I get a lot of questions about how to differentiate instruction for gifted students in the regular classroom; it's part of my job to coach teachers in this area. When I read Krissy Venosdale's blog post Finding the Right Fit this morning, I started thinking about one of the most common questions I get: You want me to give gifted students a choice in what they learn? Does that mean I have to let them do whatever they want?

In a word - no.

Let's use Krissy's shoe analogy to illustrate this. (If you haven't read her blog post, you should...Go ahead. I'll wait.) Do you have to have every possible style of shoe in every possible colour and size, just in case? No, you don't. If you want all the students to wear running shoes, then only make running shoes available. Just make sure that the running shoes are available in many different colours and styles and all possible sizes. And when a child asks, "Can I wear one purple one and one red one?" your answer should be yes. But if the student asks, "Can I wear construction boots?" it's ok to say no. (Better yet, tell them that they can alter their running shoes so they LOOK like construction boots.) And if a child with a size 8 foot wants to wear a size 5 shoe, it's ok to make them put on the size 8 shoe to show them how much more comfortable it will be.

Here's the instructional equivalent: Your class is studying ancient Eqypt. Traditionally, you have asked students to research an Egyptian god or goddess, create a bristol board layout with text and pictures, and present it orally to the class. There is no room for choice here. You're also doomed to spend a couple class periods listening to dry presentations about Ra. Instead, ask the students to research one aspect of life in ancient Eqypt and make a presentation to the class about it. Suddenly, the task is very open-ended. One student could talk about the gods that were worshiped, but the little girl with a passion for shopping might talk about the clothing worn at the time. Some students might choose to get out the bristol board and do a standard presentation - but now, they don't have to.

And then a child comes to you and says, "I don't like Egypt. I want to talk about ancient Rome."

Great! Take what you've already learned about Egypt, and do a presentation to the class showing the similarities and differences between ancient Rome and ancient Egypt.

And another child comes to you and says, "I hate social studies. I want to do math instead."

Great! Ask that child to research the mathematical system used in Egypt. Or to research the building of the pyramids and do a presentation about the math behind them: How much did those stones weigh? How far did they travel to get there? How big are the pyramids compared to structures in our town?

And then the student comes back and says, "I want to make a computer game instead of doing a presentation."

Great! Find out from the student is going to show what they know about life in Ancient Egypt in their game. Assuming they have a plan that does, indeed, show this information and they have the know how to create the game (perhaps using Scratch!) ask them to introduce their game to the other students in the class and explain how the game will help them to learn about life in Ancient Egypt.

Another student might want to recite a poem they have written, or create a story about life in Egypt using hieroglyphs and then read the story to the class. Another might want to build a model of an Ancient Egyptian community and then explain how the model shows various aspects of life to the class.

And of course, you have that one student who is scared to death of presenting in front of the class. So ask that student to invite three or four close friends into the class at break and have them present to just that small group.

Notice that in none of these examples have you altered the intention of the original assignment (unless it was really important to you that they know every detail about one particular Eqyptian god, in which case the element of choice be only in the presentation of information). All of the students are still doing a presentation that shows an aspect of life in Ancient Egypt. You also haven't had to create sixteen different rubrics to evaluate their learning. The result? One assignment that is so open ended that any student at any level can show their learning using their individual talents and interests.

When I was in grade 4, we were expected to memorize our multiplication facts. Our teacher put all of our names on little cards. Above the blackboard were sections for each of the times tables, zero through 12. In November, we all started on zero and we had one minute to write out the zero times tables. Each day we were able to successfully write out the times table in under a minute, we got a sticker and our name moved to the next times table. It took me fourteen days - I stumbled over the 7s and 8s. Most of the kids finished by Christmas. A few took until March Break.

But come June, we were still at it. One child - I'll call him Kenny - was still stuck on zero. So every day, the teacher would start the stopwatch, and Kenny would start writing. And every day, he wouldn't get through all of them before the end of the minute. Every day.

She tasked me with "teaching Kenny his times tables". So Kenny and I spent some time together in the library every day. It took me all of five minutes to realize that Kenny was not at all stumped by 0x10=0. Kenny just couldn't write fast enough. So I taught him some strategies - not for math, but for writing more quickly. I think he got to 4 by the end of the year.

This is the event that stands out most for me in my educational career. I will never forget the class watching Kenny for that minute every morning. I'm sure Kenny hasn't forgotten it either.

