Author: samjshah

Concerns about MoMATH

I was so excited with the Museum of Mathematics opened in NYC. I attended a zillion lectures they had with math teacher friends before they had the space ready and a zillion lectures after they had their space ready. I even convinced some of my students to attend with me and another teacher, and we got to bond over math.

I encouraged some of my students to enter the contest for the Strogatz Prize for Math Communication at the end of last year. Even recently, I went to a wonderful virtual event they held called Bending the Arcwhich featured a panel of Black mathematicians and scientists and allowed participants to talk with them more intimately in smaller groups in breakout rooms. The name for the session came from Martin Luther King Jr.’s quotation which I sincerely hope is true: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

(The reason I mention that is because previously the museum had planned an event in honor of Martin Luther King Jr. day which somehow connected his “Letter from a Birminham Jail” to a session devoted to the Prisoner’s Dilemma problem. For so many reasons, this was a poor decision that I was surprised no one caught when setting it up.)

Also, over the years, I had heard grumblings about the museum from people who worked there or volunteered there as interns. Recently someone shared with me a letter that was sent to the Museum of Math’s Board of Directors that was concerning.

Letter to MoMath Board

My understanding was it was written a while ago, but only recently shared with the Board. I’ve been told that it is now officially okay to make this letter public. It’s short, but packs a punch. Here is the top-line conclusion, written in a signed letter by two former “Chiefs of Mathematics” at the Museum along with others who work/ed there. 

“With respect to our educational mission, race and class discrimination are embedded in the Museum’s practices.”

To me, knowing that there are multiple people — including people who were high up in the organization — who felt the need to write an open letter to describe some of their concerns speaks volumes to me. They didn’t have to. It is easier not to. It puts them at some risk, publicly speaking out. 

To me, one of the most problematic charges in the letter is that students from Title 1 schools who visit MoMATH often get lessons that end up being 20-25 minutes instead of the normal 45 minute sessions. The letter states “We cannot remain silent while the Museum chooses to offer sub par services forthe least fortunate students who are vastly more likely to be people of color.” I hope that with this letter, those at the Museum take a close look at their practices to ensure there is equity for all the students visiting the Museum. To me, more than anything else, this is of paramount importance before the museum opens its doors again. 

Also damning is this paragraph:

Unfortunately, the Museum actively discourages any form of negative feedback, and the staff has virtually no autonomy. This repressive culture has been described on social media and in the many letters you have received from former employees about mismanagement, abuse of hours, and general lack of respect for staff. In fact, the Museum’s formal Employee Policies Document warns staff members against contacting the Board. Staff members who have advocated for improvements in the Museum’s operations have seen obstacles set up in their paths and have been pressured out or fired. The rapid turnover of MoMath staff, which has an average tenure of less than a year and a half, is evidence of this. Joe Quinn, former Chief of Mathematics for MoMath, was fired shortly after expressing his opposition to the discriminatory provision of education services to Title 1 schools. We believe this to be unlawful retaliation against him

It is important for an organization which promotes diversity and inclusion to make sure that concerns can be heard safely, that feedback can be given. To these letter writers, it sounds like that hasn’t been the case and there is a culture at the museum which sounds, frankly, oppressive.

I went to GlassDoor, to see reviews of the museum from people who work there.

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Most museums I looked at had star ratings in the 3+. (I recognize that those who leave reviews on GlassDoor are likely to be those who have a lot to say in either direction.) It was disheartening to read through the reviews

I only hope that this letter prompts some sort of investigation into the working conditions at the museum. How long do people work there? Why do they leave? Are employees being taken advantage of in terms of their hours worked? At the very least, this letter suggests that the Board can and should look into this. 

 

How to have kids set up an individual zoom meeting online for office hours using google calendar

This is going to be a really quick blogpost. On twitter, I was talking with someone about how to set up individual check in meetings with kids. I shared briefly how I had kids sign up to see me during office hours, and I thought I’d quickly write a blogpost about it to make it clearer. A lot of high school teachers at my school did this, and found it helpful. (I learned it from them.)

First, you need to install the Zoom Scheduler extension for chrome.

Then, all you do to set up appointment slots for kids is to go to the day you want to on your google calendar and create a new event. Now to make appointment slots for kids to use, it’s just this simple!

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That’s literally it. You’ve done it! Once you’re done, your google calendar will look like this:

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So how do students sign up for an appointment? You just send them a link to your appointment calendar, and they click on the appointment slot they want. To be clear, your appointment calendar is different from your regular calendar. The appointment calendar only lists the things that you have set up appointment slots for, not your entire calendar. (So you don’t have to worry that kids will see the happy hour that you included on your google calendar!)

To get the link to your appointment calendar to share with kids, just click the appointments you just created on your google calendar and you’ll see this:

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Clicking “go to appointment page for this calendar” will lead you to a page with just appointments. The URL on that page is the link that you give to your kiddos. So they use that one link for the whole year! That’s it!!!

But if you’re like me, you want a bit more info… so…

This is what the appointment page looks like for your kiddos:

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They click on the time slot they want, and it will reserve it in their name. This pops up when you click on it [note: it shows my name and not a student name because I signed up for an appointment with me! It will really show your student’s name.]

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Now on the appointment page, that slot has been taken away so no other student can claim it:

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When that happens, I as a teacher get an email that alerts me to the fact that a student has signed up. That email gives me the zoom link to the meeting — but I can get that zoom link when I go to my regular google calendar and click on the time slot that was taken. This is what my calendar looks like after someone signs up for a meeting:

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Also, the student who signed up gets an email in their inbox with the information for the meeting (including the zoom link)… and the appointment automatically shows up on their own personal google calendar. AWESOMENESS!

Okay, that’s all!

In case this is helpful! It worked for a lot of us at my school.

PS. A couple pieces of advice…

I did this during my required “office hours” which were usually 3-4pm. I created 15 minute windows for them to meet with me. But I told kids they had to sign up before 2pm on the day of. That way I wasn’t just waiting around for them in case they signed up at 3:44pm.

Even though these were individual meetings, I figured sometimes kids might want to come in a pair or trio (if they were working on something together and got stuck). I told them one of them had to sign up but they could share the zoom link with others, so we could all meet at once! No one actually did that in the spring, but I suspect that that’s because I only mentioned it once or twice… I might make more of an effort to have kids to do that in the fall.

UPDATE: Recurring Office Hour Meetings

If you want to create Office Hours that kids can sign up for every Monday, you don’t have to do this every week. You can do this when setting up your office hours…

After entering the basic information, click “MORE OPTIONS”

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You’ll “Make it a zoom meeting,” and then you’ll click on the “DOES NOT REPEAT” option to bring up the options to create a repeating meeting. I always choose Custom — because even if you want office hours weekly every Monday, if you click “Weekly on Monday,” they’re going to appear on your calendar every Monday until the end of time. :)

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So then you just decide how you want the office hours to recur! (Yup, you could even say Monday, Wednesday, and Friday if you want! Or every other week!)

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This screenshot above shows office hours being created every Monday but will stop showing up on the calendar on December 14th (so, for example, at the end of a semester or some reasonable date).

But WAIT Sam! What if there is a particular Monday you can’t have office hours?

Just click on the office hours on your google calendar and press the delete button (trash can). It’ll ask you if you want to delete ALL of the office hours, or just this one day of office hours. Just pick “This event”:

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How I Schooled During the Spring of 2020

I kept on wanting to write up a short post outlining how I dealt with online teaching in the Spring and reflect. But the year ended with a bang, and I wasn’t in a headspace to do this. I’m going to do that now, but without too much reflection, since now there’s too much distance — the details are lost.

What I can say is that I did similar things in both Algebra II and in Advanced Precalculus. I would say based on the regular feedback I was collecting that all students really appreciated my organization, consistency, and clarity. That being said, even though I had pretty much the same structure in both classes, things seemed to go better in Advanced Precalculus. I have some conjectures as to why, but I don’t really know the cause.

