Impacts of Reflective Storytelling on Learning
Karolyn Toews
87011-0277
Simon Fraser University
MEd in Educational Practice
LM 34 Surrey Cohorto
March 23, 2018
Dedication
for those who listened with anticipation Abstract
This inquiry seeks to investigate how students’ reflective storytelling impacts their learning through the process of revisiting, critiquing and reframing classroom experiences. Three instances of talk and reflection are observed and examined in a grade 1/2 classroom: student talk during a spider inquiry, student talk while reflecting on reading behaviours, and stories about personal challenges. Through the process of collecting samples of these narratives, insights are gained about the teacher’s and students’ roles in owning and sharing self stories. The effects of challenges and tensions within student and teacher learning stories are also considered. Research around such concepts as storytelling, oral language, and growth mindset provide a framework for thinking and understanding. Poetry and creative writing inform and synthesize this study’s lived experiences.
A Liminal Place
Memory
I am cocooned
secure in a green sleeping bag.
The dank, musty smell of a tarp
envelops me
yet my mind is far away from its reality.
I am somewhere,
following a mischievous black bird.
I smile and laugh at its antics,
feeling comfortable
and
free
to let my imagination
take the lead.
The narrative is compelling.
I know
the deep, theatrical inflections
of its
storyteller.
He holds me
spell-bound.
I am lost
but
safe in its magic.
Background
As I grew up, this ritual of storytelling took place often. The character, an inquisitive crow named Blackie, was an invention of my Dad, the first and perhaps most influential storyteller in my life. As kids, we longed for “Blackie the Crow” stories. This crow followed us on camping trips, across Canada, and back to our familiar beds on 37 Henry Street. The round-about narratives wove adventure into a “what will happen next” suspense and then, predictably back to a resolve that always lent itself to a lesson of sorts. Through various trials befitting his bird-like character, Blackie taught us not to be selfish, to listen to our parents, or to remember our manners. Tales of adventure became a construct of virtues and spiritual values. Storytelling was about imagination, emotion, connection and learning.
The legacy of my dad as a storyteller lives on in my life. Lessons learned as a child stay with me even today. I have often taken on the role of a storyteller, preferring it as a tool for teaching or a way to make sense of my experience. The impact of a story whether make-believe or real has become a central focus and area of investigation for me as a teacher-researcher. The power of story not only unravels our human journeys but it provides an entry point for understanding ourselves as inquirers and learners.
As I reflect on my learning journey, the questions that I have investigated have taken on the characteristics of a story in and of themselves. Initial inquiries have spiralled into ideas that have been revisited and reframed. The plot line has shifted, and my focus has been directed elsewhere. These moments have pushed me to think past the surface and have invited deeper deliberation and search. Looking back there are pieces of my narrative that have provided clarity and meaning, but more often the storyline has sent me digging deeper for answers.
My diagnosis of breast cancer in the fall of 2015, found itself wrapped up in the start of my first graduate diploma field study. Without much choice, my personal narrative collided with the learning stories that I would encounter during that first semester and the remaining three years of study. The relationship between self and other (the other being cancer) became a very real part of my life.
This new reality was disorienting, and I was inundated with unanswered questions. A quote from Rainer Maria Rilke (as cited in Palmer, 2007) gave hope to the fear and anxiety that I was experiencing during those first months of realization:
Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions
themselves…Do not seek the answers which cannot be given you because you would
not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now.
Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day
into the answer. (p. 89)
Live the question now. This challenging advice became and has become the starting point for much of my inquiry in the classroom, and in life. It has framed the way I think about learning, the way I processed the cancer in my life, and has become the impetus for understanding and living out story. Context and Conditions
For over 20 years, Matsqui Elementary (see Figure 1) has been the setting in which I have taught and grown in my role as a teacher-learner and now, researcher. It is a small rural school that services approximately 138 students and their families in the Abbotsford School District. Our mission at Matsqui is “to provide a safe and caring environment in order to inspire our students to be well-rounded life-long learners who are ready to experience life to its fullest.”
Each year, I teach children from a variety of backgrounds, languages, traditions and cultures. Although many refer to Matsqui as the “cute little school in the country”, we are surprisingly eclectic and with that brings the challenges of providing support within the constraints of our small size and limited resources.
Our school is well represented by students who live on the Matsqui First Nation Reserve. The presence of the Stó:lō Nation is an important piece of our school culture and community. The farming landscape around our school makes up much of the Matsqui Prairie. Many of our students live on dairy or blueberry farms. We often teach children whose great-grandparents helped settle the area. More recently, many Indo-Canadian families have chosen to establish farming ventures here as well.
Matsqui Elementary is situated in the heart of historic Matsqui Village. Its quaint streets and buildings include a park, an old church, the Matsqui Cafe, and an operating Post Office. I have noticed a resurgence of young families moving into this village, desiring to find simplicity and community here. This may be the reason for a sudden influx of Kindergarten children who registered this past fall.
With a rising enrolment, our school opened a sixth division in September, 2017. Over the course of the year, several children moved in and out of my classroom. At this time, I am teaching a class of 22 students (see Figure 2). The composition includes: 11 grade ones, 11 grade twos; 11 boys, 11 girls; 3 Aboriginal students; 1 IEP student; and students with a broad range of learning styles and abilities.