Fast forward more years than I'll care to admit. I had a gifted student in my grade eight class. I'll call him David. David loved math. It came easily to him, and he was constantly seeking out problem solving challenges. But he didn't do any math without his calculator. 6x7? Calculator. 4x9? Calculator. And yes, even 3x4 prompted him to grab his calculator. I sat him down at recess and asked him why. He said that he had never learned his multiplication tables. He knew how to get the answer - it's not that he was incapable of multiplying - but getting out the calculator was faster than using the strategies he had for figuring them out every time. He said he wanted to know them because it would make math easier, but he didn't want to learn them. Who can blame him? It's boring. He wanted to do complex math - he didn't want to memorize.

I made him a deal. He'd come in for a few lunch breaks, and I'd guarantee that he'd know his times tables by the end of it. He agreed. And I admit it - we resorted to flat out drill. It took a few days. He got so sick of the drill and kill so quickly that he practiced them at home just to stop it. About a month later, he confessed that he enjoyed math far more once he had those times tables in his head. It was easier to do tough, fun math when the boring facts were automatic.

There has to be a happy medium.

For David, memorizing his multiplication tables was like me learning Pi to 15 digits. Annoying, tedious, but doable in a relatively short period of time. For Kenny, it would be like me trying to memorize Pi to 100 digits and then write it upside down and backwards while someone recited random numbers in my ear. For Kenny, the task, and the way it was approached, was cruel, demeaning, and not at all productive. For David, it was an annoying necessity that, ultimately, increased his enjoyment of interesting, higher level math.

So where's the middle? Is memorization of facts, for some kids in some circumstances a GOOD thing? Where's the line? Where does the calculator become a burden rather than a great tool? For the kids who enjoy math, who will move on to university level math, who are capable of making those basic math facts automatic with a tiny bit of effort - are we doing them a disservice by not encouraging them to bite the bullet and learn them?

I'm ready for the torches and pitchforks. Bring it on.

In attempting to bring together my thoughts on being a part of the committee for TEDxOntarioEd, I kept coming back to something that Graham Whisen said at the afterparty - that, for him, TEDxOntarioEd was all about connecting with people. I couldn't agree more.

(photo by aforgrave)

My entrance into this story is thanks to Ben Hazzard, who sent me a brief email last fall asking if I could do the set design for TEDxOntarioEd. I jumped at the opportunity, and came out of our first planning meeting a little nervous and a lot excited about the undertaking. Over the next several months, the team connected for formal meetings through Skype and informally through Twitter. A face to face meeting in January allowed me to finally meet Rodd Lucier, but uncooperative weather meant that our team was still scattered around the province. So last Thursday, only 24 hours before the actual event, I met Jamie Weir and Kim McGill in person for the first time. And even though he was integral to the success of the event, I have yet to meet Colin Jagoe in person. Despite the geographical hurdles, the team pulled together and spent many hours planning, trouble-shooting, and laughing together. I've been a long time believer in the power of relationships forged online, and the TEDxOntarioEd committee was no exception. The connections we made were key in making the event a success. I look forward to another opportunity to work with this amazing team.

In the hectic lead up to the event, I didn't stop to consider the fact that the connections of the team would be only a small part of the story. As I photographed the speakers from atop a table at the back of the room, I was amazed at the number of audience members who were bringing those who couldn't attend the event in person into the room. Over 800 people from around the world watched at least part of the event on Livestream, and many of those were talking about the ideas via Twitter. The feed that ran on-screen during the break was evidence of the connection between those attending in person and those attending online. Many introductions at the break started with, "I know you!" as people recognized each other from their Twitter photos. At the afterparty, I had the pleasure of connecting with Graham, Kelly Power, Matt Walkinshaw, Kathy Hibbert and many others. Sharing our thoughts about the event and getting to know the people behind those Twitter photos was as valuable as the event itself.

But the most powerful connection of the evening happened because of Tim, the student who was asked to close out the evening. On his second slide, Tim froze. As he stood on stage trying to regain his train of thought, his connection with the room was palpable. Everyone in attendance was with him in that moment, silently cheering for him, willing him to go on. And he did, magnificently. While all of the speakers were powerful and engaging, Tim created a connection with the audience that couldn't be duplicated. Everyone there wanted him to succeed, and the connection that was made in that brief time made his message sink in even more deeply than it would have otherwise. That connection, living that nervous moment with him, made us all want to do the right thing for him and for all the students he spoke for.

TEDxOntarioEd was a fantastic chance to bring a group of like-minded educators together to hear big ideas from fantastic speakers. But, for me and for many others, it was the chance to make these connections that made TEDxOntarioEd a rewarding event.

I co-teach a pull-out program for Gifted students in our district. We only meet seven times per year, and we're not bound by provincial curriculum, so planning our sessions is almost as much fun as teaching them! Each year we have a theme, and this year's was "That's Entertainment". The session we're doing right now is a lead up to our final session, in which the students will film and edit their own silent movies.