 

Update: A Disclaimer and Caveat

I wanted to write this up for me, to archive my process/thinking. It helps me. But I also want to make clear that this isn’t a how-to guide for anyone else. This is just how I figured out things to work in the situation I was in. In teaching, context is key. There is never a one-size-fits-all approach. I have so many friends who had to teach “but not any new content” or weren’t allowed to expect that kids would be able to join class “live,” or had to do everything asynchronous. Of course much of this wouldn’t work in many situations. And more importantly, I have so many friends who have kids or other obligations that took up much of their time. If I had, for example, a kid, I would need to come up with a totally different plan. To be clear, this was not sustainable for much longer. It worked for me for three months, hopefully for my kids, and I say overall it went “fine.” But I couldn’t do this over the course of a year. I didn’t talk about my mental state in the original post because I did a lot of that processing with friends in the moment. But let’s just say this whole sudden online teaching took its toll. There were so many evenings I wanted to break down and cry. I was frustrated, mad, angry, overwhelmed, drowning, and felt like no one could really understand. Like this was a Sisyphean task. If I shared with you some of the texts I wrote to friends, I’m guessing even though we were in different situations, you would totally point and say “yeah… me… that was me.”

 

The Planning

I spent a good part of my Spring Break trying to envision what class online could be. I used my friend Alice as a sounding board and I realized I had to figure out what my core values are that I wasn’t willing to compromise on — and build from there in the space we had available. I hit on these three things:

5Initially, we were given very short classes (30 minutes) and then later they were extended to 35 minutes.

 

The Setup

I opened a document to write a revised set of course expectations. And as I thought about each section, I started to be forced to imagine what our class was going to look like, how students were going to be assessed, how I was going to make things manageable for me, how I was going to provide support for my students. I didn’t quite know what to expect before we entered this phase. It could have been only for a few weeks, or (as it turned out) it could last to the end of the year.

Here’s what I came up with:

Online Learning! – Adv. Precalculus – Google Docs

The main highlight of this is that I switched our courses to Standards Based Grading. Our school went to Pass/Fail for the second semester and I wanted a way to assess that would support my kiddos. This also gave me a way to determine Pass vs. Fail. I’m really familiar with making SBG work because for years I taught standard Calculus and I learned how to change the flavor of SBG so it worked for me in my particular school.

Most importantly, although we switched to virtual school, my goal was to keep our classes as consistent as possible in terms of how students would learn. I didn’t want to immediately make students work individually since they were used to collaborating in teams. I didn’t want to give them videos showing them how to solve some sort of mathematical problem since they were used to figuring that out themselves.

Everything wasn’t perfect, but I can say that overall the feedback was pretty positive. Here are a few comments from a reflection/feedback form I gave to kids a few weeks into our online learning:

Honestly, it’s working so well for me. This class feels the most structured and like I’m engaged and getting something out of each class. Thank you for all the effort you put into making the Demos activities!!! I also really like the structure of watching videos outside of class, and then coming back to any questions and building off of what we watched.

I personally find that math class is working really well for me. We’ll see how the upcoming assessment goes, but I feel like I’m understanding the material we are being taught almost as well as I did in live school.

I think the structure of our virtual math classes is pretty successful. I really enjoy working in breakout rooms together with my classmates. It allows me to “spend time” with people and work on math together, which is awesome. I also really like when you spend a few minutes explaining concepts by sharing your screen and using a virtual whiteboard. It feels pretty close to the normal organization of our math classes.

 

The Constraints

Our schedule allowed us 30 minute classes for the first few weeks we did online learning. Then, when we refined the schedule, we were given 35 minute classes. They were short.

Almost all of my kids had working internet and a school-issued laptop. Access wasn’t a huge problem.

I decided I had an obligation to hit all the major ideas I would have covered, but I felt comfortable paring things down to smaller and more essential bits, and eliminating the things that felt more minor.

We have a weird 7 day rotating schedule where we had 5 times we could meet. We had a choice for how many of those classes we wanted to be “live.” (Some teachers, like history or English teachers, would have kids read or work on papers for some of the days and then meet live only a couple times each cycle. Or they would set longer one-on-one meetings up with their kids to talk through ideas.) For the structure I set up, I usually had my kids meet “live” 4 out of every 5 classes — and I had something for them to do that didn’t require collaboration for the fifth day. It’s important to note that these classes were a mere 30 minutes (later extended to 35 minutes), so every minute was precious.

We were using zoom as our communication/video platform.

I didn’t want to give a lot of nightly work, since kids were going to be on their computers a lot. Since we were meeting live a lot, my goal was in the range of 5-30 minutes, depending on the day and their level of understanding.

 

Organization

I used the “Classwork” tab on Google Classroom to be our central hub. At the top of the page was:

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I had a revised version of our course expectations, an ongoing skill list for what we were learning, and a link to my google calendar where kids could reserve a time to meet with me individually. (The other links aren’t as important.)

Then below that I created a different “topic” for each week of learning:

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We were asked to create an assignment for each live class meeting we had — so that it would appear on student’s google calendars (since we had the option of holding a live online class or not). Then each day I would add the nightly work. Notice I would have the nightly work due by 7am the next day we had a live class. I’ll explain why that was so below.

 

The Planning

Here’s how it worked. I centered the learning using Desmos Activities. I didn’t want kids to have to learn a new platform (they had used Desmos Activities a number of times before). And Desmos had instituted a way to give students feedback.

So the crux of every live class was students working on Desmos Activities that I had adapted or created from scratch. They worked together in breakout rooms, where one kid would share their screen and they would work through the activity together. Some of the slides were “practice” — so not much talk would happen — but some of the slides included exploration and investigation and conjecturing and explaining conceptually what’s happening.

Here are all my Desmos Activities for Advanced Precalculus used during remote learning: https://teacher.desmos.com/collection/5e80e25ec9089c33af3d954f

Here are all my Desmos Activities for Algebra II: https://teacher.desmos.com/collection/5e80e247431047086cf42c54

I kept two evolving separate google documents with my lesson plans for each day. They looked something like this — with easy access to links that I could copy and paste quickly into the zoom chat box when I needed them to go to an activity.

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I’m a teacher that likes to go at the pace of my students — so my different sections weren’t always perfectly aligned. I would design the next class based on where kids got.

Here’s what a “normal” class might look like from a student perspective (remembering we only had 30 or 35 minutes):

  1. Kids join the zoom. Near the end of the year, they started hearing me playing music as they were admitted into the class. It gave me something to bop along to and put me in a good mood! :)
  2. Kids hear me say “hi!” I send kids (in the chat box) the link to the Desmos Activity they had been working on and ask them to go there and spend a couple minutes silently looking at the feedback I left them.  I do this for just a couple of minutes — most of the feedback is short, and I tell them to look more seriously at it after class. We don’t have much time together.
  3. Kids hear me outline what I took away from the work they did during the previous class and what they for nightly work after the class. If there were issues that more than a couple kids in the class had, I made sure to address it in the whole class. I would do this by screensharing a particular slide of a desmos activity and talk through it, or sharing my iPad and talking through an idea. During this time, I might occasionally preview an idea or remind students of something they had seen previously that might come in handy. This would take 2-7 minutes. (But with 30 minute classes, I wanted to have kids work together during the majority of the time.)
  4. Before kids go to the breakout room, they hear me say: “Okay, you’re going to log into this Desmos activity. Write this down in your notebooks — today you’re going to call me over so I can talk with your group at Slides X and Slide Y. Remember if I’m busy to keep working and I’ll come by when I’m done with the group I’m with.”
  5. Kids work together in their breakout rooms. Sometimes they’ll see me pop in when I’m following along on their work on Desmos and see something I want to point out, correct, or compliment. (I didn’t have much time to compliment, honestly, though I tried to do that so me popping in always didn’t seem like it would be a critique.) When they get to particular screens where they were asked to call me over, I’ll join and give them feedback, ask a few questions I’ve prepared to assess they know what they’re talking about, and then have them contiinue on (or ask them to discuss more after I nudge them forward, and then call me over if they didn’t seem they got an idea).
  6. Three minutes before the end of our time together, I’ll either send kids in breakout rooms a message saying they can leave at the end of the class straight from the breakout room, or I’ll call them back to the main room to say something and then dismiss them.
  7. The nightly work will be posted on google classroom pretty soon after class. The assignment will look like this:8I’ll ask them to review my feedback from the previous night’s work some more. Sometimes I share with them a resource if they struggled with that work (usually a video I created going over some of the problems.) I post what they’re supposed to do. Sometimes I’d include DeltaMath practice for more routine problems, which I love because it gives students feedback on how they’re doing.

On my end, this is what my side of things look like to make this all happen

  1. School starts at 9am, so I wake up at 7am and shower and get ready by 7:30am. I sit down at my table and look at my calendar. I tell me Amazon Echo to send me reminders 5 minutes before every class/meeting I have.
  2. Then I look through the Desmos activities for the classes I was seeing that day. I always made the nightly work due by 7am of the day we’re having class, so I could look it over and understand where kids were at, and give them immediate feedback on their work/thinking. I go over every student’s slides (choosing key slides to give feedback on). As I do this, I make a note of which topics are worth bringing up in class — if anything. There were a good number of days when kids seemed to get most of the material!
  3. As I do this work, I also fill in a nightly work spreadsheet to keep track of whose doing the work. I also had a column where I started keeping information that might be useful about things I noticed in their work, but truth be told, keeping that additional column wasn’t sustainable so I ended up using it for notes about when kids didn’t do their work — if I emailed them, what they said, etc. (As a side note, if a kid didn’t do their work, I let them complete it later.) Here’s a sample of what my spreadsheet looked like.
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  4. If I see a bunch of students are struggling with an idea, I quickly prep a short iPad presentation to talk about a concept or work a problem — a mini-lecture I’m going to deliver. I add that into my lesson plan for the day. From start to finish, looking through the nightly work for the kids and doing any last minute mini-lecture prepping usually takes me a little over an hour.
  5. I open the classroom 5 minutes before class starts. As I admit kids into the zoom room (two or three at a time), I mark them present on my attendance spreadsheet. Sometimes when kids come too quickly right at the start time of class, I’ll just admit everyone and fill this in when kids are in their breakout rooms. (This is a fake spreadsheet to illustrate.)11
    When everyone has arrived, I say hi and then tell kids to check the feedback I left for them on their nightly work (on a Desmos activity). I put the link in the chat box.
  6. After they look at the feedback, I gather us together. I go over the things I noticed from their work in the morning, and give any mini-lectures I feel is necessary for that section. I send them off to work on the Desmos activities — telling them to call me over at one or two pre-chosen slides. Usually, I set them up in random groups of 3-4 students, though occasionally I’d do pairs for certain activities.
  7. At the very start when they’re working in breakout rooms, I’ll take a piece of paper and write down the answers for each slide I think they might get to. That way when they enter their work into desmos, I can quickly check it. This usually only takes me a few minutes and kids are still settling into working together.
  8. Then I start keeping tabs of what’s going on by using the teacher dashboard. I can see which group is on which slides. I write down on a piece of paper the name of one student per group, and I tend to follow along using that student’s work as a representative for the group. As they’re working, I’m noting down which slides they’ve completed correctly and if there is anything I need to talk with them about when their group calls me over. I’ll occasionally pop into breakout rooms when I see a group is stuck and needs some help.
  9. After groups get to a particular slide and call me over, I’ll look over their work (if I wasn’t able to keep up as they were working) and ask them questions I had pre-scripted to check their understanding. I ask if they have any questions for me, and then they go on. These pop-ins are short — as short as a minute, but if we start discussing, we can get to three or four minutes.
  10. I’m following along and checking in for pretty much the entirety of the time kids are working on the Desmos activity.
  11. At the end of class, if I call kids back to the main room, I remind them of anything that might be upcoming or encouraging them to see me in office hours if they were feeling lost, and then I dismiss them. I always remind them I’ll stay after if anyone needs to talk about anything, and a few times students did hang back and ask some questions to shore something up.
  12. After class ends, the first opportunity I have, I go to google classroom and think about what I saw, where students got to in the activity, and then decide what the appropriate nightly work should be. I would often have kids work up to a particular slide in the Desmos activity. I might choose a DeltaMath assignment. I might make and include a video of me working through a slide or two that kids had difficulty on the night before (if any) so they would have something to look at if they struggled.
  13. After that, when I have another small expanse of free time, I’ll look through where we are and whip up a new lesson plan for our next class based on where we got, and add it to my ongoing lesson planning document.

And the cycle starts over again the next day.

I’d use evenings and weekends to think through and create the Desmos Activities, and create videos of me working through specific slides that I thought kids would need help with. (That way after kids attempted them, I could lead them to the video and have them watch it for assistance.) (The videos were more for Algebra 2. I didn’t find I needed many of them for Advanced Precalculus since kids seemed to get the ideas fairly quickly.)

[Note: at the start of the time we had online, I would include “check in” screens to see how kids were doing/feeling. I would also reach out to individual kids if I thought something was wrong, or check in with their advisor or dean. Trying to understand and attend to the emotional well-being of my kids was really tough. But that’s a post for another time.]

 

Assessments

The assessments I gave were fairly traditional. I kept an ongoing skill list, like the one below:

Adv. Precalculus Skill List (Ongoing) – Google Docs

Then on assessment day, I would upload a test for kids to work on. I was pretty standard in terms of what the test would look like — though I was super duper extra explicit about everything in terms of how I wanted students to format their answers. (For example, I wanted the work for each skill to be written on its own page. So for a five skill assessment, they’d submit five pages.) Students were given a fair amount of time to take it on the honor system in one sitting. I didn’t have the energy to think of all the ways kids might cheat — it felt like such a low priority in terms of what I wanted to give my mental energy to. I figured it was better to just trust my kiddos, because they hadn’t given me any reason not to trust them during my time with them in-person.

Kids used the CamScanner app on their phones (they used this throughout the year to submit their nightly work, so the process was familiar to them) to submit their test on Google Classroom.

I would mark it up and give feedback using the iPad and pencil that my school got for me (bless them!), and then email it back to kids after I had marked them all up and recorded their scores.

Since we were doing Standards Based Grading, if kids didn’t show a solid understanding of the material, they had the opportunity to sign up to reassess that skill. I had a system set up that was easy to manage, but it did mean that for every test I created, I had to create two versions (one for the original go-around, one for the reassessment).

 

Feedback Loops

I was very intentional to make sure that I had a way for kids to understand what they knew and what they didn’t. Here are the ways that played out:

When given assignments on DeltaMath, if students got something wrong, they immediately know and they also are given a complete solution to the problem to learn from. The way DeltaMath is set up is that you keep working problems until you show competency — which could be doing a few problems or it could mean doing a bunch.

When given assignments on a Desmos Activity, I would go through each morning it was due and give feedback. I’ll leave no feedback on slides that kids were getting right, but on a slide where kids did a bunch of work, if they got it all right, I’d make a note of that. I’d also point out if there were mistakes. I also would have videos made (more for Algebra 2) with me working through particular key slides, so if I saw a student was struggling with something, my feedback in Desmos would include “Look at the video I created and will post on the nightly work today! I think that will help!” I would also encourage kids to meet with me in office hours to talk through things that I saw they were struggling with.

Based on looking at the whole class’s work, I would address common misconceptions or point out different interesting approaches at the start of every class.

