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Michaela’s Blog

Pragmatic Education – Netflix

06 Mar 2017, Posted by admin in Michaela's Blog

Netflix

Imagine working for an organisation where there are no annual performance meetings, no bureaucracy, where you do not need permission to take time off, and where the expense policy is just five words long: ‘act in our best interest’.

Imagine working for an organisation where every person you work with is someone you admire and learn loads from.

Or rather, here it is.

NetflixHR.png

Netflix is the world’s leading video on demand streaming company and a studio library in the cloud. Since its startup in 1997, it has gained over 90 million users in over 190 countries, and its revenues in 2016 were well over $8,800,000,000. It now produces more series and films than any other network or channel, spending $6 billion on content in 2017. It has unlimited viewing, no adverts, no cancellation fees. They are a harbinger of the era of internet TV. And one part of its success is due to its remarkable staff culture.

It’s been called the most important document to come out of Silicon Valley. Netflix’sslidedeck on their culture has been viewed 13 million times.

What lessons can we learn for creating a great staff culture in education? There are three that might be worth thinking about.

 

  1. Align your team around your values.

The Netflix culture focuses on achieving excellence through living their values, hiring and promoting for their values: priorities over bureaucracy; alignment, simplicity, candour, challenge, teamwork and self-improvement.

  • All of us are responsible for ensuring we live our values.
  • Building a great team is the most important task for managers, making sure everyone understands the top values, priorities and high performance
  • Managers are responsible for creating a great place to work. Employees stay because they are passionate about their work, and well paid, not because of bonuses.
  • Eliminate distracting complexity

 

  1. Give people excellent colleagues.
  • The best thing you can do for employees is have only the best people work alongside them. Hiring and retaining excellent colleagues outmatch everything else.
  • One outstanding employee gets more done and costs less than two adequate employees.
  • We develop people by giving them the opportunity to develop themselves by surrounding them with stunning colleagues and giving them big challenges to work on.
  • Promotions are for extraordinary role models for the culture and values.

 

  1. Teamwork is key to great culture. 

“Years ago we eliminated formal performance management reviews. They didn’t make sense—they were too ritualistic and too infrequent. So we asked managers and employees to have conversations about performance as an organic part of their work. People can’t believe that a company the size of Netflix doesn’t hold annual reviews. If you talk simply and honestly about performance on a regular basis, you can get good results—probably better ones than a company that grades everyone on a five-point scale.”

“We continually tell managers that building a great team is their most important task. We didn’t measure them on whether they were excellent coaches or mentors or got their paperwork done on time. Great teams accomplish great work, and recruiting the right team was the top priority.”

  • Managers own the job of creating great teams.
  • Leaders own the job of creating great culture.
  • Tell the truth about performance.
  • Identify things that colleagues should start, stop and continue
  • “Let’s just tell the truth. People can handle the truth.”
  • Is there a mismatch between values and behaviours? 
  • Have the courage to question actions inconsistent with the values. 
  • Does everyone know what they should be doing right now to improve the organisation?

 

An organisation’s culture is shaped by its people and its teams, and their values and priorities. It is well worth us as school leaders taking a look at our own staff culture with this in mind.

Deciding the first step – Different decisions for different problem types

MARCH 4, 2017

Deciding the first step is a type of question where pupils are only asked to decide explicitly which step to perform. A pupil reviews the problem type and identifies what steps he/she needs to take. After acquiring knowledge of a particular step then automatically the end of each step triggers the start of the next one. I will be looking at some questions which test whether pupils can decide on the correct step to perform, and compare them to more commonly asked questions which make the decisions for pupils.

Compare these three questions being asked by a teacher to a set of pupils

Decision Blog

What is 4 times 2?

What two numbers do I multiply first?

What is the first step?

The correct answer to all the above questions are the same. However, the first question being asked makes the decision for the pupil because they are told that they are to multiply, and which numbers to multiply. The second question is testing whether the pupils know that we multiply the numerators, and then multiply the denominators, but the decision is being made for the pupils. It is possible that a pupil will give a wrong answer by stating two numbers that we do not multiply (4 x 11). The final question is specifically asking a question to test if a pupil knows what step to perform, compared to the first two question.

Compare these two question being asked by a teacher to a set of pupils

Decision Blog 2

What do I cross-simplify first?

What is the first step?

Again, the first question makes the decision for the pupils compared to the second question. The second question is testing if a pupil can recall the first step in answering this question. This problem type is different from the one above because you can cross simplify. And I would consider cross-simplifying the first step to the procedure but simplifying the product of both fractions can happen after a pupil has multiplied the two fractions.

Compare these two questions being asked by a teacher to a set of pupils:

Decision blog 3

What is the first fraction as an improper fraction?