As an opening activity in the session we're teaching right now, we wanted the students to start thinking about costuming. I found a fairly straight forward idea; each student gets four paper grocery bags, markers, masking tape, and scissors. They have to use these materials to create a costume. That's it. Not a bad little activity on it's own - it's open ended, creative, fun, and gets them thinking. But we wanted to up the ante a little bit and make it more cooperative as well as a bit more meaningful.

After the students were finished their costumes (we gave them about 30-40 minutes), we gave the second part of the instructions. As a class, they needed to divide themselves into groups to put on a fashion show. The group could be any size, but we did not allow "groups of one". Each group presented one fashion line in the show, and each line had to be on a theme. If a student was left out, it was up to the other students in the class to figure out how they could fit his or her costume into a theme.

The kids were fantastic. While some of the themes were obvious (we had three superheroes), there was a lot of creative thinking needed to make sure everyone in the class was part of a line. In some cases, students created a new story for their costume. In others, the themes were changed to involve more students.

And in one case, the theme was "Two Robots and a Duck", but it was stated with such confidence that we let it stand.

I liked this activity because it encouraged students to work with those they normally wouldn't (a big issue, since our program has students from grades 5-8), but it also forced them to change their thinking partway through a task - and that's a difficult thing for even adults to accept!

I think it would be fun to try this again but after having the students do their first fashion show have them sort themselves into all new groups using different lines.

I've always enjoyed photography. I have a decent eye for composition, but I was never happy with how my photos came out because I didn't know anything about the technical aspects of the art. When I got a new camera for Christmas, I decided that I wanted to learn how to be a better photographer. I joined a group called Dailyshoot that prompts users with a daily assignment. For the past couple of months, I've been using this as my motivation to improve my skills with my camera and posting my results on Flickr.

What I didn't realize is that this venture would put me in the position that my students face every day. I started my Dailyshoot project the same way our students start school in kindergarten: a bit nervous, very curious, and ready to learn.

It didn't take long before the real learning started. I didn't like an assignment. I was actually quite frustrated to see the task "abstract composition" pop up that morning on the screen. I kept my camera with me all day, but wasn't motivated to shoot anything. I procrastinated. I whined (mostly in my head) about the unfairness of the prompt. I made excuses for why this assignment wasn't right for me. Eventually I realized that it wasn't about the assignment being stupid - it was about my own inexperience as a photographer. I just wasn't ready for that task.

On another day, I just didn't feel like taking photos. I had promised myself I would do this project every single day. And one day, I just didn't want to. I copped out and took the easy shot instead of learning something that day. I cringe every time I look at that photo.

And as time has gone on, I've gotten frustrated with my lack of technical skill with my camera. Shots that seemed perfect but didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted to because I didn't know how to use all the dials and buttons on my camera. I'd love to say that I got out the manual or went online to read a tutorial about how to use whatever feature baffled me, but often I just shrugged my shoulders and shot a different subject. Sometimes, I just posted something that wasn't a great shot. Learning something new is hard. Even though I'm an adult and know better sometimes I take the easy way out.

Then, a couple of things happened that changed me as a photographer. First, a friend of mine who is a really good photographer started commenting on my shots. At first, I balked. I didn't want criticism. I argued his points. Then I remembered that I'm an adult and started to use his advice to make my work better.

The next thing that happened was one of those magical gifts that come from being in the right place at the right time. I was shooting in the downtown area, trying to capture the blur of the traffic going by and failing miserably. A woman with a very nice camera stopped and asked what I was shooting, and then spent about 15 minutes with me teaching me how to get the effect I wanted. I learned more from her lesson than I had taught myself in two months of study.

I still have a long way to go before I'll be a great photographer, but my progress over the past couple of months has been fantastic, and I can see my learning when I look back at older shots. But more importantly, it has taught me a lot about myself as a learner, and about the process of learning a new and difficult skill.

Now, when my students are unmotivated by a task, get frustrated because they don't yet have the skills they need for an assignment, or balk at my feedback, I see myself in their place more than I ever did before. I am able to remind myself that photography is a labour of love for me; I have intrinsic motivation to do it well. I have been ready to give it up because it's hard on many occasions. My students don't get to choose their assignments, their subjects, or whether they will show up to school that day. No wonder they get frustrated! But I am my photographer friend and that woman on the street for these kids. I am the one who can figure out where they need to go next and show them the right buttons and dials to get them there. Now I really understand what they mean when they say that an assignment is "stupid". I get why they throw up their hands at a difficult math problem. And now I keep in mind that sometimes the task I've given them is to create an "abstract composition". I know exactly how they feel.

Do you want to be a better teacher? Get out there and learn something new. Something hard. Make yourself do it every day, even when you don't want to. You'll see your students differently. And if you tell your class about your journey as a learner, they may just see you differently, too.