If students messed up on a skill on an assessment and didn’t show a solid understanding, they could look at my feedback, go back to our Desmos activities, set up a time to meet with me, or talk with friends… and then ask to rework it to show a stronger level of understanding.

Close to the end of our online learning, two weeks before we ended, I asked kids explicitly about the feedback I was providing them. Here are some of their responses:

I love this structure! I love having structure in general. It’s so helpful when you go over common errors at the beginning of class, and I’m able to take notes on it. I also like the little desmos feedbacks if it was just a personal issue.

I feel as though this feedback look is extremely helpful. I particularly like the specific comments you leave on our Desmos activities – I find them super targeted and helpful. Additionally, I really like it when you share your iPad/give general feedback pertaining to the whole class in class (and sometimes start w/practice problems if you think that we need them).

It has been working really well! The comments on desmos at the beginning of class have really helped direct my questions that I ask in breakout room, and my meeting with you after school really helped me understand the material on the first test better.

I chose some of the ones that were more detailed, but almost all students said they found the feedback system helpful. It was awesome to read.

 

My Own Organization

I had everything for online learning in a single Google Drive folder that I linked to from my bookmarks bar.

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In here, I had a folder for everything related to assessments, folders for reflection forms and feedback forms, my attendance/nightly work/check-in-with-kids spreadsheets, a google doc keeping all my individual meetings with kids and what we talked about, my ongoing lesson planning documents for both classes, and my course expectations for online learning.

I kept all attendence, nightly work, and notes on individual check-ins for students all in the same Google spreadsheet. Each got different tabs. So I would open a spreadsheet and see this at the bottom.14I didn’t want to have information spread out over a thousand documents. My goal was to be as consolidated as I possibly could be.

Five minutes before I taught each class, when Amazon’s Alexa reminded me, I opened the following windows to get prepared and ready to go:15
I’d have my google calendar up, because I often needed to refer to it to find the time the class ended. I had my ongoing lesson plan document open so I could execute the plan I came up with. I had the attendance spreadsheet ready so I could take attendance, and I had any Desmos Activities tabs open (for what kids did the previous day and/or any new activities we’d be doing).

I’ve never been a person who scheduled my life using google calendar, but during this time, I came to fully rely on it. Here’s a screenshot of what a random week looked like on my calendar:

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Final Thoughts

Wow, that took longer than I anticipated to type out. I honestly figured this would just be a 30 minute blogpost where I throw up a few screenshots. Sadly I think most of this structure won’t be useable next year if we’re in hybrid mode. And I wouldn’t say it was perfect or even great. It was… fine.

The biggest thing that I felt was after a few weeks, it started to feel monotonous to me — and so I assume it was the same for kids. We’d do the same thing in most classes. I needed to find ways to break things up — different activities or ways to learn or engage with the material. But I was so fried from juggling everything and creating everything and worrying about covering key content that I didn’t have the opportunity to mix things up in the ways my kids deserved.

I should also mention that this was a lot of work that isn’t outlined here. Planning and creating the desmos activities took massive amounts of time. I had to collaborate with my teaching partner. Reach out to kids and adults when I was worried about kids. Create the skill lists and plan out the content we’d get through for the year. Write assessments and mark up assessments. Write reassessments, set them up, and mark up reassessments. Work with kids during office hours. Not to mention plan our daily advisory and attend meetings (including some of my own doing… like a book club I helped kids organize). There were many days where I’d be on my laptop every moment from 7:30am to 7 or 8pm with only a short break for lunch and dinner. Being on my laptop so long gave me headaches sometimes. Weekends were super important for me to organize myself and get as much preparation as I could for the following week. It was a lot. I found ways to make it streamlined and sustainable, but doing this work — even just “fine” work — took a lot out of me.

Gratuitous and a distraction

Today made me happy. Today the Supreme Court said that part of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 that applies to sex discrimination encompasses discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity.

Today Brett Bigham shared this thread on twitter about his experience being a gay math teacher. He won Teacher of the Year in 2014 and that same year he experienced … a lot. I entreat you to read it all.

 

 

We are in the math education community, and we are not immune from homophobia. Even from our own kin.

For the past couple of years, I debated sharing a story of my own. A very small story, compared to Brett. And not a story I’ve ever shared in full to anyone but one or two people.

In 2018, I submitted a short article to a respected math teacher journal on a prompt asking why we teach, and why we continue to teach. For me, it was an article about identity, and how math teaching can be a bridge allowing us to form lasting and meaningful connections with each other, no matter how different we may be.

Here’s the opening paragraph. The opening sentence was meant to be jarring because of what came after. Obviously the sentences that follow, my life trajectory, the things about me that make me unique, different, contradict the opening sentence.

I’m not so different from you. First generation kid of immigrants from India. Had only a single friend for most of my childhood. Lived in an extended family household of nine for junior high and high school. Switched high schools after freshman year when my dad got transferred to a different state. Studied math in college. Came out as gay at age 19. Studied history of science in graduate school for four years before deciding academia wasn’t for me. I just turned 37 and am starting my twelfth year of teaching.

The article is framed around the idea of identity, and my search for belonging when for many years I never felt like I ever truly fit in. And for me, one place I found that sense of belonging was with math teachers who connected online. I wrote:

I started to belong. Even though I had very little experience, people showed me that my voice mattered and I actually did have something to contribute to the world of math education. I was accepted from the start – this awkward, neophyte, math-obsessed, showtunes-loving blogger. Over time, people in the community turned from icons and handles on the computer screen to friends, and now they are a chosen family. I’m not capable in words of expressing how I feel about these people in my heart. From times when I was the most down, when I felt worthless and wanted to leave the profession, they kept my spirits up. They saw me in a way I couldn’t see myself. They continue to help me be my best teacher self. When my mother was in the hospital with complications from chemo, they called and wrote and visited. They celebrated me when I shared a cool project one of my kids had done or I shared part of a nice card a student wrote me. And they come running up to me hugging me at conferences and make me feel loved. Yes, this online community of math educators changed my classroom, but they also gave me something more precious: acceptance and unconditional support and love. This community has become a place of support not only for the classroom but for the heart.

You see, I told you. I told you! I’m not so different than you! Because although our journeys are wildly incongruous, they each led us to a place where we can connect. You and me, we both relish our time working with budding mathematicians. Our hearts beat faster when we’re hearing their exhortations of delight when something clicks, or we see in slow motion the face of a kid morph into a toothy grin when we hand back particularly good test, or we see a spontaneous high five when a group conquers a seemingly-impossible problem. And no one else – not even someone freakishly just like me but who decided on a different profession – could ever get that part of me. They have to have experienced that racing heart. You have lived and breathed it. And starting from there, we can build a bridge between us.

I received news that the article was accepted provisionally. They wanted to publish it, but they only had room for a shorter version. And they mentioned that as they put together the journal, there was a chance the shorter version might not be published because of space.

Understood.

I cut it down. I sent it back. And I got this email in return:

Thanks, Sameer.  You neglected to add your signature.  We need name, email, school affiliation and location and date of the letter.

We will be taking out the sentence about your coming out; it is gratuitous and does not help the letter.  This decision was made above me, but I agree with it.  Such statements, while they are certainly important to you, don’t really belong in the journal.

If you still want us to publish the letter, please get me the signature info asap.  Thanks for turning this around so quickly.  For what it’s worth, it seems stronger to me in this form.

Let me remind you of the entire first paragraph, and highlight the one thing that was asked to be excised from it:

I’m not so different from you. First generation kid of immigrants from India. Had only a single friend for most of my childhood. Lived in an extended family household of nine for junior high and high school. Switched high schools after freshman year when my dad got transferred to a different state. Studied math in college. Came out as gay at age 19. Studied history of science in graduate school for four years before deciding academia wasn’t for me. I just turned 37 and am starting my twelfth year of teaching.