As a small staff, we are able to collaborate and stay connected. Because my teaching position is part-time (60%), I am well acquainted with job sharing and the importance of communicating effectively with my co-worker. I also teach jointly with our Learning Support Teacher and receive additional support from the Aboriginal EA. Last year, our staff collaborated around the topic of questioning. Lessons about quick and deep questions helped to form some of the ideas that I later developed in my field study.
Definitions
An understanding of the terms “reflection” and “story” was necessary to set some parameters for data collection and analysis. Corbin and Strauss (2008), emphasize the importance of careful word choice and meaning as an analytical tool for furthering analysis. They suggest that “it is up to the analyst to discern which interpretation is most accurate by looking to the data for cues” (p. 79).
My working definition of reflection was found within the growth mindset paradigm. Mulligan (as cited in Davis, 2016), suggests that the “deliberate practice (of reflection) is the act of isolating what is not working and mastering the challenging area before moving on, allowing the new information to become encoded in memory” (p. 13). Further, reflection is applied by “pausing to think, consider, visualize, or problem solve before repeating the section” (Davis, p.13). It was also helpful to refer to Schön’s (1987) explanation of reflection-on and -in action. He points out that both actions occur when “we find something odd about (our usual routines) because, for some reason, we have begun to look at them in a new way” (p.26). Critical thinking and restructuring of strategies are interwoven in this process, which often leads to “fram(ing) a new problem” (p. 28).
The concept of storytelling was more difficult to confine, but in my readings it became evident that other educators were also using storytelling as an effective teaching and learning tool (Clandinin & Connelly, 1998; McDrury & Alterio, 2002; McEwan & Egan, 1995; Pendlebury, 1995; and Witherell & Nodding, 1991, as cited in Alterio, n.d., p. 2). In particular, the work of Maxine Alterio (n.d.) helped to define and bring clarity to my use of oral narrative in the classroom. In her research about storytelling and student learning, Alterio (n.d.) suggests that there are many types of stories and ways to work with them; reflective dialogue is one example. Her descriptions of storytelling helped me narrow down my focus to two types in particular: “spontaneous and predetermined” (McDrury & Alterio, as cited in Alterio, n.d., p. 3). Alterio’s (n.d) definitions provide some insight:
Spontaneous stories often occur straight after something significant, funny or frustrating has happened and tellers have an overwhelming urge to share their experience. Predetermined stories differ in that tellers have already thought about them in some way, perhaps written about them in journals or shared fragments with family or friends. These stories stay with tellers because they are unresolved, or continue to be intriguing or troublesome. Sharing this type of story is likely to bring about the biggest learning gains. (p. 3)
In my field study, I decided to observe and gather data based on an awareness of Alterio’s (n.d.) definition of story types. As a class, we referred to these oral and written narratives (whether spontaneous or predetermined) as our learning stories. Although the fluid nature of classroom talk and storytelling created challenges for data gathering and observing, it was an exciting, “ear-opening” time to be the teacher-researcher. As Alterio (n.d.) concludes, “to learn through storytelling is to take seriously the human need to make meaning from experience, to communicate that meaning to others, and in the process, learn about ourselves and the worlds in which we reside” (p. 3).Methods of Data Collection
Using the concept of reflective storytelling as a guideline and focus, my data collection centred on obtaining samples of student talk around their learning stories. This process included audio recordings, teacher-lead interviews of students (archived on the “Notes” application on my computer and i-phone, see Figure 3) and transcriptions of learning story narratives (in my Field Study Notebooks). I gathered photos of: students participating in student talk activities, writing samples of learning stories, and inquiry artifacts. Finally, I often wandered around the classroom, clipboard in hand, recording “in the midst” (Shagoury & Power, 2003, p.121) notes of student activity and talk.
In their chapter entitled “Developing a Research Plan”, Dana and Yendol-Hoppey (2009) suggest the importance of using multiple sources of data collection in order to rule out discrepancies and build a stronger case for findings. This method of “triangulation” (Cresswell, 1998; Patton, 2002, as cited in Dana & Yendol-Hoppey, 2009, p. 112), provided opportunities for varied meaning making and data analysis as I continued to align my practice with the questions and wonderings of my inquiry.
Methods of Data Analysis
About qualitative data analysis, Michael Quinn Patton (as cited in Saldana, 2016) rationalizes that “because each qualitative study is unique, the analytical approach used will be unique” (p. 47). Later, Saldana (2016) uses the term “pragmatic eclecticism” (p. 47) to describe his stance in determining appropriate coding methods. With some trail and error, I attempted an eclectic approach to analyze my data in hopes of “shaking it up and complexifying it” (MacDonald, personal communication, October 3, 2017). Descriptive coding, narrative coding and poetry (creative arts) helped to inform and analyze the data that I collected.
Descriptive coding (Saldana, 2016) was useful because of its “straightforward method” (p. 73), allowing coding to take place on “a wide variety of data forms” (p. 70). I recall reflecting on my field study notes (Field Study Notebook, Sept. 20, 2017) and noticing patterns of topics emerging (see Figure 4):
This lead to what Turner (as cited in Saldana, 2016) calls a “basic vocabulary” (p. 70) or a short list of topic sentences that became my codes. I began using these descriptions to code topics in the margins of my notes. These descriptive codes also became a tool to code the audio/visual items stored in my “Notes” application. Of importance was keeping the codes in line with my question/sub-questions (examples of codes: learning story, sharing, critical thinking, signs of growth, stop moment, my role, connections to academic readings).