What is the first step?

Again, the first question makes the decision for the pupils. Furthermore, the first step of the previous two problem types cannot be applied here because there is a necessary step before both fractions can be multiplied.

The decisions pupils have to make to attempt the following calculations, vary:

Decision Blog 4

The following question – “What is the first step?” not only helps pupils to learn explicitly which step to perform first but it also allows pupils to distinguish between different problem types. This is because a pupil is then attaching their knowledge of what decision to take depending on the make-up of the question. They are acquiring surface knowledge of the problem type – If I see mixed numbers when I am multiplying fractions then I must convert them to Improper fractions first.

This form of questioning allows pupils to develop mathematical reasoning around different procedural calculations. For example, a pupil recognises that to multiply mixed numbers we must convert them into improper fractions because we cannot multiply 1 with 1 and 4/5 with 2/11 because 1 and 4/5 is not 1 x 4/5 but 1 + 4/5 which equals to 9/5. This also consolidates pupils existing knowledge of mixed numbers and their equivalent forms as improper fractions.

Another example which is interesting is making decisions about the first step when comparing two negative fractions. Here are the different problem types and the first step to each one. The question posed for all the problems below is “Which is greater?”

Decision Blog 6

Even though the problems may look the same to pupils, through teaching pupils explicit decision making around the problem types the pupils are doing two things. They are identifying the first step they need to take, and they are attaching their knowledge of the first step by identifying the features of each problem type.

For the most competent pupils their mathematical reasoning will make the features of each problem type and the first step they need to take seem obvious. For pupils who’s mathematical understanding isn’t as fluid they greatly benefit from being asked decision isolation questions, because they are identifying the features of each problem type which makes them distinct from each other, and thereby helping them know what is the first step they need to take.

Creativity? Just footsteps in the snow
footsteps-in-the-snow

learn (v.) – Old English ‘leornian’, ‘to get knowledge, to be cultivated’. From the Proto-Germanic, ‘liznojan’, ‘to follow a track’.

Robert Macfarlane seems to be the closest we have in Britain to an Innuit: not only does he actively seek out cold, featureless, uninhabited space, but he also has about twenty different words for snow. Reading his books feels like following him in a blizzard of fresh vocabulary. Recently, in his Old Ways, I’ve learnt to avoid three different types of bog: boglach (general boggy areas), blar (flat areas of a moor that can be boggy) and, the most dangerous of all, the breunlach (sucking bog that is disguised by the alluringly bright green grass that covers it). All good words to know, I thought. Even in Willesden Green.

But it was the end of his book – his acknowledgements – I was really taken with. He refers to Henry James’ novel The Golden Bough and, specifically, James’ second edition. In it James contributed a foreword in which he reflected on the process of self-revision. James conjures up the figure of the first writer as a walker who has left tracks in the snow of the page, and the revising writer as a tracker or hunter. Macfarlane notes:

‘It is significant that James is interested not in how we might perfectly repeat an earlier print-trail, but in how re-walking (re-writing) is an act whose creativity is founded in its discrepancies: by seeking to follow the track of an earlier walker or writer, one inevitably ‘break[s] the surface in other places’. One does not leave, in the language of tracking, a ‘clean register’ (placing one’s feet without disparity in the footprints of another, matching without excess or deficiency, as an image in cut paper is applied as a sharp shadow upon the wall). James sees our misprints – the false steps and ‘disparities’ that we make as we track – to be creative acts.’

He goes on to say that he has ‘inevitably followed in the footsteps of many predecessors in terms of writing as well as of walking, and to that end wish[es] to acknowledge the earlier print-trails that have shown [him] the way and provoked ‘deviations and differences’.’ He then lists the writers (and musicians) that have ‘shown [him] the way’ – everyone from Byron to Brahms, from Nabokov to Laura Marling.

Increasingly, I understand that that is that creativity really is: the deviations and discrepancies formed as we follow a path that has been trodden before (and for) us. MacFarlane – English tutor and Fellow of Emmanuel College, Cambridge – understands this better than anyone. His deeply creative use of language – the path finding he fashions out of words – is rooted (routed?) in the trails set by the writers that have blazed before him. It’s why our most creative authors have often memorised quotations and poems and prose, or spent their formative years gorging themselves on lists of vocabulary and the most challenging texts in the canon. They’ve spent hours and hours internalising the vocabulary, the syntax and the rhythm of the greatest writers who have ever lived.

Why is it that my pupils choose to use the word ‘hegemony’ to describe the dominance of the Catholic Church in medieval England? Have they conjured it out of the ether? No. They use it because I’ve taught it to them explicitly and we’ve practised using it in myriad different contexts, again, and again, and again.