I received their email when I was at school. I felt so many things. Anger. Confusion. Defensiveness. Shame. My stomach was churning. I wrote this back before going to teach my next class:

I think coming out to be as important a part of my identity as my extended family and moving from one place to another — if not more. And the fact is this is a piece about identity and connection, and finding commonalities when none might seem apparent.  The fact that this is the one thing the higher up editor felt important to communicate about what needs to be cut is problematic for me. I am fine withdrawing this article from consideration for [Journal]

The reply:

I will try again but remember, this is an academic journal.  Your coming out may be important to you, but I see it as a distraction to our readers

I couldn’t focus on anything but the words gratuitous and distraction. I didn’t understand what being an academic journal had to do with this. The piece wasn’t about a project using algebra tiles, it was centered around the idea of identity. Soon after, I replied:

I am sorry, but I do not agree. I think asking for this one erasure — of this one thing that you want to take out but not mentioning any of the other things about me (moved, extended family, first generation) — is problematic. I don’t know why it feels more “gratuitous” than anything else in the first paragraph. And I certainly don’t see it as a distraction for readers. For this one piece to be singled out over all the others, and having it be called a “distraction” and “gratuitous,” doesn’t sit right with me. Especially for a piece that centers around the notions of identity and connection.

I know [organization] has been working hard on diversity and equity issues. In my eyes, the fact that this has even come up means that [organization] has a lot more work to do to live its mission.

I’m sorry I wasn’t clear. I am withdrawing this article from publication by [Journal].

After a few more back and forths with false pleasantries, the conversation ended.

My article was withdrawn.

I was still feeling all the things.

When the school day ended, I went to talk to a teacher friend who often gives me wise counsel. In my head, I could hear a voice saying “it’s just one sentence.” Deep down, I knew she wouldn’t ever say that but I was worried that she’d think that. I was feeling defensive, like I wasn’t certain that my feelings were valid and that what had just happened to me was wrong, full stop. I remember trying to explain to her the situation and giving her so much context. If I explain it just right, maybe she’d understand and agree? I made her read the article to understand. I gave her some of the background. I let her read the email exchange.

Credit to her, she got it right away and helped me see I wasn’t overreacting. She too, when she got to the word “gratuitous,” flipped out, and again at the word “distraction.” Her own righteous anger validated all my feelings.

My biggest fear when approaching her is her thinking “you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” I actually fear that now. Like people won’t understand when reading this post how this was homophobia–period. Like people won’t get how being told that being gay is “gratuitous” and a “distraction” is like being told that part of you is invalid. Like people won’t understand why this is an episode in my life that I will get past but never be able to let go. That email exchange and that day — thinking of all the emails and all the days in my life that I forget — stick with me. My hands were actually shaking when I was opening the email thread to re-read it to write this post. It brings back a lot.

I think that’s why I wanted to share this. Partly to show people that homophobia still exists in the math education community. But I think it goes further. I wanted to recount this to remind myself and others that concepts of identity can seem academic, but when we talk about erasing and denigrating parts of people, it is anything but academic. It’s not just one sentence. It’s one part of me that you don’t like. It’s one part of me that you find uncomfortable. It’s one part of me that you wanted to excise. But it’s one part of me that makes me who I am, that I want to be proud of, that you are diminishing and making me feel ashamed about. 

Maybe that wasn’t the intent. I know I’ll never know the intent. But that was the impact.

 

PS. Because I did not want something like this to happen to anyone else, I did contact someone high up in the organization who was immersed in diversity and inclusion work, and huge props to them. They recognized how problematic this was and did not sweep it under the rug.

PPS. Even as I am about to publish this, I’m terrified about getting an angry email in my inbox from the editor who emailed me. If you are somehow reading this, please don’t email me. I don’t want an email from you. This post isn’t about you.

It’s Tuesday evening.

It’s Tuesday evening. A faculty meeting just ended. I am sitting here with lots of thoughts I need to process. For some reason, I feel less fearful about sharing my thoughts recently. I don’t know if anyone else is going through similar things, but I’m sharing this post to hold myself accountable to this work, but also in case others can see glimpses of themselves and their thinking and feelings in my experiences. Here it goes. Stream of consciousness. No editing. Just writing.

Thought 1: I ended my classes this week. Our last classes were held on Monday and Tuesday. I didn’t know how to end them. I wanted to close the year with some solemnity and definitely not frivolity. I know when I’m feeling the most dark and depressed about the state of the world, I hold two things close. First, the starfish story. Second, it’s showing gratitude to others. Sharing with someone how they’ve affected you, thanking someone for some specific action they took or some role they’ve been in your lives, for helping you grow, or showing you grace. So I talked about these things. And I had students read the starfish story to themselves, and then write an email to: (1) a teacher who you want to thank for their work in online teaching, because students often can miss the humanity of teachers (just as teachers can miss the humanity of students), (2) a person who they haven’t been in contact much during quarantine but they appreciate and want to reach out to and tell them so, (3) someone who called them out and pushed them but helped them grow, or (4) someone in math class who made them feel validated and seen. I wanted to end the year by thinking about community and gratitude. Now that it’s over, I wonder if I did the right thing. I debating having more conversations on recent events (in two of my classes on Friday, we talked… you can read about that here…), but it didn’t feel like a way to bring closure to the year. But after my last classes, it just didn’t feel like closure to me. It wasn’t what the kids needed. And I had the even more horrifying and insidious thought. Maybe kids left with a message I never intended to send but also never specifically disavowed: “when the world feels dark and hopeless, the way to fix things is just to simply be kind.” Since I’ve had this thought, it’s been like an anchor weighing me down. I spent a long time trying to figure out what to do for the last class — and I still don’t know what I should have done instead — but this maybe wasn’t it. Or maybe I’m overthinking things. It just felt off. But then again, everything about the last few months in school has felt off.

Thought 2: Last night I had a revelation/insight which I wrote down and shared with some friends: “The anxiety and inability to have heart stop beating so fast. The repeated pain that Twitter and the news brings me. The tears and exhaustion. The past week has done a number on me. I’m going to try to say something openly and imperfectly. I remember saying a few years ago that I could intellectually understand when I heard poc talk about ‘trauma’ but I knew it was only intellectual and I was never going to be a strong ally until I could understand the word more deeply–because it’s a strong word and it wouldn’t be used without a lot behind it. I think for the first time I’m finally getting there. The weight of oppression feels — not intellectually, academically, but viscerally — heavy. Terrifying. All encompassing. Repeated. Relentless. I’m not saying I’m feeling trauma or know what it’s like to be a black poc. A student today in a discussion used the phrase “radical empathy.” I hope this discomfort and general awfulness I feel stays with me — though I hate it — because it’s allowing me to finally experience radical empathy. <don’t mean to center me-just trying to archive this insight.>”

After typing that out, I remembered I had written this sentiment down a year ago as I was thinking about this work and where I was when trying to grow:

pic

This was in a much longer email to my friend Hema when we were planning last year’s Virtual Conference on Humanizing Mathematics. It took me over a year from recognizing this deficit of mine to actually being able to say I finally get it… I think. And that deficit was truly understanding one word.

Thought 3: I feel like I don’t neatly fit into a category when my school has conversations around race. I’m not white. I’m not black. I’m Indian, and first-generation American. My parents tried to Americanize my sister and me. I don’t find myself aware of daily slings and arrows, not a thousand cuts, not in overt ways, not often. I have a few examples that I can bring up, but not a whole bank of incidents. Because of the privilege I have had through most of my life, I often feel it’s easier to identify as white than a person of color.

