"Data driven instruction" is one of those education-ese phrases that's been tossed around for at least eight years, which is how long I've been standing in front of kids in classrooms. I suspect it's been much longer. Honestly, before I came to L.A. I could talk-the-talk, but I didn't walk-the-walk. Now, an hour doesn't go by (not exaggerating) when I don't think about it.
Teachers who have been around a lot longer than I insist that data driven instruction is nothing more than a phase and that someday soon, we'll drop all this silliness and get back to a reasonable approach to teaching. I'm not so sure.
Data driven instruction works a lot like going to the doctor. You tell the nurse your symptoms, which he types into a computer. He takes your pulse, blood pressure, and temperature, and he probably weighs you, too. The doctor takes a peak at all of this and asks more questions, adding in her own observations. She probably also does some typing into the computer (or on her iPad if she's super cool). She then recommends more tests or a course of treatment.
This is like data driven instruction in that your doctor is basing her recommendations on data -- not her history of treating patients, her instincts, or her personal beliefs about what wellness means. At least, not if she wants insurance companies to pay for her treatment.
In like manner, we teachers test and observe kids to get a baseline. We compare that to what our state's department of education says students should know. (In the case of my precious babies, there's a gap between the two that's too far to swim across without serious risk of drowning. Picture me frantically dog-paddling.) And then we prepare instruction. And we assess, assess, assess (which is just a less scary word for "test").
And while all of that seems like a huge "DUH," it's actually not. Here's why: there's little place in a data-driven instruction classroom for a teacher's instincts or for the random neat idea. Before L.A., I used to have passing thoughts such as, "Gosh, this is great novel that I think my students will like," or "I think my kids might enjoy a creative writing exercise because I sure did when I was in high school," or "It would be interesting to see my students create an artistic piece interpreting this poem."
You won't see any of those activities in my classroom now. Know why? Because my students will never face a test question about them. And doing well on tests has become so incredibly necessary to their educational success that I can't possibly risk a moment not paying attention -- really close attention -- to exactly what they need to know to do well on them.
Of course, that doesn't mean that my classroom can't be interesting, engaging, or relevant. Subject-verb agreement? I made an interactive web quest. Analyzing argument types? My kids wrote letters to our school's principal advocating for the abolition of school uniforms. (But I can assure you, they'll also get boring little multiple-choice quizzes, too, to make sure they have acquired these skills before THE big test.)
I'm kinda scared to talk too much about this stuff with my colleagues for fear of looking like an idiot. This is because, in Florida, I worked for folks who soundly believed in data driven instruction, but they didn't know how to enforce it or convert their teachers to believers. At Camino Nuevo High School, there's no way around it. I'm not complaining when I say this, but rather simply stating the truth: I have to prove to my administrators (including one-on-one conversations) that I'm using data to plan my instruction. They visit my classroom nearly daily. They talk to my kids. They look at the results of my tests. They ask me how I know my students will do better next time.
I'm torn about all of this. On the one hand, it sure takes the guessing game out of teaching. But on the other, there are times I want my students to know something that my instincts tell me they should know. I'm still navigating my way around that conflict.
My last thoughts on data driving instruction for tonight ... I am so grateful to Matt. The poor man listens to me talk about all of this constantly. I have no fear whatsoever that he ever thinks I'm an idiot (well, with a couple of exceptions that will remain within the sanctity of our marriage), plus he has many, many great ideas for me and my kids. And he is the master at comfort and love, at encouraging me to set this burden down now and again and marvel at the blessedness of a blanket and soft slippers.
Matt is a man who loves to sit and hold my hand. I am a woman who loves to have her hand held. No data needed.
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