George Monbiot, although a successful writer and journalist himself, doesn’t recognise this. Partly, this is due to his own expert induced blindness: he cannot see that the explicit instruction he received at his (private) school was what gave him the literary advantage he now so effectively employs. Partly, it is because he’s never taught in a school himself. And so when he snatches at inscrutable futurology it’s because, from the cloistered seclusion of King’s Place, it all seems very seductive, very modern, very progressive, very Guardian. And it is seductive; but that doesn’t make it true.

If we want our pupils to be creative then we need to show them the way. The evidence, which Monbiot is either unaware of or wilfully ignores, is clear: explicit instruction and deliberate practice works. It’s not fancy, it’s not fashionable and it’s not even that difficult. But it’s the reason why Shakespeare – a man whose secondary educationconsisted of hours of imitation, memorisation and drill – grew up to be the most creative wordsmith in the English language. We know that if you want to get good at something – anything – you need to practise that thing over and over again.

I wish I’d known this when I started teaching. I wouldn’t have wasted my pupils’ time desperately trying to extract answers in ‘engaging’ starter activities that they have no possible way of knowing. At Michaela, we call this ‘guess what’s in my head’. It’s one of the more stubborn pedagogical ticks our new teachers tend to arrive with.

I wish I’d been made to read MacFarlane. If I had, I’d have realised much sooner that learning is like following footsteps in the snow. It’s no coincidence that the etymology of ‘to learn’ is at root – and at route – ‘to follow a track’. Our responsibility as teachers is to illuminate the track and show our pupils the way. Without our instruction, how can they know where they’re going? They’re destined to stumble around in circles, trudging long distances but going nowhere. No, we must be clear. It’s by looking to those who have gone before us that we learn. And as we follow we will misstep and misprint. These ‘deviations and discrepancies’ will be our creative acts.

This was originally written for the campaign group, ‘Parents and Teachers for Excellence’.

Tutor Time at Michaela

A number of people have expressed an interest in how tutor time works at Michaela, and given that we have nearly an hour of tutor time every day, it is probably worth explaining our system.

We have tutor time in the mornings for twenty minutes, which is often stretched to twenty-five minutes, as we love to get the kids into the nice warm building, especially in the winter months. Two mornings a week, the children have assembly. Then, we have tutor time every afternoon for thirty minutes.

The tutor at Michaela is absolutely central: they have the strongest relationship with their tutor group, and we work the timetable to ensure tutors also teach their tutor groups. Although our tutor groups are large, the amount of time spent together, combined with excellent behaviour, means that tutors can really get to know each of their tutees.

On an assembly day, the tutors are responsible for lining their group up and leading them into the assembly hall. Occasionally, one tutor will decide to become competitive about which tutor group boasts the neatest, strongest line, and we’ll make this into a silly competition. (In my experience, tutors are generally just slightly more competitive than the kids on this one!)

Once in the assembly hall, tutors stay with their groups, reciting poetry together, rolling numbers together and singing together before assembly begins, and giving merits to members of their form who are doing a great job. Again, we will occasionally make this into a little inter-form competition. Tutors stay for assembly, making sure their tutees are behaving, and also absorbing the key messages of the assembly we want to be reiterating with the children in form time. Our assemblies are built around our school motto: ‘Work Hard, Be Kind,’ and will normally fall into one of those two categories.

On mornings with no assembly, the kids file into their form rooms, and take out their reading books. The tutor completes the register, before doing a quick equipment check. We have a standard expectation of the equipment every child must have, and the tutor ensures that every pupil has this equipment at the start of the day. This is to ensure no time in lessons is wasted with children not having a pen, or a ruler, or any other vital piece of stationery that could stop them learning. Some tutors check this during silent reading time, and others get the kids to hold up their equipment, issuing merits for the swiftest rows with the most professional attitude.

Our pupils are set online Maths homework every day, and morning tutor time is a good opportunity to show the kids who has done the most questions, or who has spent the most time on the Maths programme. Tutors can celebrate this with their tutees, and remind those who aren’t putting in the effort to do so in future. These pep talks are invaluable, as we find now that we often have our weakest pupils making the top ten for Maths prep, and so making huge progress from their starting points.

Before the tutees leave, the tutor gives a swift pep talk for the day, reminding their form of any key expectations they feel they are forgetting (my form last year were in the habit of slouching, so I would take a minute to explain why sitting up straight would help them to focus in lessons), before sending them off for the day.