I’m also not introspective — probably because it shines a light on things I don’t want to think about. I find it truly challenging to do identity work. I can think deeply about my teaching and my core values and my students, but somehow I’ve gotten away with not doing a lot of deep self-examination in my life. I know I’ve been deeply affected by the way I was viewed by society growing up, and I’m certain racism had a lot to do with it — but I’ve never done the work to think about myself through that lens. I literally only had one friend at school until late junior high. Surprise, surprise: he was also a student of color. I think maybe we were the only two students of color in our grade. I literally don’t think I ever put that together until now. That’s how little introspection I’ve done. I never got invited to birthday parties. But since that wasn’t a thing in my life, I never knew I should be missing them. I was bullied in junior high. I just didn’t know it was bullying because it was so normalized in my life by that time. I honestly wasn’t a sad kid. I just didn’t know any different, so instead of friends, I read books. I know I’m scared to do the identity work to see the ways that structural and insidious forms of racism and homophobia have played a role in my life. I’m a first-generation gay Indian living in America. How could they have not? I’ve clearly had a lot of privilege which has allowed me to get to this point without doing this identity work. But at the end of the day, doing this work, this introspection, forces me to contend with the inner core of who I am and how I see myself. To revise my own definition of myself. It’s easier to just… not.

Thought 4: I recently came off of a zoom meeting with all our school’s faculty (we’re a K-12 school). The anxiety I wrote about above hit me this afternoon. My heart was racing again and I had to lie down in my bed and take a nap. I woke up not feeling any calmer. For the first time, I turned my video off in a zoom meeting. At the start, I heard so many words. Kind words. Sympathetic words. And… I am so tired of words. And so as I heard everything all I could feel was cynical and angry. Give me time and space. Just cancel things. You want to help? Take writing narrative comments off my plate so I can work on healing. I don’t want to know that you know we’re grieving and how things aren’t normal. Just give me something concrete. Just give me something. And at that moment, I realized two things. I wanted them to fix me. I’m broken, and I just wanted someone to wave a magic wand, and I knew they don’t have the power to fix me. I also deeply understood, again at a visceral level, the repeated call that black people have had that sounds like: <<stop talking. stop talking. STOP TALKING. I’m so tired of all the nice sounding talking. So so so tired.>>

I also heard a lot of anger and white people calling for immediate change. Accountability. Demands that we all revise our curriculum this summer. I’m for that also. But I felt such cynicism. Because I just kept thinking “is this performative? is this virtue signaling?” You’re ready and now want everything to change immediately because you feel moved? What about all the people who were at the party demanding change before now? Their voices had been ignored and lost.

And the horrifying thing about my own cynicism is that it’s not like I’ve been one of the people demanding this kind of change for myself or for the school. I’ve been moving along in my personal diversity work, content with doing some work but never getting to the point where I was centering the work. I felt cynical and frustrated listening to people making these statements, even though I have no right to feel cynical and frustrated.

Although I mentioned I often feel white, it was at this moment that I realized all these things I was feeling were what those advocating, crying for anti-racist humanizing curricula, had been feeling for ages. Again, I don’t have any right to those feelings, but in the moment, I had those feelings of frustration and cynicism. I’m grateful — because even though I don’t deserve to have those feelings — I had access to something I hadn’t had before. I was hearing the well-intentioned words that people were saying but from a different perspective, through a different lens, a lens I didn’t have before.

I also was nervous that in the fervor, in the tidal wave of support and sometimes hope that we were going to turn our school into a shining-palace-of-anti-racist-work-so-show-up-teachers-or-get-out, that we were going to do harm. Yesterday I read a tweet that said something to the effect of “if you’ve never talked about black issues in your classroom before, just don’t just come into class tomorrow and bring up George Floyd. Just don’t.” The fear is that if we don’t do this work right, if we rush into things without being strategic and thoughtful, we can do way more harm to students. White saviorism wasn’t really mentioned, but I was thinking about it. Others were probably thinking it. A colleague brought this up, articulated it better than I could have, and I was grateful.

Thought 5: I wanted to reach out to this colleague who brought it up. I wavered and went back and forth on whether to send an email. I wanted to say thank you and I support what you had to say. (I did chime in, in the chat). I wavered because I’m hyperconscious of people who have been doing continual anti-racist work saying they’re tired of words. They’ve been given words over and over. Instead of signaling support, show your support by acting. I wavered but decided to send the email anyway. After writing it, I checked myself. I wanted to show solidarity and that my colleague was heard. But I realized what I wrote boiled down to “thank you” and “I heard you.” I wanted to do better. Without that, the email would have been more about me and virtue signaling. I wanted to demonstrate I really did listen and hear, and I am grateful. So I wrote down what I heard them say, specifically. I still don’t know if I did the right thing by sending the email. But I know I’m now asking the right question: how much of sending the email was about me, and how much about sending the email was about the person I was sending it to? In the weighing, I think I had my answer, and so I sent it.

Thought 6: I am broken. I am tired. I can’t stop thinking about what this all means for me this summer, when all I want to do is heal from this school year. We’re going to be required to do online professional development on remote/blended learning. I’m going to be writing 22 college letters of recommendation. And now I suspect there will be anti-racist readings and professional developments that we’re going to be asked to do, in addition to submitting ways we’re going to alter our curricula. I’m can’t tell you how intellectually and emotionally and physically tired I am. Writing narrative comments on all my students in the next week is a mountain I have to climb but carrying an anchor. But what comes after? That feels impossible.”

Thought 7: I think it’s time to end this post now. Believe it or not, I initially was intending to make this blogpost a list of actions I have started taking, plan on taking, or ideas I have and want to think through before I implement. In other words, concrete ways I’m going to do The Work. I fear that when all these immediate feelings fade away and I’m not being bombarded day and night on twitter and facebook and the news, I may just “opt out.” So I wanted to type some things down to be public in my work and accountable. Maybe I’ll do that post tomorrow. But for today, I’ll have to settle for writing about of my feelings and thoughts, so a month from now, I can try to come back here to a place where I feel destroyed… but ironically because of that, motivated.

At the end…

This is an archive of my day yesterday.

We’re nearing the close of classes with online schooling. It isn’t the end for me, with narrative comments and college letters of recommendations looming. But in terms of meeting with kids, there’s not much left, and I had my plans in order — at least well outlined in my head for some, ready to execute for others. But I felt anxious. On Thursday afternoon, I finished my last meeting, had finished my prep work for Friday, and was in a good place. But my heart was beating, racing, and I didn’t know what it was. That anxiety usually happens to me when I have something impending looming (like a stack of tests I need to grade, or a challenging email I need to write or conversation I need to have) and I am stressed about it. But I had none of that. But my heart was racing. I was a little short of breath.

I tried to relax, but I couldn’t focus on reading. My mind quickly wandered. TV worked.

A few different things had been thrown at me in the past few days. I wrote to teaching friends, as I processed and as a way to vent: “The problem about keeping boundaries in teaching is that boundaries I draw to protect myself often involves saying no to a kid who I can prop up by saying yes. I recently wanted to say no to four requests — some entitled, some respectful. I don’t have much left of me to give. I couldn’t. When it comes to me or them, I pick them. Again and again. As I slowly burn out. Teaching is hard. It will never not be hard. Because we give so much of our selves, emotionally, mentally. I don’t always want to do that. But I (honestly) don’t know how not to.” The same thing happened two weeks ago with college recommendations. I teach two junior classes. All but three juniors asked me for a recommendation. I felt utterly deflated. And honored. If someone could be in my head as I try to craft these, you’d understand the deflation. They not only take me forever, but they are emotionally draining because I want to capture my kids with integrity. I told my classes I had to limit them and I hoped they understood. I tried to be transparent and vulnerable with them about what doing this meant for me, and why I had to limit them, because they deserved that. But when I read their reflections, I couldn’t say no. I thought about the Giving Tree. I’m not that self-destructive. But for a moment I martyred myself.

