I have spent only a fraction of what I hope will be a long career in education. And already, my teaching practice has changed drastically. Many times.
In grad school, I learned a lot about lesson planning. The control freak in me loved this formulaic method of teaching. My earliest lesson plans were pages long: There were outcomes and big questions and implementations and possible challenges (and interventions) and assessments and extensions. I covered every possible base, confident that the legwork I did before the instruction would translate to success for all students. That, after all, was the ultimate goal.
This approach worked pretty well when I did my student teaching in fourth grade. There was a learning curve for me, certainly, but this kind of preparation felt right and made sense. It got more complicated when I was hired to teach pre-k the following year. What would instruction look like? How could I balance the developmental needs of my students with the challenging curricular demands I faced? I spent two years in pre-k doing a lot of experimentation, juggling explicit instruction (I knew how to plan for that!) with student-led experiences.
Then I began teaching even younger students, 2-4 year-olds, and the planning got even trickier. If best practice dictates that play is how young children learn best, how does one plan for that? How could I make sure that skills were taught? What evidence would I have for my teaching and the children's learning? That seems important for, you know, keeping your job. I followed very traditional preschool programming for awhile; I, as the teacher, decided ahead of time what our units would be (usually according to the seasons or holidays) and I created centers for the students to visit - frankly, whether they wanted to or not. These would be an assortment of games or crafts that really didn't address the theme with any sort of depth. They were just exposure to the same skills, over and over, dressed in the different themes. Our counting games might use apple manipulatives in September and pumpkins in October; but, really, counting is counting. And the children weren't interested, anyway. It wasn't working, and I knew it.
When I began learning more about the Reggio Emilia approach, I was especially intrigued by the use of an emergent curriculum, which was so different from what I was used to. In an article for NAEYC titled "The Emergence of Emergent Curriculum," Elizabeth Jones explains:
"Curriculum emerges from the play of children and the play of teachers. It is co-constructed by the children and the adults and the environment itself. To develop curriculum in depth, adults must notice children’s questions and invent ways to extend them, document what happens, and invent more questions. The process is naturally individualized."
Awesome! So...how do I do that? Well, I'm still figuring it out. I'm taking lots of pictures, making the time to simply observe, and talking frequently with my co-teacher. We map, reflect, try, and fail. We carefully plan environments and invitations and see what happens. I have learned our school's excellent curricular framework inside out. At any given time, I need to be present enough to really see the work that's happening, respond in a way that encourages deeper thinking (without providing the answer), and make it meaningful for the unique individuals in my class. It's messy. It's hard. It's unpredictable.
That spontaneity means that I can no longer prepare by filling boxes in a planbook and copying worksheets. To do this work well, I must be fully present, kind, responsive, creative, resourceful, playful, clear, communicative, curious, and joyful. The person I am, the teacher I bring into the classroom, is probably the single most important factor in the success that follows for my students.
I prepare, first and foremost, by taking care of me. Then, I'm ready as way opens in our classroom.
If the children are the curriculum, then I am the lesson plan.
In grad school, I learned a lot about lesson planning. The control freak in me loved this formulaic method of teaching. My earliest lesson plans were pages long: There were outcomes and big questions and implementations and possible challenges (and interventions) and assessments and extensions. I covered every possible base, confident that the legwork I did before the instruction would translate to success for all students. That, after all, was the ultimate goal.
This approach worked pretty well when I did my student teaching in fourth grade. There was a learning curve for me, certainly, but this kind of preparation felt right and made sense. It got more complicated when I was hired to teach pre-k the following year. What would instruction look like? How could I balance the developmental needs of my students with the challenging curricular demands I faced? I spent two years in pre-k doing a lot of experimentation, juggling explicit instruction (I knew how to plan for that!) with student-led experiences.
Then I began teaching even younger students, 2-4 year-olds, and the planning got even trickier. If best practice dictates that play is how young children learn best, how does one plan for that? How could I make sure that skills were taught? What evidence would I have for my teaching and the children's learning? That seems important for, you know, keeping your job. I followed very traditional preschool programming for awhile; I, as the teacher, decided ahead of time what our units would be (usually according to the seasons or holidays) and I created centers for the students to visit - frankly, whether they wanted to or not. These would be an assortment of games or crafts that really didn't address the theme with any sort of depth. They were just exposure to the same skills, over and over, dressed in the different themes. Our counting games might use apple manipulatives in September and pumpkins in October; but, really, counting is counting. And the children weren't interested, anyway. It wasn't working, and I knew it.
When I began learning more about the Reggio Emilia approach, I was especially intrigued by the use of an emergent curriculum, which was so different from what I was used to. In an article for NAEYC titled "The Emergence of Emergent Curriculum," Elizabeth Jones explains:
"Curriculum emerges from the play of children and the play of teachers. It is co-constructed by the children and the adults and the environment itself. To develop curriculum in depth, adults must notice children’s questions and invent ways to extend them, document what happens, and invent more questions. The process is naturally individualized."
Awesome! So...how do I do that? Well, I'm still figuring it out. I'm taking lots of pictures, making the time to simply observe, and talking frequently with my co-teacher. We map, reflect, try, and fail. We carefully plan environments and invitations and see what happens. I have learned our school's excellent curricular framework inside out. At any given time, I need to be present enough to really see the work that's happening, respond in a way that encourages deeper thinking (without providing the answer), and make it meaningful for the unique individuals in my class. It's messy. It's hard. It's unpredictable.
That spontaneity means that I can no longer prepare by filling boxes in a planbook and copying worksheets. To do this work well, I must be fully present, kind, responsive, creative, resourceful, playful, clear, communicative, curious, and joyful. The person I am, the teacher I bring into the classroom, is probably the single most important factor in the success that follows for my students.
I prepare, first and foremost, by taking care of me. Then, I'm ready as way opens in our classroom.
If the children are the curriculum, then I am the lesson plan.
