 

This asks for student name, if they are signing in or out of class, and what class they are in. I then created a QR code for that google form, downloaded it, and created a fun digital sign using a template from slidescarnival to create a poster to print.

(Try it! use your phone's camera to scan the QR code to see my digital bathroom pass!)

I printed this on 11x17 paper, laminated it, and hung it by my door. At the start of the year I set the expectation that we stay in the classroom for the first and last ten minutes of class, but outside of those times, if they need the bathroom, they should use the sign to sign out of class, use the bathroom, and sign back in. It takes a little time for them to begin to be aware of when other folks are out of the room, and when they should wait, but they get there. 

The google form allows me to review who is in and out of class, and because it automatically records the time, I don't have to guess on how long someone has been out of my room. I can then use that data to have conversations with students. When I review the form responses, when I see that the same student is out of my room every day for 10 minutes, it allows me to have a conversation about why. My hope is that other teachers will do that this coming school year, and then we can start to notice trends across classes. 

Here is a link to my tutorial on using QR codes in class. In the video, I show another way I'll be using a google form paired with a QR code to drive engagement with my students. 

I would LOVE to hear from you on how else you might use QR codes in your classrooms! Leave a comment and let me know! 

Relationships, Relevance, Rigor. In that order.

I have a colleague at school, JJ, who is our one and only History teacher. He sees every student in the school every year (two grade levels during semester 1 and the others during semester 2). JJ is no-nonsense, enthusiastic, creative with the kinds of lessons he teaches, brings the real world into his classroom, and his students love him. In my first year of teaching, after a humanities department meeting about increasing the rigor of our instruction, we walked out and JJ said, "They don't remember how this works. It goes Relationships, Relevance, Rigor, in that order." 

That little nugget of wisdom is not only true, but has become the cornerstone of my teaching philosophy. And, it seems, that of Dr. Michael Wesch as well. I related to Wesch--I spend the first couple of months of the school year having one on one conversations with my students, just 5 minutes while everyone else is preparing for the day, reviewing, or doing a quickwrite. We talk about anything EXCEPT for school stuff. It has become one of my best teacher tools, and lays a foundation from the start that WHO they are is the most important first step. Relationships, Relevance, Rigor, in that order. 

Wesch believes that students bring gifts that are not always seen at first. I recognize the story of his sleeper. I have had those in my classroom as well. He knew that discipline and punishment were not necessarily the right call, he sought first to understand what was going on. By putting the relationship first, he was able to see the learner that was laying dormant (thank you, Sir Ken Robinson), encourage and support him, gave him space and the opportunity to show his learning and expertise in his way, and he found success. His approach hits all the marks of Relationships, Relevance, Rigor, in that order. 

Wesch understands that learning is not finite, there is not a finish line to education, and when its done right, with intentionality, students return to the learning again and again, not unlike Baby George. 

                                                                                                                                

Raised in The Print Shop

I approached this material with a specific perspective: as a woman in my late 40s, I was awake and alert for the digital revolution. My father worked for a computer firm and I, too, had the Apple IIe that my sister and I would spend hours in front of, making banners and cards for our friends in The Print Shop program, printed on the perforated paper bordered by punched printer-feeder holes. That is, when we weren't playing Pitfall on our Atari 2600. That's right, kids, I played the ORIGINAL Zelda. On the ORIGINAL Nintendo. I like to tell my own teenaged children that I joined gmail so early that my address is simply my name--no need for extra numbers or special characters. Take THAT, all you younger Sarah Kristiansens out there!

What Prensky describes when he talks about "digital natives" and "digital immigrants" is simplistic and inaccurate. What he seems to be describing is this concept that there is this singular unit of information, and "natives" access that information through technology while the "immigrants" would reach for paper tools. Need a phone number? Natives will look it up on their phone, while immigrants will reach for the white pages. In this way, technology is only a different tool to access the same information. A faster tool, for sure, but a tool nonetheless. In 2001, this might have been the case; my phone in 2001 made calls, and the most exciting thing about it was that the cover could be switched out to a fancier one. In this way, Prensky may have been correct in that there was a generation who would not have to stretch a phone cord to its limit, knowing only the convenience of a cordless or possibly a cell phone. Technology in everyday life was still mainly a tool for accessing information.

Boyd challenges the ideas of Prensky and those who came before him who made assumptions that children born into the digital age would be fluent in that language, but by the time she writes her book, the digital world had evolved so much that it became the driver of content, not simply a tool to access it. Her critique of Prensky would feel more valid if he had not made those comments fifteen years earlier. The difference in the digital space between 2001 and 2014 might as well be a millennium.  

As a teacher of rhetoric, however, I could not be more in agreement with her assessment of the assumptions that terms like "digital native" come with. Aside from the connotation of the words themselves, it is the assumptions about todays youth that are fraught with bias and inequity. To start, if we consider the idea of a "native" in linguistic terms, this would have to mean that digital natives are surrounded by speakers of this technological language in order for it to be acquired. We know that this is not the case, and assumes that technological fluency is achieved passively, simply by being around it. 

More importantly, it disregards the reality of access to technology for young folks. Just like there is no uniform preparation for literacy and math--I know first hand that ninth graders do not come to my classroom with the same skills--not because they are incapable, but because they may not have had access to it the way their peers did. Boyd noted this "assumed level of privilege required to be 'native'." Not only is media literacy necessary in schools, but teachers must be savvy enough to differentiate that learning as well, because we can not conflate being born in this technological era as having some kind of innate knowledge of its workings. 

The many hours that my sister and I sat in front of our little Macintosh was an example of the privilege from which we benefitted. We may not be part of the group Prensky would consider "native," we certainly had a head start learning that new language. 

Oh hey!

I'm Sarah Kristiansen, I am a high school teacher at The Greene School in West Greenwich where I teach 9th and 11th grade English and AP Lang. I am married to TK, we celebrated our 20th anniversary last year, and mom to Sam (19) and Jane (16). We have two Cocker Spaniels--George who is the kindest, nicest dog on earth, and  new puppy Benny, who is a tiny, furry terrorist. Lately I feel like it's only school and work...but summer is here and I'm officially lounging in bed until the late hour of 6:30. Aside from class, my most pressing task for the next few weeks is setting up my new teacher planner. I am a second career teacher, beginning my career a few years ago after a long career as a wedding photographer. Out of school, I play in a band with some other amazing women and I am a total amateur watercolor painter (hello, quarantine hobby). I didn't leave the country until I was 42, when we took the kids to London and Paris, and that was it for me, wanderlust has set in BIG TIME. Just before Covid, I chaperoned my school's international trip to Cambodia and Vietnam, and last spring we spent a week in Maui. I am ready for another adventure...my passport is new and ready to be filled with stamps!

'Iao Valley State Park, Maui

Sunset above the clouds, Mt. Haleakala, Maui, elev. 10,000 ft

(Don't let the adorableness fool you.)