The next day I woke up at 6:40. to an alarm. I quickly showered so I could check my kiddos nightly work. With online learning, I go through what my kids worked on each day before class to give individual feedback, but also know what we need to talk about together as a class. Although my heart wasn’t racing, I still felt… tight. Wound up. I was off. My kids were doing really strong thinking with hyperbolas and that made me happy. Some kids really struggled applying the quadratic formula for the first time and that made me wonder about my approach this year. I tried to address that by breaking it into two pieces and having them work on those separately — but maybe there was a better way? I woke up earlier than normal because I had an optional meeting I wanted to attend at 8:15am about the finances of our school. Our new head of school wanted to share where we were at — trying to be transparent about the decisions being made by the board and the school. I appreciated that, and her openness to talk about it.

Yesterday evening all advisors received an email saying that instead of meeting in our advisories, we would be meeting as an entire high school to give some time to discuss the recent tragedies involving Ahmaud Arbery  Christian Cooper  George Floyd  Nina Pop. I hadn’t heard of Nina Pop. Her name was misspelled in the email we received. Both of those facts together speaks to something about me, and something bigger than me. I entered the zoom meeting and scroll through 16 pages of faces. More, maybe. Tired, yawning. And then the meeting begins. It was planned to be a 20 minute meeting. It starts with Feel. Reflect. Act. Grow. Repeat. 

Two hours later, we’ve heard the voices of students and faculty. Anger and frustration about teachers not bringing up these current events, and in general black/POC issues, in classes. About the ability to check in and opt out depending on skin color, and whether things should be optional. Calls for people to go to march at Foley Square at 4pm. Kids requested breakout rooms early on, and I was assigned Breakout Room 22 with eight students, seven of whom I had never met, nervous about facilitating a conversation about race that I hadn’t prepared with strangers. My heart sang as my colleague and friend Monika was also randomly placed in the room. We launched the conversation with a focused question, but that didn’t work, so we went broader to “how are you feeling?” Kids started talking. At times, they were discussing with themselves. At times they were asking the opinions of the two adults in the room. One asked our thoughts on ACAB. I had never heard of that and with slight trepidation (should I know?) asked. “All cops are bad” two students responded. It’s a thing, they said. Reductionist. Monika was more eloquent and nuanced in her response. We talked about multiple narratives (it’s complex). The reasons for violence in riots/protests, and if it pushes things forwards or not (it depends). There are no pat answers and easy fixes, everything is layered, structural, cultural, historical. This is one slice, one slide, of a much longer movie. We end with each saying a word, phrase, or something we’re thinking about. I say “over-intellectualizing.” We move back to the main discussion room and I hear our high school principal talking. We’ve gone past first period. I’ve already emailed my kids in my second period class saying we’re not having class and to stay in the meeting. I look and see over 300 students and faculty are in the room. Faculty and students speak. I don’t know how they avoid talking over one another with 300 people, but somehow they do. Outrage. Questioning of the school curricula. Frustration with the statistics around black lives. Calling out hypocrisy. Asking questions about whose responsibility it is to educate kids on race — some say kids are responsible for themselves, some say its the school. Discussions about cultural appropriation. Sharing of feelings. The importance of being called out and of calling out. About the difference between being a liberal and an anti-racist, and being a liberal doesn’t make you an anti-racist. About the conflation between being liberal and being “good.” About being called out and accepting that as a gift. I think to myself that some of these kids must have read White Fragility. A concurrent conversation happens in the chat, twisting and turning with the vocal conversation. I keep silent. I like spaces for kids to talk. I don’t often know what they think about. This isn’t a “conversation” in the sense that we’re talking to find a goal. Right now, we’re talking because people need to talk because they have a lot bubbling up inside. We all have a lot of bubbling up inside. That… that was when I knew why my heart racing yesterday.

Our high school principal ended the meeting before our third period class. It was two hours from when we started. I open my zoom meeting for our Algebra 2 class. Obviously we aren’t doing math today. As the large meeting was winding down, I brainstormed what would make sense and gave my kids some options. They chose to continue the conversation. Unlike in the first breakout room I was in, this conversation was mainly had by kids, where I tried to give them space to speak and I listened. I took notes. They were in the same grade and class and knew each other. They didn’t turn to me for answers. I don’t have answers. I interjected sometimes, and then stepped away. When class was officially over, they were still talking, so I told them they could leave if they wanted or continue talking. Most wanted to stay and so we held court for 20 more minutes.

I was late to a book club I had scheduled during lunch. I emailed the student leader to start it up without me. We were reading Hannah Fry’s Hello World: Being Human in the Age of Algorithms. We were two adults and five kids. The conversation at the beginning stayed close to the book — which also had some themes on race — but very occasionally would go back to something from the discussions the school was having. It was fun and a lighthearted discussion with smiles. We had finished the book, and the scheduled time we had together was done, but we all continued chatting, and the conversation turned into questioning about what teachers think about lots of things. It morphed into an unguarded and vibrant conversation, one that I love having with my friends when they ask a lot of questions showing interest in what I do. I felt close to these kids, and appreciative for them. I don’t know much about what students think about, and looking back I wished I had asked students questions too. It was 12:50 and I had a class at 1:15 so we bid each other farewell. My eyes were literally vibrating at this point. I had been emotionally run raw and I had been staring at my computer screen since 8:15. All I had ingested was a cup of coffee. I heated up some frozen leftover macaroni and cheese and wolfed it down. I emailed a student I was supposed to meet at 2:20pm — an important meeting so I hated doing this — to reschedule.

I entered my last class. At this point I had very little more to give. I had very little left I could discuss. I told kids I had been on zoom all day, and I had been engaging all day, and I needed a 10 minute break to do math and recenter myself. So I did math with them for 10 minutes. And then instead of giving my kids a choice like I did for an earlier class, I made the decision that we’d read something together. I pulled up Francis Su’s keynote address to the Mathematical Association of America — his farewell address as president. A section of this address is on “Justice.” It is centered around this quotation by Simone Weil:

“Justice. To be ever ready to admit that another person is something quite different from what we read when he is there (or when we think about him). Or rather, to read in him that he is certainly something different, perhaps something completely different from what we read in him.  Every being cries out silently to be read differently.”

We read it popcorn style. Someone would read a paragraph or two and then stop. Someone else would jump in. I hadn’t read this in a while. I have the book based on this speech that Prof. Su wrote afterward, after his speech went viral in the math community, trapped at school, unread, sitting on my desk. As kids started reading, I remember hoping it would speak to the events of the day at school. I hadn’t time to review it to see if it did. Everything I was doing today was on the fly. The section did, at least to me. It was longer than I remembered. It took a while to get through, or maybe I just lost sense of time because I was exhausted. When I read, every so often, I forgot words or mixed them around. My eyes were jumping around the text, unable to focus. At the end, I told kids if they wanted space to talk about the events of the day or the piece we just read, we could have it. Or we could call it an end. I consciously tried not to make it sound, when giving the options, like I really wanted to end, so they knew they truly had a choice. We called it an end, and I was grateful. I was empty.

I posted the nightly work for my classes from today. I shared with them some articles, including  this piece on Edray Goins, which I remember having my classes read last year and gave us a lot to talk about. And this keynote speech by Marian Dingle about “centering.” I apologized in my google classroom post for not bringing in more conversations about race, gender, and other -isms into class, and said it wasn’t just the jobs of the history and English teachers (something kids had brought up in the conversations).

