“You clarify and share learning intentions and success criteria. You implement rich tasks that elicit evidence of student thinking. You pose questions that cause thinking.”

I presented teachers with four sample student responses to the following question:

A store sells a box of nine 200 g bags of chips for $12. How much should the store charge for twenty-four 200 g bags?

I asked teachers to consider (1) Where is the learner going? (2) Where is the learner right now? and (3) How can the learner get to where she needs to go?

This sparked some interesting conversations. The students in the top left and top right know that a unit price is an equivalent rate where one term–number of bags in TL, dollars in TR–is one. The student in the bottom left also knows that proportion problems can be solved by looking for a scale factor–albeit an inaccurate one–between ratios. What’s going on with the student in the bottom right? What’s the learning goal in terms of *content*? What’s the learning goal in terms of *curricular competency*? This activity was preceded by a conversation about the KDU model, so teachers were thinking “use multiple strategies” and “communicate mathematical thinking.” Is it fair to consider “use multiple strategies” using this–or any single–task as evidence? (A good time to bring up triangulation–products, observations, conversations with students.) What does “good” communication look like in mathematics? Do the bottom two responses need words? Would a ratio table help answer what’s going on in the bottom right?

While this was a worthwhile exercise, this answer was “not yet meeting expectations.” One reason for this is that *assess* is often a euphemism for *evaluate*. Or *grade*. Or *report*. As a student teacher, my school associate once asked me how I planned to assess. I began to tell him about upcoming quizzes. “That’s all well and good, but that’s *evaluation*. Minute-by-minute, day-by-day, how will you know they know?” This has been helpful for me as I’ve navigated through assessment by preposition (*assessment of*, *for*, or *as learning*) and “Is this formative or summative?”

Answering with another question is probably unsatisfactory, but, to me, *what* is a much more important consideration than *how*.

The Ministry of Education released the following in the summer:

At the end of the school year or semester, Boards must provide a written summative report to parents that address the student’s progress in relation to the

learning standardsof the curriculum in all areas of learning as set out in the Required Areas of Study Ministerial Order.

(Emphasis added.)

Learning standards in BC’s curriculum are made up of curricular competencies (“what students are expected to *do*“) *and* content (“what students are expected to *know*“). (#MTBoS, think practice and content CCSS-M standards.) As late as June, some teachers were still wondering if there would be a requirement to assess–or evaluate? or report on?–the curricular competencies. To me, the MoE’s choice of “learning standards” makes this clear.

At the same time, there’s another message out there: *learning standards* and *curricular competencies* are synonymous. The gist of this idea is that content is interchangeable. And maybe that’s more true in other areas of learning. (I still take issue with “If you enjoy teaching ancient Egypt and ancient Egypt has moved, then you can still teach ancient Egypt” but social studies isn’t the hill I’ll die on.) And I’m all in favour of a greater emphasis on students *doing* mathematics. Helping teachers make this happen is my work–it’s what I (try to) do. Still, I’m baffled.

Of course, nobody argues that process and content exist without one another other. In the classroom, “I can use multiple strategies to solve problems involving ratios and rates” or “I can communicate my thinking when solving proportional problems” work as learning intentions. I can design learning experiences around these. My question is about evaluating: together or separately? Consider the student in the bottom right above. If she “fully meets expectations,” or is “proficient,” or is a “Jedi Knight,” it’s easy–the learning intentions above still work. But if she, as most agreed, isn’t, then why is that? My take is that she is proficient with respect to content (proportional reasoning)–or, at least, here’s one piece of supporting evidence–but not quite there yet with respect to competency (communicate thinking). What are some implications surrounding reassessment? And is it possible to fully meet with respect to competency without also possessing a deep level of content knowledge?

I’m beginning to enter the Land of the Gradebook, which, nine times out of ten, is at the heart of teachers’ “How do we assess it?” Standards-based grading, depth of knowledge, learning maps, rubrics, portfolios, etc. will be part of part two.

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In this series on curriculum, I’ll do my best not to use *curriculum*. There is no agreed upon definition. I imagine that if any educator in the “MathTwitterBlogoSphere” (#MTBoS) followed the link above, she’d be shouting “Those are *standards*, not curriculum!” Similarly, when #MTBoS folks talk about adopting curriculum, I’m shouting “That’s a *resource*, not curriculum!”

