The work of creating the Makerspace in the LMS Media Center is underway. {I donated my office after being inspired by Shannon Miller at ISTE.} The custodians have moved the bookcases and file cabinet, and will hopefully remove the old bulletin board soon. This week I’m going in to empty out my desk drawers and refill them with tools, paper, and other supplies, set up the green screen along one wall, open up the broken sewing machine (for makers to perhaps repair), draw a welcome sign on the white board, and put out the boxes. “The boxes” you ask?

I’ve left these items in their boxes, patiently awaiting tweenage hands to free them, because what better way to say, “This is your space for creation and exploration!” than to allow students to unwrap, put together, log in, and otherwise parse out how to operate the new toys, tools, and apps that are there? (When I approached my principal about creating the Makerspace, this is precisely the concept that sold him.) 

So often, as teachers, we learn all that we can about a new tech tool, use it ourselves - figuring out how it will best work, and then share precise directions with our students - encouraging them to follow our steps precisely so they will be guaranteed success. The mission behind the Lockerman Makerspace is to have a place where students will feel free to be creative, experiment, and take ownership of their learning. Not only will I be handing students responsibility by having them unpack and assemble the new technology, but I’ll also be teaching them that learning occurs as much in the mistakes as it does in the successes. Stay tuned for updates.

If you have any successes or ideas to share, I'd love to hear about them in the comments!

On the way to the airport in Baltimore at 6 AM this morning I spotted a convertible with Tennessee license plates sailing down the highway. The top down was down, the driver, his hair blowing in the breeze, was sporting a Hawaiian print shirt. I thought to myself that there must be an interesting story to accompany this “obviously not a commuter” person.

What I failed to consider was that every car I passed had the potential for an interesting story. The stories were there,  just harder to notice when contained in the ordinary guise of a commuter car.

At school I have hall duty near the front lobby in the morning. I am one of the first adults in the building to see many of our 7th and 8th graders most days. As I greet them, I look for the convertibles with Hawaiian shirts – no jacket, hat on, chewing gum, pushing, etc. – all the superficial things that are easy to notice and address before they hit the classroom.

But perhaps it is the commuter cars who need my attention more. Those kids, who walk in looking as they do every other day, but hide a story beneath the surface. Those children who may not display their angst, but need my attention perhaps more than those who do.

I’m writing this down with the hope that in August, when all the travelers return, I will remember to notice the commuter cars as well as the convertibles. Everyone has a story.