After coding a field study entry, I analyzed further in the form of memos. Hubbard and Power (2003) suggest that a “research memo can be an important tool to begin to think things through” (p. 110). These reflections often lead to “aha” moments of explanation and further inquiry (examples in Field Study Notebook: Sept. 21, 2017 and Sept. 28, 2017, see Figure 5):
Narrative coding (Saldana, 2016, p. 109) provided a unique way of analyzing my field notes. The literary device of the “Hero Journey Motif” (The Hero Journey Motif, n.d.) was the lens through which I interpreted my data. I chose pages 4-10 of my field notes and coded the data under: call to adventure, encountering dangers/conflicts, and fleeing of old ways/dangers/fears. Although the coding was limited to a few experiences, I noticed patterns taking shape as my students’ learning stories took on similar characteristics of beginning, middle (crisis/problem/challenge), and resolution (reflection of new goal or learning target and/or clarification of a problem). The process of looking at my data through the lens of a literacy device was informative and allowed for further connections with the ideas that I was developing around the concept of story.
A final method of processing data came in the form of creative writing. Through reflections and an intentional desire to pay closer attention to life’s experiences, I began to investigate my “noticings” through words and metaphors. Like Carl Leggo (2008), I found it valuable to use poetry to explore and attend to the world around me; his goal being to “open up spaces for the creative arts to inform social science research” (p. 166).
When words, images and connections began to impress upon me, I attempted to make meaning through narratives or poetry. Words became the place for me to “live the question” (Rilke, as cited in Palmer, 2007). I often scrawled down my ideas on scraps of paper in the car, or a stickie note next to my bed, taking time later to re-work and record these offerings in my Journal (see Figure 6). Here, I synthesized my lived experiences by making visible the “spaces in between” (Springgay, Irwin & Kind, 2005, p. 900).
Although challenging, this process has become a platform to freely and creatively express my thoughts. I have come to think of this collection of words as liminal places; places where I investigate, reflect on and interpret the questions and tensions that I encounter in my lived inquiry. These poetic episodes weave themselves in and around my observations and interpretations, rendering valuable insight and connection. They provide another lens with which to make sense of theory, pedagogical practice and life.A Liminal Place
A Wordless Narrative
A sunset.
The vast expanse of a prairie field.
A bird taking flight.
These images
captured by
my friend’s lens
tell a story.
My eye
takes in the narrative.
I experience
her interpretation
of struggle and challenge
joy and contentment.
Nature has a voice.
I read Psalm 19.
I am reminded
that the heavens and earth
pour forth speech.
There is no language
where their voice
is not heard.
Creation
calling us
to take notice
and pay attention.
See the story and learn.
My students
investigate and search.
Eyes connecting
a tree
to its name,
to a metaphor.
Their roots,
their leaves
their fruit.
A wordless narrative.
Inviting.
Calling us
to find ourselves
in the beauty
of its
story.
A Liminal Place: “A Wordless Narrative”
My friend Jean’s photographs have challenged the way I think about how I construct my personal narrative. They have caused me to question the role that the stories of others – their viewpoints, attitudes and opinions – play in how I construct my own story. How does my posture towards others (the level of care or empathy that I show) affect how they view and create their self stories? The tensions that I experience as an educator grow out of these questions and I often wonder if the role that I play encourages or undermines my students’ abilities to create and find strength in their own self stories.
Field Study
The over-arching question in my inquiry investigated the role that reflective storytelling took in determining positive growth in student learning. I was also interested in exploring the relationship between student talk and story ownership. My own experiences and understandings of story pointed to the power it had in developing personal identity, so I came to this inquiry with great interest and a variety of assumptions that needed to be uncovered and tested. I believed that “the kinds of talk that occur in the classroom are critical in the development of how students ‘learn to learn’ through language and ultimately how they learn to think” (Hammond & Gibbons, 2001, p. 25). I also realized that the task of understanding story’s role in learning was complex and multifaceted. There would never be time or opportunity to investigate and make conclusive arguments on every assumption and belief that I held. Instead, I decided to take on the posture of a living inquirer (Meyer, 2010). The notion of being-in-the-world and participating in its everyday life with an awareness and anticipation for the unnoticed, seemed like a fitting stance to take as I began my inquiry. It gave permission to just “be”; to live the questions freely and search for answers in authentic, real life places.
In setting up the investigation, it was important to create an environment that would support and encourage student talk. I would need to pay attention to the various types of conversations that could transpire within the school day, and keep note of student engagement and learning. At the start, I decided to focus on two learning situations where student storytelling was evident: student talk during a spider inquiry and student talk while reflecting on Daily 5 reading behaviours. Then later, out of my investigations came a third narrative: stories told from reflecting on personal challenges.
Research provided some background information as to the kinds of narratives I could possibly expect to find. In her explorations of storytelling, Christina Baldwin (2005) writes that we can often learn things about ourselves by observing the stories of others. Our attraction and attention to the narratives of others cause us to “imagine ourselves in each other’s stories” (p.117) and from that experience, create our own story frameworks. Listening for and collecting data of student conversations would be essential in gaining a perspective on story formation and ownership.
