My relationship with textbooks is like that of a messy
divorce. Occasionally, we see each other, but often there is an undercurrent of
hatred, even when we are being formal to each other. In the past, I have used
textbooks, but the rest of the time they sit in my cupboards feeling unloved
and neglected.
If I am honest, my hatred of textbooks comes from my own
childhood – doesn’t it always? I remember one geography teacher who taught
lessons via the form of a textbook. They didn’t jazz things up by showing a video.
They didn’t spruce things up with a card sorting activity. They didn’t spice
things up with a drama activity. They just made us work through the textbook
from start to finish. It was that bad that, if my memory serves me right, I can
still remember the author of said book: David Waugh. The lesson planning must
have been great and easy. Lesson one: complete chapter one. Lesson two: complete chapter two. Lesson
three: complete chapter three. That teacher must have found teaching ‘stressful’.
The work wasn’t differentiated or adapted for the audience, and what happened as
a result: I got bored. I got so bored that a friend and I started writing in
the textbooks (sorry, the god of teaching – I will atone for my sin). We wrote
silly things like ‘go to page 21’ and ‘go to 97’. In fact, we would lead
readers on a merry dance as they searched and followed these instructions and finally got
to the final comment: you stupid idiot. I do think students haven’t got the imagination
these days. I recall a meeting when teachers were berated for writing on a
behaviour log that ‘a student had written penises on a book’. We were told that
this was unacceptable. A fellow English teacher and I looked at each other and
responded together: ‘Do you think they mean ‘peni’ is the acceptable way to
write it down?’.
It will be no surprise to you that I was sent out of lessons
in geography. The textbook isn’t my excuse, but it was a starting point. As
soon as I moved away from textbooks, I loved geography and I adored human
geography in Year 12 and 13. In fact, I think I could have easily been a geography
teacher, if it wasn’t for me loving books.
Anyway, back to my point: textbooks. I was taught in the 90s and I had a
glut of textbooks. Tricolor books in French. Waugh’s books in Geography. Science thankfully didn’t use any, because we
spent too long burning things and the books would make the school even more
flammable than it was. My school did
blow up when I was in Year 7, which is clearly another juicy blog entry for
later. I am not exaggerating for comedy value; it did blow up in 1990 and a
piece of it ended in a friend’s garden.
As I entered teaching, I made myself a promise. A promise to
never to use textbooks for whole lessons. A promise to never rely on a textbook
to do the teaching for me. Yes, they are glossy and tempting like the modern
equivalent of Sirens, but I will be Jason and tie myself to the mast of my
principles and not give in. I did just that until last term. I was seduced in
such an underhand way.
Like many last year, I became a fan of the 'Marginal Gains' concept and I was inspired to use it by Alex Quigley’s superb blog here. The
concept focuses on the smaller things and improving those and making ‘marginal
gains’ in the learning, rather than focusing on big things. I am not doing it
enough justice here as many before have done it in a far better way. I like the
concept for its simplicity. You focus on precise things rather than focus lots
of things. I no longer spin hundreds of plates and now focus on one single
stitch in the tapestry of learning. My last blog proves the point really.
I started using the wheel for marginal gains in lessons. It
became a great tool for charting progress and seeing what students needed to
focus on. At the start of my
preparations for the creative writing assessment of GCSE English, I got
students to colour in their wheel. I separated the different strands of the
skills that the task demanded and asked students to colour in the skills that
they were confident at using. They could
colour things in partly, fully or leave blank to show their level of skill.
This became a great way for me to spot the areas needing improvement and it
became a great way for students to understand where they needed to focus their
efforts, when writing.
Sadly, the wheels also left me with the old conundrum: how
can I teach thirty different things to thirty different students in two week’s
lessons? Step up the textbooks. I hunted out every textbook in the English
department. I then spent half an hour and jotted down the page numbers relating
to a particular skill. I made a
PowerPoint slide with all of these on it.
A bit like this:
Semi colons Blue 2 Blue 99
Using adverbs Yellow
34 Green 10
Adjectives Pink
34 Blue 23
Commas Red 56 Blue 56
I kept to colours as it made it easier for me to type and easier
for students to identify the book they needed. Therefore, if a student had a
weakness in commas, for example, they knew that the red and blue textbook had
something to help them.
So, I spent part of a lesson getting students to wade through some textbooks and focusing on a particular skill. They had to summarise the main points and complete the activities in the book, relating to their area of focus. I had differentiated thirty different times and it took me very little time to prepare thanks to the textbooks. It allowed me time to help a few students on a particular aspect while the rest worked things out for themselves.
To be honest, I have only done this once with a class, but I
feel that it has got some potential and that is why I am sharing it with you. Thirty
students doing thirty different things is likely to have more people unsure of
what they need to do, but if they did it again and again they will develop the
skill and, hopefully, become a bit more independent with their learning. Differentiating
can be a messy business and I think this covers some part of it. It is
personalised learning made easy.
Like a divorcee, I
can meet up again and really enjoy a moment with a textbook, but then I realise
that we were meant to be apart. We were meant to be friends, not lovers. We should
see each other occasionally, but we should never live together.
Thanks for reading,
Xris32
Great post Chris, thanks for sharing. I think I may build some revision lessons around this idea for my year 11s!
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