I had 45 minutes to lie on my couch and close my eyes. I thought about how much the world has changed since I was in high school. I thought about how much the kids we teach are aware and know and care… and I wondered if the non-POC kids and faculty really cared in their hearts or if they cared because they were supposed to care. I wondered if I cared in my heart or if I cared because I am supposed to care. I felt the weight of guilt — trying to parse what I’ve done to help my kids know they’re “being read” — especially the POC, especially the girls and non-binary kids. I found myself thinking of when I had kids read about a trans mathematician and a queer mathematician and we talked about that in class. Or when I had kids read about a black mathematician and we discussed. And then I thought: wait, maybe we did that last year and not this year? About the ways I tried to encourage the bright girls in my precalculus classes who were outnumbered by boys — to know they were valuable and their ideas were valuable. But maybe it was too subtle, or not enough, or nothing at all. About my intention to have kids listen to a podcast of latinx mathematicians and how I never made space and time for it. As I thought about these things to assuage and exacerbate my own guilt, I clung to certain things as I was hoping to justify I was “good.” Though I’m not white, this was definitely white fragility. And I thought about if and how today would change anything. For me. For our community. Because I’ve been around, and these sorts of days have happened before. And we as a school community get all riled up and passionate. And then a week later, we’re back to the status quo. Or have we? Have small changes been made that add up over time? I remember thinking, maybe one day the fire will catch and maybe we’ll have something sustainable. Days like these are the sparks. You can’t have fire without a spark.

At 3pm, we had a department meeting. It felt incongruous to the day because we had no mention of the happenings of the day. We toasted to colleagues (friends) who were moving on — one to another school, one to blissful retirement. And we did some work together. When the meeting ended at 3:45pm, I moved to my couch and laid down.

A little over an hour later, I hopped onto a zoom call with three colleagues and friends. We have this tradition every Friday. It’s nice to have this normalcy and camaraderie. These are people I need to vent to, but also laugh with, because otherwise I would feel very alone as a teacher in isolation. We talked about the day, processed, a few tears were shed early on, and laughed. We lasted two hours. And we imagined ourselves on a beach adventure together, in person, and committed to making that happen when we could. It dawns on me that this trip is literally the only actual thing I have to look forward to in my life right now. A hypothetical trip to the beach.

This is an archive of my day yesterday.

Advisory Games/Activities

A friend asked me what sorts of games might be playable over zoom.

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I was going to write an email with some games I’ve played with my advisory, but I figured I might as well just blog about it in case it’s useful to anyone else.

Some important context:  I have an awesome advisory group of 8 kids. They’re juniors now but I’ve been with them since they were ninth graders. So we’re comfortable with each other and they know a bit about each other. In quarantine, we always start our distance learning school day with a 15 minute zoom advisory. Honestly, it almost always is one of my favorite parts of the day because … well, if you met my kiddos you’d know why. Sometimes I lead advisory with an activity, sometimes I assign them to come to advisory with a plan. Here are some things we’ve done and things we may do in the future. Some of them are games. The ones with * are things they’ve suggested but we haven’t done or I’ve been thinking about doing it but we haven’t done.

  1. We’ve done a pet share. Kids brought their pets (or some sort of stuffed animal or other object) and introduced their pet to the advisory.
  2. We’ve shown our workspaces during digital learning to each other.
  3. We shared things that were difficult about online learning and problem solved together.
  4. I posted a list of 8 random items (a balloon, a jar of peanut butter, the playing card the 7 of hearts, etc.). I assigned point values to the items based on their obscurity.  Students took a photo of the list and had 10 minutes to gather everything and come back at a certain time. Then they tallied up their points, and we declared a winner. (I hope a student does this when leading their advisory… I wanted to play!)
  5. Played Kahoot (with pre-made Kahoots)
  6. Each of us bring baby pictures of ourselves and share them with each other
  7. We break up into two teams on zoom. We pick a word (e.g. “love” or “red”). Each team has 30 seconds to come up with a song lyric or title with that word in it. We go back and forth until a team can’t come up with another one.
  8. The same thing as the previous one, but we changed it from song lyrics to song titles, movie titles, book titles, magazine titles, etc. (media titles).
  9. Played Mad Gab. I projected a card and kids tried to figure out what the card was saying. We played this fine with kids just sounding things out on their own, but I was thinking they could mute themselves and then they could unmute themselves when they think they got it.
  10. Played drawphone. This is like telephone, but with words/phrases and drawings. Initially we started out with pre-written words from telestrations/pictionary, but recently we’ve done it where we ourselves write the initial words/phrases. This is one of my favorites! Caution: there is a cards against humanity version that you can play on this site — so you should always initiate the game, and ask kids the join (and not let kids create the game).
  11. Played pictionary/skribbl.io. Initially, we did this using the pictionary words built-in, but then one of the students (when they were leading the advisory) came with words associated with our school (people, places, terms, etc.). That was so sweet.
  12. Picked a Sporcle quiz, I projected it, and we collectively tried to see how good we could do working together. I typed what they told me to type. We did this today and we did a Pixar quiz (3 minutes) and a Harry Potter quiz (8 minutes). Also, one of my favorites!
  13. Projected some “would you rather” questions I found online and had kids discuss them.
  14. Since kids are doing a lot of cooking, I told them to take photos of their cooking process and their final foodstuffs… and then we shared those photos.
  15. *One person gets put in a breakout room alone. The rest of the people get assigned some weird feature (e.g. they can only speak in questions, all their sentences have to start with the letter T, they have to cough each time they speak, they have to mention a color each time they speak, they have to address each person they speak to by their name, they have to do a strange hand movement at the camera each time they speak, etc.). Then the person has to come out of the breakout room and talk with everyone and try to determine what the person’s quirk is.
  16. *Play Spyfall.
  17. *Play Evil Hangman.
  18. Update: We did this! (But I just found it online too!) We can do it with the annotation/whiteboard feature on zoom. Me (not playing) secretly emails everyone but one person the same object (e.g. A teddy bear) and one person gets an email saying they don’t get told what the object is. We go around and each person draws one line/shape on the board. A line is considered anything you draw without picking your pencil/pen up. The group has to decide — after two rounds of drawing — who wasn’t told the object being drawn. For example, let’s say everyone but one person was told the object was “teddy bear.” So the person who wasn’t told “teddy bear” has to be careful about what they draw… they’re always taking a risk when drawing… but the rest of the people can’t be too obvious either, because if it’s clear early on it’s a creature of some sort, the person who wasn’t told could draw an eyeball or something. If the group correctly guesses what the item is (watch the video to determine how the group guesses) then the fake person can still win if they can identify what the object was supposed to be.
    (This is like Spyfall, but with drawings!)
    Update: We did this today! It’s based on a game called A Fake Artist Goes to New York [video tutorial]
  19. Update: My advisory played scattegories online today! I admit to not really understanding how it worked at the beginning, but by the end I think I had the hang of it.
  20. Update: Today one of my advisees created a playlist on spotify. She shared her desktop with audio but had a random chrome page shared so we couldn’t see her spotify. She then controlled her spotify from her phone and played the music. The first person to identify the song won a point. I kinda loved this even though I definitely didn’t know many songs… and then someone else suggested next time we all rotate who shares a song so we can get lots of different genres and get to know other peoples’ musical tastes also. Without screensharing with audio, I tried just playing a song from my computer to see if kids could hear it, and they said they could hear it fine… so it seems like that would work pretty seamlessly.
  21. Update from an advisor colleague at school (Carla K): Go visit a museum tour virtually together!
  22. Update: We played “Charades” today! We started by each person just acting out whatever they wanted to and everyone else trying to guess. And then when a student had trouble coming up with an idea, I private messaged them on zoom to give them 3 choices to choose from. And then we played that way! No teams. Nothing serious. Super fun!

If anyone has anything they’ve done that’s fun and low-key like this with their kiddos in advisory or class, please throw down ideas in the comments! I’d love to add to our list!

Update: John Golden shared, in a recent culling of neat math/teaching things, this google doc which not only has games but also digital escape rooms!

Update: My friend Mattie Baker sent me this image which has lots of boardgames online! It includes some that I’ve listed above, and a lot more!
online board games

Update: A friend sent me this spreadsheet with virtual games to play.