At break time, tutors are timetabled to be with their form groups for at least ten minutes of that time, so they are able to circulate and speak with individuals, or so that individuals can find their form tutor and speak to them. The same happens at lunch break, when tutors often play table-tennis or basketball with their tutees, and chat and laugh together. Tutors also eat lunch with members of their form each day at family lunch. All of this provides an opportunity for any pupils having a tough time, or seeking reassurance, or struggling academically to find their tutor and express their concerns. It also allows the tutor to seek out pupils who are doing well to congratulate and encourage them, or, if they have a new pupil in their tutor group, to answer their questions and allay their concerns. All of this ‘down time’ together means tutors can really get to know their tutees as individuals, not just as learners.

At the end of the school day, following the final period, the tutor group comes back to their tutor room. After the register, they read their class reader together. Any English teacher knows the joy of sharing a story with a class; at Michaela, all tutors have this same joy. The tutor displays the merits and demerits for the day, week, term or year, congratulating those at the top, having conversations with those who are struggling, and asking those at the top of the chart to explain what they are doing to achieve their merits, to inspire their peers to emulate them.

 

The afternoon is also our time for one-to-one conversations, where co-tutors take out individuals who are struggling academically or with their behaviour. Wander down any Michaela corridor at the end of the day, and it is a hum of urgent, whispered chats between co-tutor and pupil, with our toughest kids having the most support. Co-tutors like Ms Cheng use a little book to set goals for the day – how many merits they wanted to have achieved, homework that needs to be completed, extra revision that is needed – and follow up on these goals.

 

 

Finally, the afternoon is a perfect time for notices and announcements. Tutors also read out the detention list, and can reiterate the teacher’s message of what has gone wrong, and what needs to happen in the future.

Some extra things tutors do:

  • Once or twice a term, give their tutees postcards to express their gratitude to members of teaching staff or support staff.
  • Discuss attendance weekly with tutees, congratulating those on 100% and having discussions with those who have missed a day or two of school.
  • Displaying the number of books each tutee has read weekly and encouraging them to read more.
  • Giving postcards to their tutees: anyone who has been especially kind, worked especially hard is awarded a postcard. This happens at least once a week. Some tutors do a ‘Michaela drum roll’ (like a regular drum roll on the table, but they SLANT as soon as they are asked) to introduce this and build anticipation.

Like everything we do, we are constantly evolving how we do tutor time. We’d love to hear of what other schools find successful, as we are constantly learning from others around the country to improve what we do. In addition, tutors are constantly innovating and trying new things with their tutees. Things individual tutors do are videoed and emailed out to all staff, so that we can learn from each other and do our best by our wonderful children.

Fifth year (or: how university should be)

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Of all the years at university, the fifth year was the best. Why did I decide to do a Masters when I had found my undergraduate so difficult? And why in History, a subject I hadn’t even studied at A-level?

The summer after fourth year, I found out I had not got a first. I was absolutely crushed, but given the amount of time I had spent in work or in the newspaper office, I had no right to be. There was one thing I knew: I was done with English Literature. I had presented a possible PhD thesis to a tutor in my final year – a psychological study of Milton’s Satan entitled ‘What’s the problem, Satan?’ – only to be laughed out of the room (or actually, the opposite of laughing – ‘you can’t make a joke on your PhD proposal’).

I loved my job at the theatre. I’d been promoted, so I had more responsibilities and more money than I had ever had before. I ate proper meals and was genuinely happy.

I decided I wanted to really challenge myself. In my final year, I had chosen courses I knew I would do well at, but now I wanted to do something I was unsure of. Having spent four years in Ireland, blissfully ignorant of the country’s history, I would spend a year immersed in ‘Modern Irish history.’

To prepare, the summer before I began I read tome after tome on Irish history. I asked everyone I knew who had done a history degree for recommendations. I went from knowing nothing at all to having a very shaky grasp of the chronology on the first day of the course. But I loved learning something new. And I loved reading something different. I read not a single novel for two years after my final year of university. At the time I thought I might never read a novel again. I was done with literature, and literature was done with me. I had never seemed to understand it, and the less I succeeded, the more I grew to despise what I had once most loved.

The Masters was blissful. There might have been 12 or 15 of us taking it, so we all knew each other. We were all total geeks. For once, I totally fitted in. We went for lunch and talked about history. We went to optional seminars just because we wanted to. It was absolutely joyous. I was totally out of my depth, but almost no-one had studied Irish History before, even if they had studied history. I also came to the course without arrogance – I knew I knew nothing. Unlike literature, which I felt so confident about, only to have my ignorance painfully revealed, here I merrily accepted how much I had to learn. My undergraduate degree had knocked humility into me.

And History suited me. Instead of synthesising abstract theories, I was plugging away in the archives, reading documents and letters written hundreds of years before. In History, the long hours spent reading endlessly were rewarded with high marks. I seemed to be doing better at something I had never studied before than I had for my entire first degree.

