I have a confession to make. When I first became I teacher I didn't write detailed lesson plans. At the boarding school where I taught, as humanities teachers we were free to develop any curriculum we liked. With our students, we worked through books of literature chapter by chapter with all of the various pedagogical accoutrements you'd find in a traditional classroom: writing assignments, discussion questions, vocabulary lists, and the occasional creative project. In planning for a class, I'd review the chapter we'd be working with that day, develop a list of discussion questions, and then go for it. Generally our students were motivated so they'd enjoy talking about the book and I'd make what I thought were perceptive points. My philosophy of teaching at the time was that if I could model for the students how I was taught to analyze literature in college, then wouldn't they be able to?
After my first year of teaching I designed and co-taught a humanities class with a colleague of mine, John Hanlon. John taught his classes with a clipboard in hand, the day's lesson carefully mapped out in his meticulous handwriting. I adopted John's lesson planning techniques down to the clipboard and the neat handwriting. These were my first forays into lesson planning, and by working with John, I realized several things about the way I was teaching my first year. Here are some reasons why teaching with a lesson plan in hand is crucial if we seek to create student-centered classrooms:
1. Without a lesson plan, I was largely generating my own ideas about literature rather than inspiring my students to think for themselves. Early in my teaching career I appreciated when people described me as a "dynamic," "energetic," or "inspiring" teacher. In high school and college I had acted in various theatre productions, so when I began teaching I liked the feeling of performing for an audience; I could entertain the students while sharing my ideas about how to interpret a work of literature. We all had fun . . . or at least I thought we did. What I realize now is that I was the one doing the work of the class. I was putting on my own grand performance that showed how well I understood the text. I wasn't giving the students enough of a chance to be the performers themselves—allowing them to wrestle with the big ideas of literature.
2. The classes I taught were "one note" classes; they lacked variety and I didn't plan ways to meet the different learning styles of my students. I had a few ideas sketched out on a piece of paper, but I wasn't varying the instructional methods. My students didn't work in pairs, individually, or in small groups. I wasn't planning how I might mix various literacies together such as writing, reading, listening, and speaking. Nor was I considering the multiple ways we might activate what Howard Gardner refers to as "intelligences." As teachers we should integrate multiple ways of understanding and communicating into our lessons employing the disciplines of storytelling, visual design, performance, and movement, to name a few. We can think about ways to incorporate project-based learning so that students are collaborating on real products that can even have an impact beyond the classroom. Rather than investigating a symphony of possibilities, as a teacher I was playing one note on one instrument. It occurs to me that I did this because this is the way most of us are taught throughout our school careers and certainly in our universities: read a book, have a discussion, write a paper.
3. Since I was largely improvising my classes, the quality of my teaching would vary tremendously. Sure I would occasionally have a seemingly wonderful class (at least to me—see the first point I make above), but I also taught many mediocre classes as well. Taking the time beforehand to map out the general direction of class and thinking through the class moment-to-moment is more likely to result in a classroom that moves briskly from activity to activity. Even more importantly we can consider how to shape an open question or build an activity to ensure that the students are cognitively wrestling with the course material.
4. Because I was generally improvising, I had no documentation of my classes. I've always been the kind of teacher that never teaches the same class twice—I'll develop a new lesson plan for every class I teach, even if I've taught a book or a lesson before many times. I still do this today. The problem back then is that I also wasn't a reflective teacher. I didn't look back at what I'd taught before, consider how I might improve, and then make the necessary adjustments. I was reinventing the wheel every class, every semester, every year.
Today, by designing a lesson plan for every class I teach, I have a record of all the past classes I've taught. I'm able to share these with other teachers that are teaching the same material, and now when I write lesson plans, I write them as if I am always leaving them for another teacher—I'll describe each activity step-by-step, even if I know how to teach an activity by heart. I find this level of detailed planning also helps me to fully review the way I need to facilitate the activity before I lead it: to think through the directions, the support I'll need to provide individual students or groups, and the materials that will be necessary.
An effective lesson plan allows us to consider carefully how we will facilitate a variety of activities in the classroom in a way that will place the responsibility and rewards of learning on the students. Professors Finkel and Monk note that teachers often have an "atlas complex": referring to the teacher's need to shoulder the burden of learning in the classroom. Instead Finkel and Monk warn us that,
a teacher who takes responsibility for all that goes on in the class gives students no room to experiment with ideas, to deepen their understanding of concepts, or to integrate concepts into a coherent system.
Shifting the paradigm requires, in educational reformer Ted Sizer's terms, for the students to become the "workers" and the teacher to serve as a "coach." If we as teachers feel that we are doing all the heavy lifting in the classroom, then we probably are. It took me many years of teaching to realize that if the students are all wrestling intensely with a project, and I'm sitting on the side of the room trying to figure out what to do, then that moment is likely a moment where real learning is taking place. Today, I love it when I walk up to a group of students to maybe offer a bit of coaching and they all are engaged deeply in debate. As I get closer to them they all look at me, not necessarily with a look of annoyance, but with a quick glance that says "I really hope he doesn't come over here and interrupt us. We have work to do."
Rarely have I seen a teacher set up a productive learning environment without a lesson plan. I have witnessed many classrooms, particularly of inexperienced teachers, where the rough idea is good— students will work on an interesting project, write a story, or create a performance—but without a plan as to how the classroom time will proceed from activity to activity, the students often lose interest, and the classroom becomes unproductive for everyone.
My suggestion for beginning teachers is to write as detailed a lesson plan as possible. Plan the exact directions you will give for every activity. Make sure there are many "moves" between group, individual, whole class, and work in pairs. Consider the different ways to integrate the arts into the classroom in order to help students make connections between the various ways we understand our world and to provide opportunity for multiple means of sharing ideas. Set up the activities to inspire the students to do the thinking and creating themselves. And most importantly, ensure that students are given the opportunity to share their thoughts and opinions through publishing, public performances, and exhibits. As teachers we might help chart the course, but in the end, it's the students who are taking the journey.