Chapter One of Understanding by Design is an introduction to the concept of Backward Design, which I think is best summarized in Wiggins and McTighe’s statement that “We [teachers] cannot say how to teach for understanding or which material and activities to use until we are quite clear about which specific understandings we are after and what such understandings look like in practice” (14-15).  In other words, we need to know what we want the end result to be before we plan.  This might seem obvious, but we don’t do it as much as we should.  Most books discussing goal-setting advise readers to visualize the end and then determine how to get there.  What I know I have done at times is what the authors describe as “throw[ing] some content and activities against the wall and hop[ing] some of it sticks” (15).  Ouch.  In fact, their description of a unit on To Kill a Mockingbird could be an accurate description of some of my own planning:

Consider a typical episode of what might be called content-focused design instead of results-focused design.  The teacher might base a lesson on a particular topic (e.g. racial prejudice), select a resource (e.g. To Kill a Mockingbird), choose specific instructional methods based on the resource and topic (e.g. Socratic seminar to discuss the book and cooperative groups to analyze stereotypical images in films and television), and hope thereby to cause learning (and meet a few English/language arts standards).  Finally, the teacher might think up a few essay questions and quizzes for assessing student understanding of the book.  (15)

Like I said, ouch.  As a matter of fact, if I am being truthful and honestly reflective about my practices, I have to admit that this is my most frequent approach to teaching literature.  That isn’t to say that my students aren’t learning, but clearly, I need to figure out what it is exactly that I want them to learn.  If I have one quibble with the UbD approach as described in this chapter, it is that the authors ask, “Why are we asking students to read this particular novel?” and later state, “Unless we begin our design work with a clear insight into larger purposes — whereby the book is properly thought of as a means to an educational end, not an end until itself — it is unlikely that all students will understand the book (and their performance obligations)” (15).  Well, then, why do we select any text?  Why do we read any novel?  I don’t think my first reason for selecting To Kill a Mockingbird would be teaching students about prejudice, although one could certainly learn about prejudice from the novel.  I simply think it’s a great book.  So how do I articulate that into a justification for selecting that text?  If I am selecting texts only as a means of communicating some large idea, does it even matter what we read as long as we get there?  I don’t think the authors believe this, but I do think they would like teachers to question why they select texts that they do: “Many teachers begin with and remain focused on textbooks, favored lessons, and time-honored activities — the inputs — rather than deriving those means from what is implied in the desired results — the outputs” (15).

The authors proceed to explore in more depth what they referred to in their introduction as “the twin sins of design”: activities-based instruction and coverage-based instruction.  If you have ever asked yourself as an educator why those students just won’t learn what you’re teaching, you’ll want to examine this section.  The authors advise teachers to ask “‘What should [the students] walk out the door able to understand, regardless of what activities or texts we use?’ and ‘What is evidence of such ability?’ and therefore, ‘What texts, activities, and methods will best enable such a result?'” (17).  In the margin of the book, I wrote, “I tell (I meant stand in front of the room and yak at) students too much, and I do all the work.  Then I complain when they don’t learn.”

Backward design is comprised of three stages: 1) Identify desired results; 2) Determine acceptable evidence; and 3) Plan learning experiences and instruction (17-18).  “In stage 1 we consider our goals, examine established content standards (national, state, district), and review curriculum expectations” (18).  In stage 2 we determine what “collected evidence [is] needed to document and validate that the desired learning has been achieved” (18).  Finally, in stage 3 we determine “appropriate instructional activities” (18).

I think the central reason why educators are somewhat leery of UbD is clear in the following passage:

This [backward design] is all quite logical when you come to understand it, but “backward” from the perspective of much habit and tradition in our field.  A major change from common practice occurs as designers must begin to think about assessment before deciding what and how they will teach.  Rather than creating assessments near the conclusion of a unit of study (or relying on the tests provided by textbook publishers, which may not completely or appropriately assess our standards and goals), backward design calls for us to make our goals or standards specific and concrete, in terms of assessment evidence, as we begin to plan a unit or course. (19)

In other words, UbD is looking at curriculum like we tend to look at goal-setting.

Later in the chapter, the authors suggest peer review of units or curricula might be helpful.  I agree, and I think this can be totally non-threatening and extremely helpful, but I am not sure some of my colleagues would agree.  Teachers are prickly about review.  I know I didn’t like it in the past when I’ve had to hand in lesson plans.  However, I think on the occasions when I have received good feedback regarding my ideas, it’s been critical to my improvement as an educator.  As teachers, we understand that feedback and assessment doesn’t always equal criticism when we do it, but when we receive it, we tend to find ourselves right back in the student’s chair again.