My union makes the following distinction: “Pedagogy is how we teach. Curriculum is what we teach.” *Curriculum* as *standards*. For the most part, this jibes with how *curriculum* is used in conversations with colleagues and is echoed in this Ministry of Education document. But Dylan Wiliam doesn’t make this distinction: “Because the real curriculum – sometimes called the ‘enacted’ or ‘achieved’ curriculum – is the lived daily experience of young people in classrooms, curriculum *is* pedagogy.” *Curriculum* as *experiences*. Or pedagogy.

Rather than *curriculum*, I’ll try to stick with *learning standards*, *learning resources*, or *learning experiences*.

Three elements–Content, Curricular Competencies, and Big Ideas–make up the “what” in each subject and at each grade level. Last summer, the Ministry of Education simplified this as the “Know-Do-Understand” (“KDU”) model. The video below describes how content (what students will know), curricular competencies (what students will do), and big ideas (what students will understand) can be combined to direct the design of learning activities in the classroom.

I imagined planning a proportional reasoning unit in Mathematics 8 using the KDU model and shared my thinking throughout this process.

Click to view slideshow.Teachers can start with any of the three elements; I started by identifying content. (It’s a math teacher thing.) Then, I paired this content with a big idea. In English Language Arts and Social Studies, it makes sense to talk about you, as the teacher, making decisions about these combinations. In Mathematics and Science, this mapping is straightforward: algebra content pairs with a big idea in algebra, not statistics; biology content pairs with a big idea in biology, not Earth sciences. (BC math teachers may notice that the big idea above is different than the one currently posted on the Ministry of Education website. It may reflect a big idea from a previous draft. I can’t bring myself to make that change.)

Identifying curricular competencies to combine with content and big ideas is where it gets interesting. Here, my rationale for choosing these two curricular competencies was simple: problems involving ratios, rates, and percent lend themselves to multiple strategies… we should talk about them. The video makes the point that I could go in the opposite direction; if I had started with “use multiple strategies,” I likely would have landed at proportional reasoning. Of course, other curricular competencies will come into play, but they won’t be a focus of this unit. This raises questions about assessment. (More on assessment in an upcoming post.)

Note that “represent” is missing from my chosen curricular competencies. Why is that? My informed decision? Professional autonomy for the win? Or my blindspot? A teacher who sees proportional reasoning as “cross-multiply and divide,” who is unfamiliar with bar models, or double number lines, or ratio tables, or who sees graphs as belonging to a separate and disconnected linear relations chapter wouldn’t think of connecting this content to “represent.” Making connections between these representations is an important part of making sense of proportional reasoning. Will this build-a-standard approach mean missed learning opportunities for students? This speaks to the importance of collaboration, coaching, and curriculum, er, I mean quality *learning resources*.

In early talks, having these three elements fit on one page was seen as a crucial design feature. Imagine an elementary school teacher being able to view–all at once!–the standards for nine different subjects, spread out across her desk. As a consequence, the learning standards are brief. Some embraced the openness; others railed at the vagueness. In some circles, previous prescribed learning outcomes are described using the pejorative “checklist”; in others, there is a clamouring for “limiting examples.” (Math teachers, compare these content standards with similar Common Core content standards.)

I wonder if the KDU model *over*simplifies things. If you believe that there is a difference between *to know* and *to understand*, then you probably want your students to *understand* ratios, rates, proportions, and percent. For a “concept-based” curriculum, it’s light on concepts. Under content, a (check)list of topics. To that end, I fleshed out each of the three elements (below). But I have the standards I have, not the standards I wish I had. (Free advice if you give this a try: don’t lose the *that* in that stem below.)

kdu-proportional-reasoning.pdf

I wonder if the KDU model over*complicates* things. Again, U is for what students will *understand*. But “understanding” is one of the headers within the D, what students will *do*.

Despite this, I have found the KDU model to be helpful. In particular, it’s been helpful when discussing what it means to *do* mathematics. The math verbs that we’re talking about are *visualize*, *model*, *justify*, *problem-solve*, etc., not *factor*, *graph*, *simplify*, or *solveforx*. Similar discussions take place around *doing* science (scientific inquiry) and social studies (historical thinking).

More broadly, the model has been helpful in making sense of the framework of our new curriculum, or *standards*. It’s a useful exercise to have to think about specific combinations–far more useful than:

Q: “Which competencies did we engage in?”

A: “All of ’em!”

We’re still some distance from “the lived daily experience of young people in classrooms” but it isn’t difficult to imagine learning experiences in which this specific combination of the three elements come together.

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The retouched headline is designed to have students ask “How many 3-pointers will Stephen Curry make this season?” There are related questions: “At what pace (*rate*) is Curry making 3-pointers? What makes this pace historically ridiculous? What’s the difference between a historically ridiculous pace and a ridiculously historic pace?”

Here’s the thing about historic paces: historically, they happen weekly.

I retouched the first sentence in the article to open things up a bit. Pre-edit: “We’re nearly through *20 percent* of the 2015-16 season…” Only the number of 3-pointers made to date (74) is needed. We don’t need to know the number of games played to date (15) or the number of games played in an NBA season (82). That’s the point of percent: fanatical comparison to 100. (I wonder if students would ask for this superfluous information anyway.) Post-edit, this information might, in fact, be useful to know. And help draw out multiple strategies. Perhaps students will ask for a fraction, rather than a percent, to fill in the blank. Games played and 3-pointers made to date can be determined from the following graph:

I cropped the infographic because it resolves an extension (see it from the waist down below). And because it’s too damn long.

The article suggests two possible extensions: “How many 3-pointers does Steph Curry need per game *remaining* to reach 300? How many games will this take?”

**April 7, 2016:** Steph Curry Is On Pace To Hit 102 Home Runs

**May 11, 2016:** 3-Point Tracker — 2015-16 Season

**May 11, 2016:** Misleading y-axis (h/t Geoff Krall)

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If you *do* know the four digits, how many combinations¹ could there be?

Students may ask to see the four digits.

Remember to ask later if this information matters. That the digits are 1, 3, 4, 5 doesn’t; that there are four different digits — no repetition — does.

My hope is that this resolution feels sort of anticlimactic — that Raymond Reddington’s “Now there’s only twenty-four combinations” on the screen doesn’t measure up to students’ shared strategies in the classroom.

Elizabeth Keen’s “Could be thousands of combinations” prior to Red’s sand trick could be an extension. At first viewing, it seems far-fetched that the character — an FBI profiler — doesn’t understand that there are exactly ten thousand four-digit possibilities (0000, 0001, 0002, …, 9999). But has Liz assumed that the digits cannot repeat? If so, how many combinations could there be? Students can no longer answer this question by systematically listing and counting each possibility.

I imagine this task as an introduction to, not an application of, permutuations. It provides a context for students to develop — not practice! — methods of counting without counting. Don’t bother if you’re anticipating a lot of knee-jerk 4!s from your students.

¹I know, I know… *permutations*.

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Three friends, Chris, Jeff, and Marc, go shopping for shoes. The store is having a

buy two pairs, get one pair freesale.Chris opts for a pair of high tops for $75, Jeff picks out a pair of low tops for $60, and Marc settles on a pair of slip-ons for $45.

The cashier rings them up; the bill is $135.

How much should each friend pay? Try to find the fairest way possible. Justify your reasoning.

I had a chance to test drive this task in a Math 9 class. I asked students to solve the problem in small groups and record their possible solutions on large whiteboards. Later, each student recorded his or her fairest share of them all on a piece of paper. If you’re more interested in sample student responses than my reflections, scroll down.

The most common initial approach was to divide the bill by three; each person pays $45. What’s more fair than *same*? I poked holes in their reasoning: “Is it fair for Marc to pay the same as Chris? Why? Why not?” Students notice that Chris is getting more shoe for his buck. Also, Marc is being cheated of any discount, as described by Student A. (This wasn’t a happy accident; it’s the reason why I chose the ratio 5:4:3.)

Next, most groups landed on $60-$45-$30. Some, like Student A, shifted from equal shares of the cost to equal shares of the discount; from ($180 − $45)/3 to $45/3. Others, like Students B, C, and D, arrived there via a common difference; in both $75, $60, $45 and $60, $45, $30, the amounts differ by $15. This approach surprised me. Additive, rather than multiplicative, thinking.

Student C noticed that this discount of $15 represented different fractions of the original prices; $15/$75 = 1/5, $15/$60 = 1/4, $15/$45 = 1/3. He applied a discount of 1/4 to all three because “it’s the middle fraction.” Likely, this is a misconception that didn’t get in the way of a reasonable solution.

Student D presented similar amounts. Note the interplay of additive and multiplicative thinking. She wants to keep a common difference, but changes it to $10 to better match the friends’ discounts *as percents*.

Student E applies each friend’s percent of the original price to the sale price. This approach came closest to my intended learning outcome: “Solve problems that involve rates, ratios and proportional reasoning.”

In spite of not reaching my learning goal, I think that this lesson was a success. The task was accessible yet challenging, allowed students to make and justify decisions, and promoted mathematical discourse.

Still, to increase the future likelihood that students solve this problem using ratios, I’m wondering about changes I could make. Multiples of 20 ($100-$80-$60) rather than 15 ($75-$60-$45)? Different ratios, like 4:3:2 or 5:3:2, might help; the doubles/halves could kickstart multiplicative thinking. (Also, 5:3:2 breaks that arithmetic sequence.)

Or, I could make changes to my questioning.

When I asked “What do you notice?” students said:

- the prices of the shoes are different
- Chris’ shoes are the most expensive
- Marc’s shoes are the cheapest
- Chris’ shoes are $15 more than Jeff’s, which are $15 more than Marc’s
- Jeff’s shoes are the fugliest

Maybe I could ask “What else could you say about the prices of Chris’ shoes compared to Marc’s?” etc. to prompt comparisons involving ratios. If that fails, I’m more comfortable connecting ratios to the approaches taken by students themselves than I am forcing it.

BTW, “buy one, get one 50% off” vs. “buy two, get one free” would make a decent “Would you rather?” math task.

h/t Cam Joyce, Carley Brockway

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As a K-12 Numeracy Helping Teacher, I have the opportunity to teach in elementary and secondary classrooms alike. Often, I’m struck by how pedagogical similarities overwhelm any differences. Malcolm Swan’s ordering decimals lesson — a current favourite of mine — and my sinusoidal sort illustrate this.

In Grade 5, students are asked to put the decimal cards in order of size, smallest to largest.

The most common response is 0.4, 0.8, 0.04, 0.25, 0.75, 0.125, 0.375. This can be explained by how students compare whole numbers. Misconceptions are revealed, but not corrected. (The rest of the activity will take care of that.)

In Grade 12, students are asked to put the equation cards in piles.

The most common response is to make two piles: sine and cosine. This can be explained by how students were introduced to *y* = sin *x* and *y* = cos *x*. This isn’t a misconception; there is no “right” sort. But it is unsophisticated. And it goes unchallenged. (The rest of the activity will take care of that.)

In Grade 5, students match hundred grids and number lines to their decimals. They explain how they know that the cards make a set, building connections between decimals and their understanding of fractions and place value. They argue. When there’s consensus, students are again asked to put the cards in order. I note *their* strategies that emerge (benchmarks, place value, equivalent decimals) for a class discussion.

In Grade 12, students match graphs and characteristics to their equations. They make conjectures. They explain how they know that the cards make a set, building connections between transformations of trigonometric functions and their understanding of transformations of other functions. When there’s consensus, students are again asked to put the cards in piles. I note *their* sorting rules that emerge (amplitude, period, phase shift, vertical displacement, range, maximum/minimum values) for a class discussion.

Elementary and secondary lessons need not be as closely aligned as above. It’s not about matching card matching activities. Or parallel “Which one doesn’t belong?” prompts. Or three-act math tasks for K-5. More generally, exploring and discussing ideas, working collaboratively in pairs/small groups, problem solving (and posing!), … you could make a case for students needing these experiences in elementary school because… wait for it… they’ll need it for high school. We want them to get used to it. I hope.

A nagging thought… I’m not convinced that pedagogy preparation is ever a satisfactory response to “So, what will *they* need?” Even if that pedagogy is positive. If we’re going to follow that pathway, then this question demands an answer not in terms of teaching methods but in terms of the mathematical habits of mind (or processes or practices or competencies) that these teaching methods aim to promote. (See my “Affective Domain” concerns in Part 1.)

That’s not to say that I wasted my time with this post. For me, it’s always helpful to think about and present examples of secondary mathematics education as something other than passive. Maybe that — reframing those pedagogical “TNIFHS” conversations with colleagues into something more promising — is the real value here.

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Update: Mary Bourassa created a website.

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In this third half, I’ll refocus on these big ideas. Or *one* of them — one that came up in that initial “they’ll need long division for high school” conversation.

More than the standard algorithm, what students will need is an understanding of division as sharing (finding the number in each group) and measuring (finding the number of groups). More generally, what students will need is an understanding of the fundamental meanings of all four operations.

Here’s part of a task I presented to my secondary math colleagues:

*Evaluate, or simplify, each set of expressions. Make as many connections as you can conceptually & procedurally, pictorially & symbolically.*

Sticking with division, in this task (−6) ÷ (+3) was chosen to bring to mind sharing (3 groups, −2 in each group) whereas 6/5 ÷ 3/5 was chosen to evoke measuring (3/5 in each group, 2 groups). (This often leads teachers themselves to revisit 6 ÷ 3.)

Flexibility is key. Consider (−6) ÷ (−3), 6/5 ÷ 3, 6 ÷ 0.3, 0.6 ÷ 3, 6*x* ÷ 3, 6*x* ÷ 3*x*, etc. (Note: division of fractions & integers are high school topics in Western Canada.)

(I’m not saying that dividing by a fraction — or decimal fraction — always means measuring. You can think sharing, which can be challenging. Andrew Stadel’s estimation jams are my favourite examples of this. How long is “All Along the Watchtower”?

Did you see 2/3 in the picture? Did you divide by two, then multiply by three? In other words, did you invert and multiply? What’s the meaning of 2:40 ÷ 2/3 in this context?)

The subtraction set above is interesting. Teachers pick up that the expressions are variations on a theme: five “take away” two. Their pictorial representations tend to show subtraction as removal: “if you have five apples/quarters/*x*‘s/square root of two’s and I take away two…”

Pictorial representations that show subtraction as comparison (the “difference”!) are less frequent, but maybe more helpful.

Consider (+5) − (−2). To “take away” negative two from positive five means introducing zero pairs whereas the “difference” between positive five and negative two means understanding that positive five is seven greater than negative two.

This second meaning is probably more meaningful in high school. For example, subtraction as removal reduces (1.89*t* + 15) − (1.49*t* + 12) to an exercise in collecting like terms whereas subtraction as comparison has students contrasting rates of change (e.g., cost per additional pizza topping) and initial amounts (e.g., the price of a plain cheese pizza). Similarly, if *F_*1(*C*) = 9/5*C* + 32 and *F_*2(*C*) = 2*C* + 30, then (*F_*2 − *F_*1)(*C*) compares conversions given by an estimate and the formula. When solving |*x* − 5| = 2, it’s more helpful to ask “What numbers differ from five by two?” than think missing minuends in take away problems.

Addition and multiplication — as well as other big ideas needed for high school such as proportional reasoning (or “multiplicative thinking”?) — will be addressed in future posts.

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So to determine the best buy, I couldn’t just double. I use that strategy all the time; it’s my Frank’s RedHot. The exclamation point is there because I think that 20 leads to more strategies than 24. (Some of) these strategies are listed in my *5 Practices* monitoring tool below. I’m curious if you think that I have anticipated likely student responses correctly. What *incorrect* strategy could I have anticipated? I wonder how you’d purposefully sequence these responses during the discussion.

More than SWBAT solve problems using unit rates, I want my students to recognize that there are many ways to solve rate problems and understand that we can easily compare rates with one term the same. This big ideas connects the strategies. In the fourth strategy above, we can think of 24 cans as a unit. Call it a “two-four” (Is that just a Canadian convention?) or a “flat” (Are we cool with calling the Pepsi cube a flat?). In fact, Save-On-Foods *wants* us to think of 24 as one; we’re encouraged to buy two packs of 12, a composed unit. For this task, I’d prefer that they didn’t, so I went back to the store and found this:

Comparing 20 packs with 15 packs is more likely to lead to common multiples than comparing 20 packs with 24 packs as above. Numbers matter. There’s this, but it doesn’t get us a clear winner:

**Recommended:** Dan knocks motivating unit rates out of the park; Christopher asks “What is one?”

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The activity “That’s Sum Challenge!” from AIMS asks “What sums from one to 25 can by obtained by adding two, three, four, five, or six consecutive numbers?”

One of the student pages looks like this:

I’ve designed this type of thing before. Fortunately, there’s a quick fix: ask the question, allow students time to work on the problem, ask the groups–or regroup and ask the class–”How can we organize this information?”

Likely, students’ tables won’t match the one above. Some students will probably make a table for two consecutive numbers, then three, and so on. To highlight the impossible sums, the helpful folks at AIMS have done the work of merging these tables into one. In their defence, kinda, the teacher pages has this under “Management”:

- If you have a class that functions well with open-ended problems, you can explain the problem to them and have them solve it without using the student pages.

Subtracting the table engages more students at more levels. From “two consecutive numbers are always even and odd (or odd and even) and that gives us all the odd sums” to “the sums made by adding three consecutive numbers are all multiples of three” to “powers of two cannot be obtained because…,” each student can contribute to answering the key question “What sums can be obtained by adding consecutive numbers?” (The ellipsis is there because the reason isn’t immediately obvious to me.)

In the past, I had it back-asswards. