I noticed that Diego was the first student in the eighth-grade math class to finish the assignment. He was a quiet and respectful student who did not volunteer to speak in class because he had difficulty pronouncing academic math terms like “slope” and “y-intercept.” However, Diego willingly helped the student paired with him to correct mistakes and complete the math problems. As he was one of “my students” in my job as an English Learner Coach, I was to support Diego during class instruction to help him gain language proficiency and achieve academic success. Diego was in his first full year in US schools, having arrived at the end of the previous school year. I was told he was educated in his home country and had aspirations of becoming an engineer. This alerted me to the fact that he was motivated to learn.
Mathematics has existed in every civilization throughout history. Its worldwide presence is why so many people claim it as a universal language. Further perpetuation of the claim is present in the classroom. A classroom full of students who may or may not all speak the same language can successfully and individually solve the same problem. After all, doesn’t 1 + 1 = 2 everywhere, no matter the language, country, or culture if the symbolic representation shows that one whole, joined with another one whole, makes two wholes?
However, the idea that math is a universal language because the answer to a problem is always the same no matter what language is spoken can be misleading. This notion focuses on the answer; it does not acknowledge that the processes to solve for the answer—or even the perspectives on the processes—can vary. When we focus on the processes to solve, we can discover and unveil various perceptions on or ways to look at problem solving. We find the whys behind the hows of problem solving.
The quality and quantity of preservice instruction in teaching multilingual learners vary, leaving many teachers feeling inadequately prepared. And even those who did receive some training may have never had practical experience applying what they learned.
Well-intentioned teachers with their hearts in the right place are often left feeling overwhelmed as they think about how to best give newly arrived multilingual learners all they need to succeed.
This step-by-step guide offers tips for teachers preparing to welcome newly arrived multilingual learners in all grade levels.
Visual aids have long been recognized as a powerful instructional accommodation for diverse groups of learners. Indeed, whenever I ask educators how to best support language learners, learners with special needs, gifted and talented learners, or learners with limited or interrupted formal education, the most common answer I hear is visuals. Not surprisingly, whenever I ask educators which instructional strategies generally help students learn best, I get the same response.
Noisy classrooms do not always equal engagement. The idea for this blog came into focus after my recent conversation with my dear colleague and friend Aloise Miller. Flying over Texas, we chatted about voice levels, music selection, and classroom noise overall. The topic of this blog is noise pollution. Not the sound of students collaborating in groups or with partners. Not the sound of students playing games or enthusiastically debating a hot topic. We all know that kind of noise is good! Instead, we discussed the other kind of noise: the unnecessary kind.
I’ll start this off with a confession: a good number of my first years in teaching, I would sit through days/weeks/months of training I was obligated to attend and think to myself, “Yeah…but this doesn’t apply to me.”
How students solve a problem—whether it is a standalone equation, expression, or a word problem—can be quite perplexing, especially when answers are unexplained. Students’ approaches and strategies vary, and their foundations of knowledge span a wide spectrum. It is probably truer than not that a mathematics teacher has come across the following scenario:
Teacher: How did you solve this problem?
Student: I don’t know. I just did it.
Whether the answer to a problem is correct or not, the pedagogical dilemma in this scenario is gaining access to student thinking so we can address misconceptions and incompleteness as necessary and validate or guide further application. But how do we get our students to use language to convey their mathematical thinking?
As a secondary teacher, Step 4 from the 7 Steps to a Language-Rich, Interactive Classroom was always the one I was most “lukewarm” in implementing. The idea of my 16-year-old students collectively giving me a thumbs-up or standing back-to-back seemed unrealistic. In my mind, I felt like I would get the same students giving me a thumbs-up that would normally verbally tell me they were good to go, or they’d show me they were ready because they had stopped working.
There is something deep inside each person that makes them want to be wanted, invited, and chosen. I saw it on my daughter’s face as she lit up when her new teacher leaned down and whispered in her ear: “I wanted you too…” This was an easy thing to communicate to a nine-year-old. They spoke the same language and were from the same culture, and my daughter has a healthy attachment to me, her mother (so far at least—fingers crossed). She is accustomed to an adult woman leaning down to whisper in her ear, and to her, it means a healthy intimacy. But what if this was not the case? What if my daughter and her new teacher did not speak the same language? What if there was a cultural disconnect between the teacher and the student’s greetings and use of personal space? What if the student had experienced trauma from their mother figure, and a whisper in the ear was reminiscent of abuse instead of healthy intimacy? How do we welcome diverse students on the first day of school in a way that will help them to receive the message that they are wanted, chosen, and accepted?
Many people take great pride in their names and in naming their children.
Today, I take a lot of pride in my name, but it wasn’t always that way. In fact, for a long time, I wished my name was something more…American. When I started school in America, the teacher wrote out our full names on desk plates. There was mine, “Valentina Najdanovic.” It was long and barely fit on the desk. It was hard to read, much less spell. When the teacher pointed to my last name with squinty eyes and her mouth in an uncomfortable gappy stretch and asked me, “How do you say that?” I was embarrassed. And at that age, I saw my name as an inconvenience. It was clunky. And it didn’t fit in. And that made me feel that I didn’t fit in.