I grew in confidence. In the second term, I was the only person who chose to take a course which was fiendishly challenging that had hundreds of pages of assigned reading every week, along with plenty of statistics. Now I had a degree, I was paid more to teach drama at the weekends, and I also marked essays for a correspondence course. I invigilated exams for undergraduates. I had worked at the theatre for so long I could choose shifts around archive times and seminars.

Instead of queuing for the library, I swiped into the 24-hour graduate reading room any time I wanted; a beautiful and old room where there was always a place to sit and where you could bring your coffee without anyone seeing you and telling you hot drinks were for outside the library. The 24-hour reading room was full of geeks just like me. I knew few of their names, but all of them to smile and nod at. There is a warm community in the geek world. Now, lecturers wanted to talk to me. I would turn up to their offices and we could talk about the essays I had written or the documents I had found in archives. They would share their research, and point me in the direction of a new cache of papers.

As the year drew to a close, I submitted my PhD thesis proposal again – on nineteenth century Irish history this time. It was well received, and although I didn’t get funding for it, there was the strong suggestion I would if I reapplied the following year.

It would have been lovely to do a PhD. I finally had a lovely, lovely life; super friends and the best part-time jobs ever. But university had made me tougher. I wanted to take the difficult route. I had heard that Teach First was tough, so I decided to do that instead.

Summing up

After five years of university, I had not had a full week off. I had barely had a full two-days off. I had counted every penny for five years. I had been genuinely hungry many times. I would not do those five years again for any money. They were difficult years.

But I did not hate university, and I do not hate university.

University killed my arrogance – eventually. It taught me humility would be a surer route to learning. It taught me that work can be the highlight of your day – and that is ok. When I had failed in seminars and failed in the library, I could still turn up and do a good shift at work. We should never despair, because we can always do some good.

And however disappointed I was to not achieve a first, I did not fail. I did not drop out. I finished, despite how difficult it was.

In the amazing musical In the Heights, one of the characters struggles to find her place at university, far from her multicultural home, and wonders what her life would have been like ‘if my parents had stayed in Puerto Rico.’ University is such an immense culture shock, it is tempting during the experience to imagine: what might have been if I had stayed where I was ‘meant’ to stay? If I lived the life my background wanted me to live, instead of living this alien life, this life of literature and theatre and Waitrose?

I have so much to be grateful for: university taught me the value of a good day’s work; it taught me that I was strong enough to withstand slurs and smears and stay standing; it taught me that I could choose the tougher option and succeed in that option. A quote I read recently in The Count of Monte Cristo really resonated with me on this: ‘those who are born with a silver spoon, those who have never needed anything, do not understand what happiness is.’

University was not like I imagined it would be when I read those 1920s novels. Nor was it anything like the experience of some of my closest friends, who describe it as three years of fun and parties. University was a struggle, but the struggle was brilliant.

You can also read about my first, second, third and fourth years at university.

 Fourth Year (or: I had to pass)

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Fourth year started. I was feeling happy. I had good hours working a job I loved that paid well and also enabled me to study while working. I worked on the newspaper stand in Freshers Week when I wasn’t working, encouraging new first years to join us. I had a group of people I loved working with at university, and a group of people I loved working with at the theatre.

But it was also time to get serious. I may have neglected my studies in third year, but I wanted to get a first. I needed to get a first. I was the first person in my family to go to university, and I wanted to show I had thrived there.

At the end of third year I had signed up to do a course in the modern novel and a course in Jane Austen. I had done all the required reading. I had even, possibly for the first time since Atonement in Freshers’ Week, enjoyed it.

But I needed a first. And one of the course leaders had given me a low 2.1 in first year; the other a low 2.1 in second year. I needed to be strategic. I swapped onto two courses with course leaders I’d never had before, but which were topics I had got firsts in previously – Shakespeare, and Old English. And I really did love those courses. We had optional essays for the Shakespeare course, one a week; I completed every single one and got a first for all of them. None of the marks counted towards my final year marks, but it seemed like a good trajectory.

I was balancing three jobs now: the theatre most of the time, teaching weekly drama and creative writing classes, and occasional waitressing at a sports stadium. I was also balancing my commitments to the newspaper and other university societies. I put everything into everything. I studied between customers at the theatre, where I worked with some of my favourite people I had yet met in Dublin. I ran between lectures and the newspaper office. I burned the midnight oil in the library. I was working so much I didn’t need money for anything but three meals a day; for lunches I could finally afford a proper sandwich with any filling I chose. Life was glorious.