Within the growth mindset paradigm, I read that students construct learning stories by engaging in reflective conversations. Teachers “model reflection and metacognition…and analyze the most common mistakes…together with the class” (Davis, 2016, p. 15). Strategies of articulation and reflection include “talking about one’s own knowledge, reasoning or problem-solving” (Ertmer & Newby, 1996, p. 17). Given opportunities, I could expect to notice individual reflective processes, which would involve one teller and one listener, and collaborative reflection which “may provide breadth through multiple perspectives” (McDrury & Alterio, as cited in Alterio, nd, p.3). My role in modelling reflection and teaching critical thinking language would also be an important element to pay attention to.
Finally, Gallas et al. (1996, p. 613) makes a distinction between types of narratives that can occur amongst students. She points out that discourses such as “out-of-school” talk differ from specialized “academically-directed speech”. Both however, play a role in making meaning. Gallas et al. (1996) suggests that “when we provide more opportunities for children to use discussion to identify their own understandings and answer their own question, we will also have more opportunities to investigate the dynamics of discourse appropriation…” (p. 613). A Liminal Place
48 Hands
one copy
in my hand
open for others
an invitation
to join and contribute
pencilled illustrations
marking out
the rhyme and rhythm
of thoughts
as pages
are turned
a year of recitation
both
in text
and in the span of a calendar
the certainty of a repeated melody
and
reliability of pattern and word
this daily discipline
morphing
from individual declaration
into collective expression
a theatrical presentation of song, word and dance
children
together and separate
sharing and valuing
this exercise
a mark of our identity
and requested revisitation
24 copies in 48 hands
a treasured moment of gifting
voices sing
alive and together
precious treasures
opened
as if for the first time
sensual pleasures
experienced
as new from old
the rhythm and rhyme
again
beating a recognizable story
but
pages turned
breaking open afresh
this pattern
of reliving
reviving
the comfortable and predictable
reinterpreting the familiar
into yet
another opportunity for
discovery
A Liminal Place: “48 Hands”
Reciprocity is the practice of exchanging things with others for mutual benefit. I have often struggled with this idea of shared reliance because I tend to like my privacy and independence. Early on in my graduate diploma, I wrote this about myself: “Being vulnerable and sharing ideas and needs with others are not things that come naturally to me. I often feel inadequate and therefore, reluctant to let others in on how I feel” (Personal Profile, May, 2015). Yet, I am learning that there are gifts that come from stepping out and taking risks. In my Journal, I reflected on my growth and the changes I was experiencing: “I have been challenged to accept and see value in the messiness of individual and group ideas and needs. I am learning to approach this tension with a posture of being a listener first…Personal stories and journeys add richness and perspective to a community. Respect and care happens when we give space for sharing and reflection of our lives” (Working Portfolio, April 4, 2016). More recently, I have benefited from conversations with members of my SFU cohort. Receiving criticism and giving advice continue to be areas of discomfort and growth, but by being transparent I have received encouragement and feedback that are invaluable to my learning story.
Storytelling # 1: Student Talk During a Spider Inquiry
Enthusiastic questioning and sharing were the first things I observed as I began to gather data on student talk. My previous field study (2016) around Imaginative Education was a reminder that positioning learning within the emotional reach of my students supported their story development. The use of cognitive tools (Egan 2005), especially within the somatic and mythic frameworks, encouraged student engagement and motivated talk. My students were given opportunities to collect, touch, smell, be puzzled over, and wonder about their environment (see Figure 7). The learning stories that I heard indicated that my students were developing a
knowledge base and retaining information that they had learned from the scaffolds that I had provided:
“My students have enthusiastically gathered around stumps of trees in the school yard or held magnifying glasses up to specimens in our classroom “spider house”, all the while questioning, answering, reframing and recreating their ideas” (Field Study Notebook, Oct. 19, 2017).
During data collection, I wandered around, recording these “in the midst” (Shagoury & Power, 2003, p.121) moments on my clipboard, taking photographs and videos with the desire to learn more about my students’ narratives. From these notes, a pattern of descriptive vocabulary emerged as a short list of words that became my guide for analysis. Vocabulary included: creating a space for reflective dialogue, “stop story” (Appelbaum, as cited in Fels, p. 53), platform for retelling, my role, signs of growth, collaboration, and reflection (see Figure 8).
Of interest, was that these descriptive codes (Saldana, 2016, p. 70) began to uncover and question my role in providing opportunities for, and supporting storytelling. Two main teaching behaviours stood out: explicit instruction of spider knowledge and facilitation of student storytelling around spider discoveries.
During times of explicit instruction, I used spider videos, books, and real-life specimens to aid in my students’ understanding of the spider. I resourced pictures and charts to provide examples of life cycles and labelled diagrams. My students’ output indicated that they were developing a knowledge base and retaining information that they had learned from me (see figure 9). As I read my memos, I noticed that much of my initial focus was on knowledge acquisition which produced “academically-directed speech” (Gallas et al., 1996), and my students’ learning stories looked and sounded much like memorized versions of in-class lessons.
Although I noticed creative and individualized interpretations of spider knowledge, what I desired, was to hear more spontaneous sharing and reflection, or what Gallas et al. (1996) refers to as “out-of-school” talk. I was curious as to what spider storytelling would look like if my students took more ownership of their discoveries and experiences. Ann Diller (1998) calls this ownership “mindful learning” or the process when students become “philosophers of their own education and know how to make education their own” (p. 2). It seemed necessary that I relinquish some of the control that I had assumed essential for meaningful learning:
“I take a big step back, allowing for more student engagement and storytelling to take place. I listen and then smile as I begin to hear words and phrases being experimented with and used in order to explain and make sense of it all” (Field Study Notebook, notes from video, Nov. 2, 2017).
“Language becomes ‘one’s own’ when the speaker populates it with his own intention, his own accent” (Mikhail Bakhtin, as cited in Gallas et al., 1996, p. 610). The individualization of spider stories began to happen when I allowed for opportunity to talk, share, explore and integrate new knowledge with personal experience (see Video 1). By allowing for student-driven discussion around personal points of interest, a comfortable, non-threatening environment was created (see Figure 10). This invited collaboration and risk taking as knowledge was experimented with and narratives shared. Gallas et al. (1996) calls this kind of story ownership “discourse appropriation” (p. 610).
In order for discourse appropriation to occur, there was a need for both explicit instruction and facilitation of sharing opportunities. Addressing this relationship allowed for new story creation and personal ownership of this story to take place. Gallas et al. (1996) believes “that talk must be explored from many perspectives: as an instructional tool, as a path toward the understanding and mastery of new ideas, and as a point of contact between different social and cultural words” (p. 610).
My reflections on my teacher role indicated that a balance of these perspectives was needed to encourage optimal levels of discourse appropriation in my students. I realized the need to revisit and readjust the tension of “self and other” in two areas: my teaching posture (explicit instruction versus facilitation of sharing) and the posture of my students’ classroom talk (spontaneous stories versus predetermined stories (Alterio, n.d., p. 2)). I also noted that when my students were given a safe, engaging learning environment where student talk was encouraged, they felt free to experiment and take risks in their language development and appropriation. A Liminal Place
C c
We learn to print
giving the “big C”
a rightful place
on the
interline
I prefer
to use its
lower equivalent
making a case
for
less
superior
representation
A Liminal Place: “C c”
Over the past three years, personal experiences have forced me to rethink my beliefs about narrative control and power. Control affects whose voices should be valued and supported, and whose voices are shut down or re-interpreted to suit the prevailing narrative. Loeb (as cited in Baldwin, 2005, p. 62), recommends that “we need to recover both our voice and our heart, even when the process is hard, and even in the face of people who will do their best to deny the very core of our being” (p. 62). As I have shared my personal story and struggle with others, well-meaning friends have re-written and reframed aspects of my journey, especially about their attitudes around cancer. This experience parallels the concerns that I face about my role as a teacher: What are my hidden assumptions regarding control and power that I bring to the classroom? Am I re-writing students’ stories in order to keep their narratives easy and manageable? How does my attitude towards transparency and acceptance affect how my students construct and share their self stories?Storytelling #2: Student Talk During Reflections on Daily 5 Behaviours
The kinds of talk that transpired during our spider inquiry centred around giving opportunity to incorporate personal narratives with new discoveries. My explicit instruction involved providing spider facts, vocabulary and diagrams to enhance and scaffold the talking and learning that I saw necessary to facilitate. However, as Gallas et al. (1996) suggests, I would need to provide further opportunities for student talk if I intended on gaining a better understanding of classroom discourse. I turned my focus to Daily 5 reading behaviours. I was interested in what talk would look like if it involved the process of observing and reflecting on these classroom behaviours.
As the expectations for Daily 5 reading behaviours were introduced, I began using similar coding practices that I had established during the spider inquiry. Again, the topic of teacher role was prominent in my collection of data. In amongst the descriptive coding, I noticed three main areas of focus in my teaching role: creating a space for reflective dialogue, providing a platform for retelling/sharing, and teaching critical thinking skills to articulate learning. The coding also highlighted how my students’ stories might indicate that they were growing in their abilities to reflect on their behaviours.
Using Daily 5 curriculum, I reinforced the concept of “building stamina” through the use of a stamina chart, anchor charts and a poem (see Figure 11). These tools were helpful in providing criteria to practice and reflect on the reading behaviours. I also took pictures of students practicing stamina during Read-to-Self and Read-to-Someone activities. I recorded my observations in my Field Study Notebook:
“I took a variety of pictures as the students were reading. I intentionally took pictures of students reading within and not meeting expectations. Students were eager to see themselves in these picture stories. As they shared their learning stories, they pointed out fellow students who were following reading expectations. Some students made the connection that they could learn from their mistakes. We talked about what we could do next time” (Field Study Notebook, p. 4).
As a class, we reviewed our stamina behaviours and built story narratives around our learning. A series of three questions (see Figure 12) helped us frame our stories by “isolating what was not working (with the goal of) mastering the challenging area before moving on” (Mulligan as cited in Davis, 2016, p. 13). I provided opportunities to practice reflecting on these questions in mock interviews, buddy/whole class sharing and in writing activities that we used as prompts for our storytelling (see Figure 13):
Within the discussions, I was hoping to encourage the kind of reflective processing that McDrury and Alterio (as cited in Alterio, n.d.) write about:
Our capacity to express ourselves through narrative forms not only enables us to reshape, reassess and reconstruct particular events, it allows us to learn from discussing our experiences with individuals who may raise alternative, views, suggest imaginative possibilities or ask stimulating questions (p. 3).
I recorded my student’s reflections about stamina building. My observations suggested that my students were learning to talk about their stamina building stories and give examples of
what their next learning steps should be (see Video 2).
I transcribed portions of my students’ reflective stories during an interview regarding stamina practice:
“I am good at pointing to each word, but need to practice reading the hard books more.” – Sydney
“I can find a good spot (to read), but need to practice concentrating.” – Joey
“We need to practice these three things (choose a good spot, pick 3 books, choose books that interest you) if we want to have stamina.” – Curtis
Then the next day I wrote:
“When my students were finding books and getting settled around the room for Read-to-Self, I noticed that Curtis was walking away from an unsettled group of students. Then I heard him say to himself as he sat down at his desk, ‘This is a much better choice’. Curtis was putting into practice the ideas that he had previously reflected on.
This little example was an ‘aha’ moment for me. First, I saw the positive effects of our discussions/reflections on student choice. Curtis independently chose to find a good reading spot. Second, it made me think of the importance of taking time to observe student behaviour – to see if our reflections were making sense, whether the students were internalizing their ‘What’s next’ steps and if this thinking process was becoming habitual. Thirdly, Curtis’ choice impacted my pedagogical decision making. It became a point of ‘What’s next’ for me” too (Field Study Notebook, p. 9).
The process of stamina building became a reality for all learners in Division 4. By combining the teaching of critical thinking language with the practice of reflecting, my students were beginning to live and articulate the questions of “What am I doing well?” and “What is challenging?” Housten and Clift (as cited in Ertmer & Newby, 1996), suggest that reflective learning becomes a habit and that “most students do not develop learning strategies unless they receive explicit instruction in their use” (p. 19). The effects of teaching and modelling the habit of reflection was showing up in individualized student decision making. Their storytelling was appropriating this critical thinking language and behaviour.
As I watched and documented how my students were developing their learning stories, I thought about my ability to exercise this discipline of reflection in my own life. In one of my reflections, I wrote:
“I have acted as a facilitator with the intention of modelling a posture of reflection. Although this has initially been meant for the growth of my students, I have benefitted from this reflecting as well” (Field Study Notebook, p. 6).
In the process of facilitating reflection, by making time for it and guiding my student’s reflective conversations, I was also becoming comfortable with the process and learning to recognize its benefits in my own practice.
One example of being intentional about my own habits of self reflection occurred shortly after I had started collecting data in my Field Study Notebook. My notebook was set up so that priority and space were given to recording observations of student learning. I had taken the time to record observations, but on re-reading my notes, I realized that they lacked responses and connections. Mills (as cited in Samaras, 2011) claims that “by keeping an adequate file and thus developing self-reflective habits…the file helps you build up the habit of writing” (p. 175-176). What my notebook lacked, was a place for reflective writing or “memoing” (Hubbard and Power, 2003, p. 110 ) that would connect my observations to my thinking and living. With this in mind, I re-organized my writing into a double-entry format. This provided a place to record observations and then “cook the data” (Hubbard and Power, 2003, p. 45) all on the same page. Looking back, I notice how this seemingly small change, helped to provide valuable material for “keeping my inner world awake” (Mills, as cited in Samaras, 2011, p. 175). The revised format also reminded me to make a daily habit of recording my reflections and connections. These reflections influenced my decision making (“What’s next?”) and de-compartmentalized my life into a more fluid, living inquiry that became evident especially in my blog reflections and poetry writing. A Liminal Place
Level Ground
Lying on our stomaches
the cool grass beneath.
Small minute details,
searching together
magnifiers in hand.
An army of ants retrieving a dinner,
trees and bushes,
a giant’s perspective.
My students and I,
our imaginations
creating,
co-constructing
an original masterpiece,
as we lie in tandem,
the earth our oyster.
A Liminal Place: “Level Ground”
I am encouraged by the work of Ceci Lewis (2009). She writes about letting go of her “teacher head” (p. 58) and becoming part of the learning narrative with her students. Just as I experienced commonality and a reason to connect through the “thinking about learning” reflections of my students, Lewis found “that the lines between teacher researchers and student subjects quickly blurred as (their) stories opened up conversations that changed the traditional teacher-student relationship” (p. 51). Parker Palmer suggests that fear may be the reason for why we don’t let go of teacher control. Replacing fear with love allows us to enter a partnership with our students that encourages connectedness and respect. “We can escape fear’s paralysis and enter a state of grace where encounters with otherness will not threaten us but will enrich our work and our lives” (p. 58). Storytelling #3: Reflections on Challenges
As my students and I lived out our questions, and as we sought to find ownership in our personal narratives, there was often “an ongoing struggle for meaning and growth” (Bakhtin, as cited in Gallas et al., p. 613). From the “What next?” queries came unanswerable questions. I felt the struggle to find solutions and provide guidance:
“As a teacher I really needed to facilitate the “What should I do next?” question. I even had trouble thinking of ideas, especially ones that were developmentally appropriate. How can I facilitate this? Should I be approaching this from a different angle?” (Field Study Notebook, p. 19).
The ambiguity and uncertainty that I experienced in understanding my role as an educator was somewhat like “walk(ing) and liv(ing) on the rackety bridge between self and other” (Diller, 1998, p. 9). I wasn’t sure as to how much or what kind of support I should be providing.
The tensions that we felt between the “What am I doing well?” and the “What next?” questions shed some light on Rilke’s (as cited in Palmer, 2007, p. 89) concept of “living the question”. They suggested that within the living there was a possibility of discomfort and challenge. This furthered my understanding of how living the question could look for me personally. Whether in my profession or in my personal struggles, I was facing questions that were unanswered and difficult. This space was uncomfortable and challenging. Victor Turner (as cited in Grad, 2017) provides an effective description of this place of transition. It is about living on the threshold of the betwixt and between. He calls this intermediary state of being, “liminality” (p. 2). Were our questions, wonderings and personal struggles being lived out in this place? How were we articulating and understanding these experiences?
The use of the word “challenge” became a regular occurrence in our class reflections. It was initially used as part of our Daily 5 learning stories, but I noticed that with practice and usage my students were appropriating it into many other areas of their lives:
“Over the last week, my students have more regularly used the word “challenge” to initiate conversations with me: ‘My challenge is not to eat any candy while we are trick-or-treating’ – Bridget; ‘My challenge is to write with my left hand (because of his cast on his right hand)’ – Koen; ‘My mom had a challenge: to get us ready for school’ – Sarah, as she came running into the classroom this morning.” (Field Study Notebook, pp. 28-33).
The idea of a challenge was becoming an articulated part of our lived experience. For Sydney, it came as a connection with her understanding of stamina. She demonstrated this one day in October while trying out a climbing wall that had been set up in our school playground. The goal was to climb to the top and then ring a bell to celebrate success. Sydney shared that she had just recently had the chance to climb a wall, but had failed to reach the top. This day, she had challenged herself to make it to the top of the wall. I videoed her attempt (see Video 3).
Sydney was unsuccessful on her first try, but made it to the top and eagerly rang the bell on her second attempt. What interested me was her learning story. It was not only a story about a challenge, but how, through stamina and hard work, there was growth.
For Bridget, challenge meant staying on the jumping pillow and having the stamina to persist until she made it to the other end. But, as she articulates in the video, there was more (see Video 4). One challenge conquered didn’t mean an end, it just opened up more space for another one.
These stories of challenge were places to learn and grow, and they required, as Baldwin (2005) states, “a period of discomfort and disorientation…(where) out of this experience we (would) eventually create a more deeply integrated story” (p. 131). Like the learning spiral suggests, my students were adding to the thickness of their learning stories, layer upon layer. I had documented moments of frustration, times when I heard the statement “I don’t know what to do next”, and as in the cases of Curtis, Sydney and Bridget, growth and celebration.
In his definition of liminality, Turner suggests that we can find more than uncertainty in this space. He “gives hope by referring to the betwixt and between through the concept of the realm of pure possibility” (Grad, 2017). Through this lens of possibility, I have begun to understand the value of the struggle in our stories. There is more to the questions of “What I do well?”, “What is challenging?” and “What is next?”. Living the question means embracing and finding goodness in the midst of the challenge, however difficult it may be. It involves “being willing to suffer the tension of opposites, until we understand that such suffering is neither to be avoided nor merely to be survived but must be actively embraced for the way it expands our hearts” (Palmer, 2007, p.88).
I struggled with this idea of finding hope in the questions and liminal places of my life, especially during the winter of 2016 when I was going through chemotherapy. I read authors like Lynn Fels (2012), and was deeply moved by her notion of paying attention to those “tugs on our sleeves” (p. 51). Tugs, that in my experience, where difficult to accept and process. I encountered the idea of a “stop moment” (Appelbaum, as cited in Fels, p. 53) which articulated the interruptions and dissonances that I was experiencing. Perhaps, even more, I was compelled by the idea that within these unexpected moments lay new possibilities and the potential for “some other way of being” (Fels, 2012, p. 53). I wondered whether I would find nuggets of truth and spaces of hope within these tugs and stops; was there a purpose in them? And how would my own self story be affected if I took on this posture? It was during some readings in the book of Jeremiah (Jeremiah 29:1-7, New International Version), that I wrote:
I continue to search. What does it look like? How should I live my life in the space of unknowing and uncertainty? What should my posture be as I interact with and attempt to love those around me? I resonate with the idea of living in exile. Exile looks like questions that are unanswered, lives that are muddied by the grey of searching and
finding no place to rest in the process. Exile is wandering – aimless and directionless. Exile is a place of in-between. Jeremiah writes a letter to those living in exile. The letter is a word from God to a people who have nothing; uprooted from their homes and a life of certainty and predictability. I am intrigued by God’s advice on how to live. It’s not what I expected it to be. Instead of a forward looking plan of action, God tells the people to make the most of where they’re at. He tells them to plant gardens and eat the food that they produce. They are to build houses and have families. They are encouraged to settle down. This seems like a plan that has longevity. One that points to purpose and intention. Even in exile. Jeremiah writes further that in all of this, it is imperative that the people seek peace. Shalom. A place for the heart to rest and offer rest to others. It’s an up-side-down way of thinking in a world that so quickly seeks to find quick answers and resolution. Instead, live in the tension. Thrive. Plant a garden; start a family. Be shalom in that place. Rest in a God who’s OK about the in-between. Even in exile.
A Liminal Place
Invitation
Interruption:
A spontaneous dissection of normality
in which
life and death
the most severe of binaries
pierce my heart
and defy my logic
in a reversal that struggles
for breath
and meaning.
A peripeteia in tragedy.
A sudden light from heaven
that flashes conversion
or a stop moment
that calls for
attention and wakefulness.
In this,
a story is birthed –
calling out to be heard
in its rawness and fragility.
Reflecting, reframing
towards change and renewal.
An opportunity to speak.
An invitation to listen.
A Liminal Place: “Invitation”
About peace: from my experiences, I know that even within life’s tensions, there can be places of rest and renewal. Peace happens when we are willing to understand this, and live reflectively knowing that the liminal places themselves are valuable and worthy of attention. With this as my focus, I am listening, with greater care to my own voice. I am learning to stop, be attentive and attend with anticipation to the stories of others. Being a conduit of peace in the midst of question and wonder is perhaps the biggest challenge of all.
Conclusion
Our stories give voice to the questions that we live. “Talking and listening to others are among the most important ways we can explore and clarify our thoughts” (Staab, as cited in Hamilton & Weiss, 2005, p. 18). And by clarifying our thoughts, we learn to reflect and “make new sense of uncertain, unique, or conflicted situations” (Schön, 1987, p.35).
My own living inquiry is a story of questions, wonderings, struggles for understanding and moments of clarity. I resonate with Waldrop’s (as cited in Fels, 2004) description of these “generative spaces” or what may be called “the edge of chaos” (p.76) where “components of a system never quite lock into place, and yet never quite dissolve into turbulence either…the one place where a complex system can be spontaneous, adaptive, and alive” (Fels, 2004, p. 76). It is in these very chaotic places that I have felt the most awake and conscious of life and its lessons.
In her book “Storycatcher”, Baldwin (2005) writes about tending our fires. She describes stories as being fires that we are responsible to care for and maintain. Baldwin asks her readers, “what is the story you’re tending, the one you’ll never let be put out” (p. 70)? As I reflect on my inquiry, I am challenged by this question. What kinds of stories did I tend? What stories will I continue to cherish and protect?
My data uncovered that I facilitated stories that involved appropriation of new language and ideas. I listened to students share and reflect on their behaviours, suggesting ways to move forward in their learning. I encouraged discussions and growth around stories of challenge and change. And in the midst, I was living a story of my own. From my observations, I noticed that these stories had the potential to empower and redirect our lives. Through shared narratives, my students and I found a common language that guided co-construction of meaning and discovery.
I wonder what would have become of these stories if they had not been told? And were there stories that may have gone unnoticed and ignored? I know there were. Barry Lopez (as cited in Baldwin, 2005) suggests,
The stories people tell have a way of taking care of them. If stories come to you, care for them and learn to give them away where they are needed. Sometimes a person needs a story more than food to stay alive. That is why we put these stories in each other’s memories. (p. 63)
Within our everydayness there is opportunity to seek out and pay attention to stories. Stories offer a place to share our “worldiness in everyday living” (Meyer, 2010, p.1). It is this interest and belief in the power of story that propels me forward in my story-quest; living with anticipation and a willingness to “hear people to speech” (Nelle Morton, as cited in Palmer, 2007, p. 47). That process requires discipline, practice and perhaps even more, humility. I believe that while I may be “living the question” in my own narrative, there are others who are “living the question” as well. What is the attitude and action that I will take in order for the stories of others to be told? Palmer (2007) sums it up well. He states that,
inviting story means making space for the other, being aware of the other, paying attention to the other, honouring the other. It means not rushing to fill our students’ silences with fearful speech of our own and not trying to coerce them into saying the things that we want to hear. It means entering empathetically into the student’s world so that he or she perceives you as someone who has the promise of being able to hear another person’s truth. (p. 47)
The transformative growth that can be part of a learning story, is a goal that I continue to pursue both in my teaching and in my personal life. Finding peace and hope in its liminal places is a lifelong journey and quest to living the question well. Epilogue
A Liminal Place: “Encore”
During my illness and treatment, I had suddenly become cautious of the familiar melodies and lyrics around me. For some reason, songs that had once made me smile and sing, evoked emotions of anxiety and fear. Now my life was all about protecting my body – both physically and emotionally. I compiled a new playlist that became my entertainment as I made the journey to and from the hospital…
As I lay still on the hard, stiff board – waiting and listening, I asked myself, could it be that I could find some joy in this ironic narrative? Tears of surprise enveloped my being as music flooded the room. I laughed. There was hope calling me forward still, in this adventure of a life time.
Encore
In
my
between
self
I wonder why
there is still music
in this wretched place
that calls forth
adventure
moving me to laugh
and dance
as
light
works its magic
reminding me
that there is humour
here too
I am alive
againReferences
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