The chapter ends with an examination of a health teacher’s unit on nutrition.  As this unit is used as an example throughout the book, the completed UbD template for the unit plan appears in this chapter.  I have to say it’s an excellent unit plan.  The students are authentically assessed over their understanding of good nutrition; furthermore, they are asked to apply what they learn.  In fact, I think if I were the health teacher’s student, I would have found the unit interesting, engaging, and enjoyable.

Work Cited: Wiggins, Grant, and Jay McTighe. Understanding by Design. Expanded 2nd Edition.  Alexandria, VA: ASCD, 2005.

[tags]UbD, Understanding by Design, Grant Wiggins, Jay McTighe, Backward Design, curriculum, assessment, education[/tags]

As I read Grant Wiggins’ and Jay McTighe’s Understanding by Design, I have decided to share my thoughts — my reading journal, if you will, as a few readers expressed an interest in hearing my thoughts about this book. I could be misrepresenting my readers, and please tell me if I am, but I sense a great deal of skepticism about UbD among educators. After Jay McTighe presented UbD to our faculty last year, I have to admit I became a fan of this approach, so caveat emptor.

First of all, the book has a nice feature that seems like a small thing, but is something I really appreciated as I began reading — space in the margins to write notes. Encouraged by this extra space, I took quite a few notes as I read. This post will focus on the book’s introduction.

If you are thinking about reading this book and are tempted to skip the introduction, my advice is — don’t! Back when we were students, I know we often skipped the introductions, as we didn’t consider them really part of the book. This introduction, however, is essential background. The introduction discusses four vignettes, two of which are true stories and two of which are “fictionalized accounts of familiar practice” (1). The two fictionalized accounts — one, a description of a unit on apples and the other, a description of a teacher in April realizing how much he has left to “cover” represent what the authors call the “twin sins of design” (3). The first unit is a string of activities related to apples. I have to admit that presented in the context of this book, the unit sounded absurd. I wasn’t sure what the students were supposed to learn about apples, aside from having some fun engaging in a series of activities, including making applesauce, going on a hayride, and writing stories about apples. The second unit is probably more familiar to high school teachers. Who among us hasn’t reached April and freaked out when we realize how much material we have left to cover? This year in American Literature, I ended up at The Great Gatsby. I don’t feel good about the lack of coverage the twentieth century received in my class, and that was one of the reasons I decided this book needed to be on my summer reading list. I need to plan smarter and better so that my students are exposed to a true survey of literature in my survey courses. I need to figure out what they need to understand, know, and be able to do. I love literature, and it is my compulsion to throw everything out there, but it is not the smartest thing to do given the constraints of time. I highlighted an appropriate quote: “[A]t its worst, a coverage orientation — marching through the textbook irrespective of priorities, desired results, learner needs and interests, or apt assessment evidence — may defeat its own aims” (3). While I agree with this statement, I wonder what our test-driven schools can do, especially in light of NCLB. I think that in some fields, teachers must feel obligated to ensure they approach the material from a coverage orientation. The problem, of course, is with the way we measure student success for NCLB. I am really glad I am not subject to these demands as a private school teacher. Later, the authors say “[m]any teachers believe that to design for understanding is incompatible with established content standards and state testing, we think that by the time you have read the entire book, you will consider this to be false” (9). Perhaps my fears about how well teachers can use UbD and still prepare students for standardized tests will be allayed.

I also made note of an interesting question asked in the introduction: “How can we accomplish the goal of understanding if the textbooks we use dispense volumes of out-of-context knowledge?” (4). One of my criticisms of the textbook series we are adopting, Prentice-Hall’s Literature, is that they pull in “Connections” from other disciplines that are tenuous at best. I do believe in the value of cross-curricular instruction, but I think forcing it when the connections are weak undermines learning and insults the intelligence of our students. The book will describe essential questions later in the text, but I was intrigued by the authors’ insistence that “[i]ndividual lessons are simply too short to allow for in-depth development of big ideas, exploration of essential questions, and authentic applications” (8). I completely agree and recall feeling frustrated by my middle school administrator’s insistence on my putting essential questions on the board each day. He was quite happy if they read something like “What is a pronoun?” or “Why do we need pronouns?”, but I always felt like I was simply rewording the objectives in the form of a question rather than really trying to communicate “big ideas” or overarching understanding of the material I was teaching.

Work Cited: Wiggins, Grant, and Jay McTighe. Understanding by Design. Expanded 2nd Edition. Alexandria, VA: ASCD, 2005.

[tags]UbD, Understanding by Design, Jay McTighe, Grant Wiggins, curriculum, assessment, education[/tags]