There were low points. If you throw yourself into ‘public’ life (or, the public life of the amateur stage that is university), you are a target to be shot at. Plenty of people wrote letters to the editor about how awful my writing was. One person took umbrage at a column I’d written about life after university, alleging I’d been born ‘with a silver spoon’ in my mouth and ‘could rely on Mummy and Daddy’ to bail me out after my degree, which could not have been further from the truth. One person stood up at a society AGM and called me a fraud and a hypocrite. One person stood up at another society AGM and said I had abused society funds for my own personal advancement, when of course I had done no such thing. An email was circulated to the whole English class about me, the content deeply personal and clearly vindictive. When I complained to the university officials, they said they would investigate it if I halted an ongoing newspaper investigation into dodgy aspects of the university administration they did not want being made public. It was my first experience of officials using their position so dishonestly. I refused to pull the investigation, and the writer of the malicious email went unpunished.

I remember the day results came out. I had arranged for the day off work so I could prepare myself. I longed for a first.

I will write next week about my fifth year at university.

Use the links to read about my first, second and third years of university.

Third Year (or: I stopped going to lectures)

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After the blow of not winning a scholarship, I felt resentment building up about English Literature. I had read everything, and worked so hard, but it had not been enough. Not knowing anything about Dweck and ‘Growth Mindset,’ I declared that English was ‘not my thing,’ and proceeded to throw myself into other aspects of university life.

And third year was in some ways a really wonderful year. I worked for the university newspaper, and for the first time my work felt purposeful. I wasn’t serving drinks to make a pittance, and I wasn’t slaving over books to fail to win a scholarship. I was writing, writing, writing and copy editing; spending whole days and whole nights in the newspaper office over a production weekend, and making actual friends who also got a kick out of working insane hours to produce something concrete at the end of two weeks. I absolutely loved it.

Getting involved in university also had other perks. I found out that there were events that had free drinks, if you only knew the right people, and suddenly I had something of a social life. I worked in a shop, not a bar, so I had evenings free and could actually socialise the way other people did.

The downside of my shop job was, after Christmas (when they had employed a huge amount of extra staff to deal with the massive Christmas bonanza), they kept on far too many of us, which meant there weren’t enough hours to go around. I went from working twenty-five hours a week in term time to being rota-ed for about ten. It was not even enough to pay my rent.

But others who worked in the shop were sometimes flaky. Although my availability for hours was weekends and times when I did not have lectures or seminars, I would often get a call: ‘can you come in for six hours? Someone hasn’t shown up.’ And I would go in.

Third year was the year I started skipping lectures. I didn’t make a habit of it; except that I did, because they always called to offer me hours, and I always said yes. I didn’t want to miss classes, but I did.

When I turned up to the classes, I had done the basic reading but nothing more. I had stopped reading anything to accompany the texts. When I knew I would miss the lecture or the tutorial I didn’t read the text either. I was scraping 2.1s on my essays, which I would painstakingly draft and re-draft in the hum of the newspaper office in between churning out articles and re-writing other people’s. In the newspaper office, I learned the difference between a dash and a hyphen, and when to use a semi-colon. I learned how to check sources and get quotes and find stories. But I did not learn much about English Literature in my third year.

Before exams, the hours had dwindled ever more. Others were feeling the pinch; for some, this was their full time job, and they were working less than 20 hours a week. I resigned just before exams, hoping others could take my hours. I went for a newspaper-related scholarship. After all, I had given up evenings and weekends (in between shifts) to the newspaper. I thought I stood a good chance.

The end of third year brought both good and bad news. I did not win the newspaper scholarship. It turned out, being involved in university societies meant you made enemies as well as friends.

The good news was that I had a new job. I was working in a theatre, selling tickets. It was a different world. For one thing, I got to sit down all day for the first time in three years. For another, they were willing to give me ten-hour shifts six days a week during my university’s summer holiday (on the seventh day, I worked as a teaching assistant at a weekend programme for young people; soon, I was a drama and creative writing teacher there). And finally, when the phone wasn’t ringing or customers weren’t queuing, I could read. It was the perfect solution to my problems. No longer exhausted and run off my feet earning minimum wage, suddenly I could draw the wages of a king (€10.50 an hour!) for sitting and reading. I saw Riverdance five times, and loved it each time more than the last.

In the summer, I looked up my exam results online. 66%. I’d got a 2.1. In fact, I had dropped only one per cent from my first and second year results. The difference in notattending lectures and not spending 8 hours a day in the library was one per cent.

Next week, I will write about my final year of university.

You can read about my first year here, and my second year here.

Algebraic Circle Theorems – Pt 2

Last week, I explored different number based circle theorem problems that can test (a) a pupil’s ability to identify the circle theorem being tested and (b) problem types where a pupil has to find multiple unknown angles using their circle theorem knowledge as well knowledge of basic angle facts.

In this blog, I’m displaying a few different problems within the topic of circle theorems where each angle is labelled as a variable or a term. I am interleaving lots of different knowledge:

  • Forming and simplifying algebraic expressions
  • Forming algebraic equations
  • Equating an algebraic expression to the correct circle theorem angle fact
  • Equating two algebraic expressions which represent equivalent angles and solving for the value of the unknown. Furthermore, using the value of the unknown to find the size of the angle represented by the algebraic expression.

I have interleaved fractional coefficients into a couple of questions to add some arithmetic complexity to the questions. Enjoy!

A triangle made by radii form an Isosceles triangle

Image 0The angle in a semi-circle is a right angle

Image 1
The opposite angles in a cyclic quadrilateral add up to 180 degrees (the angles are supplementary)

Image 2Angles subtended by an arc in the same segment of a circle are equal

The questions for this circle theorem differ in nature from the problem types shown above. Here you are equating two algebraic expressions which represent equivalent angles. We are no longer forming a linear expression and equating it to an angle fact like 180o.

Image 3

The angle subtended at the centre of a circle is twice the angle subtended at the circumference

In these problems types the key mistake that a pupil may make is equating the angle subtended at the centre to the angle subtended at the circumference without doubling the angle at the circumference. This can be pre-empted by asking pupils a key question of “What is the first step?” The answer I would be looking for after going through a few worked examples would be “you need to double the angle subtended at the circumference.”

Image 4Tangents to circles – From any point outside a circle just two tangents to the circle can be drawn and they are of equal length (Two tangent theorem)

Image4a

Alternate Segment Theorem – The angle between a tangent and a chord through the point of contact is equal to the angle subtended by the chord in the alternate segment.

Image 5

I would be keen to hear any thoughts or feedback. Please don’t hesitate to email me on naveenfrizvi@hotmail.co.uk.

Creating Problem Types – Circle Theorems Part 1

Last summer, I made as many different problem types for the topic of Circle Theorems. I looked through different textbooks and online resources (MEP, TES, past papers). I did this because when I last taught circle theorems at my previous school there weren’t enough questions for my pupils to get sufficient deliberate practice. This was a two fold issue. Firstly, I would find a practice set of questions which would not provide enough questions for a pupil to practise one particular problem type. Secondly, the sequencing of questions in terms of difficulty would escalate too quickly or not at all. Here I will outline the different problems types I created (using activeinspire) and then explain the thinking behind them. I have been very selective with the problems I have included here; I have made more questions where certain problems types are more complicated which I shall discuss at the end. I shall more in the following posts.

I made two different categories of problems for each circle theorem. The first type would explicitly test a pupil’s understanding of the theorem to see if they could identify the circle theorem being tested.

The second type would be testing two things. Firstly, such a problem type would be testing their ability to determine the circle theorem being applied in the question. The second aspect of the problem type would be testing related geometry knowledge interleaved which can be calculated as the secondary or primary procedure in the problem e.g. finding the exterior angle of the Isosceles triangle.

One common theme in these questions is that procedural knowledge applied is executed in a predetermined linear sequence. Hiebert and Lefevre wrote that “the only relational requirement for a procedure to run is that prescription nmust know that it comes after prescription n-1.” Multi-step problems such as the ones that you will see show that procedures are hierarchically arranged so that the order of the sub procedures is relevant. Here are the different problem types for each circle theorem where I explain how many items of knowledge is being tested in each question, and what each item of knowledge is.image-0Figure 1: A triangle made by radii form an Isosceles triangleimage-1

Figure 2: The angle in a semi-circle is a right angleimage-2

Figure 3: The opposite angles in a cyclic quadrilateral add up to 180 degrees (the angles are supplementary)image-3Figure 4: Angles subtended by an arc in the same segment of a circle are equal

image-4
Figure 5: The angle subtended at the centre of a circle is twice the angle subtended at the circumferenceimage-5Figure 6: Tangents to circles – From any point outside a circle just two tangents to the circle can be drawn and they are of equal length (Two tangent theorem)image-6aFigure 7: Alternate Segment Theorem – The angle between a tangent and a chord through the point of contact is equal to the angle subtended by the chord in the alternate segment.

To conclude, there are many different problems types for the topic of circle theorems and the complexity of the problem can be addressed in many ways such as:

  • arithmetic complexity
  • Orientation of the problem
  • Multiple representations of the same problem type
  • multiple subprocedures to determine multiple missing angles
  • Interleaving the application of multiple circle theorems.
  • Interleaving the use of basic angles facts
    1. as a necessary step in the procedure to find other angles
    2. as an independent step in the procedure where finding one angle is not necessary to find another angle.

I would be keen to hear any thoughts. Please don’t hesitate to email me onnaveenfrizvi@hotmail.co.uk.

Making the Most of Every Minute

Since starting at Michaela in September, I’ve learnt that every second counts. I’m still shocked at the speed of routines, and how they enable us to squeeze every last second of learning in every lesson.

There are lots of things that slow lessons down which Michaela has almost managed to eradicate. For example, chaotic corridors at lesson transition time, settling pupils into the classroom, lengthy periods wasted waiting for silence, and time-draining activities that yield less learning than alternative methods. In science, the added pressure of getting through experiments requiring lots of equipment can further remove the focus away from learning.

To demonstrate exactly what this looks like in practice, here is an outline of a typical Michaela science lesson, broken down minute-by-minute. This would work with any class, but this lesson in particular was with a year 7 set 3 class – their second lesson on a new chemistry unit. The title of the lesson was ‘Evidence for atoms’. Times are approximate.

10:30 Pupils are waiting patiently outside the classroom in silence whilst another class is dismissed.

10:31 Pupils say a hearty “Good morning” as they come in to the class, take their pencil cases out and are then SLANT-ing.

10:32 “Good morning year sevens. Drill questions page 3. Ready…go!” Pupils sit, hand out exercise books and immediately start their drill questions on page 3 (see more on speedy entrances here). Drill questions are one worded answers to recap over the whole unit.

10:34 I say “3,2,1 SLANT” to get their attention. I tell them to get their green pens (for self-checking) ready. “Ready…set…go!” I read out the one-word answers to each drill question and ask for class feedback.

“Hands up if you have question one incorrect?…two incorrect? Etc.” The majority of the class puts their hand up for question 7, so I provide a brief explanation and recap on Aristotle and the four elements.

10:36 “When I say go and not before, recap questions at the back of the book. Ready…go!” Pupils complete five recap questions in silence. Recap questions are sentence answers linked to the previous lesson.

10:39 “3,2,1 SLANT. Green pens ready. Ready…set…hands up! Question 1…” Pupils give full sentences ending with a Michaela full stop (Sir/Miss). I take a hand up from Arnold*: “Aristotle thought that the world was made up of four elements which were air, fire, water and earth, Miss”

“Excellent, that’s right! Make sure you’ve all got that down in green pen.”

10:42 “3,2,1 SLANT. When I say go and not before, tracking line one. Quickest row gets to read first. Ready…go!” Pupils put two hands on their ruler holding a blue pen in one hand. Each pupil reads one line each of the text and annotates their text book accordingly.

10.47 We pause after line 9 for questions. “3,2,1 SLANT! During which period were Alchemists practising?” More than 50% pupils put their hand up. I non-verbally ask for a choral response: “1,2,3….” “Renaissance!” After a few more questions we continue reading about Robert Boyle (and his theory) with frequent pauses for questioning.

10:58 “3,2,1 SLANT! We have comprehension questions to complete. What is the title?”

Tim: “Evidence for atoms”

“That’s great! What must you remember? 1,2,3..” “Capital letters at beginning of sentences!” “Ready…go!” Pupils start their comprehension questions.

11:09 “3,2,1 SLANT. Green pens ready. Ready…set…hands up! Question 1…” Sarah: “The two main aims of Alchemists were to find the elixir of life and to turn cheap metals into gold, Miss” “Great answer, merit for Sarah. Now check your spellings for Alchemists. A-L-C-H-E-M-I-S-T-S” Pupils check by ticking every letter.

11:13 We continue to read about John Dalton, again pupils annotating their textbooks and pausing for questioning.

11:18 Pupils complete second set of comprehension questions.

11:23 “3,2,1 SLANT. Green pens ready. Ready…set…hands up! Question 1…”Pupils give whole class answer in a similar fashion as the first comprehension.

11:27 “Put one book in another (i.e. textbook folded within exercise books) 5…4…3…2…1 SLANT! Books passed down 20…19…3…2…1 SLANT! Behind your chairs 10…9…3…2…1 SLANT!”

11:28 I read out a list of all the merits and demerits I have given during the lesson. In the final few minutes, I ask a few extra choral response questions. “Dalton said that atoms cannot be broken down. Another word we use is…1,2,3,…” “Indivisible!”

11:30 Pupils are dismissed, filing out into the corridor. It’s always lovely to hear a “Thank you, Miss” when they leave.

Another Michaela lesson complete. The simplicity of each lesson and the consistency of routines enables maximum learning to be achieved.

Click here to see a minute by minute history lesson by Mike Taylor.

*names have been changed for anonymity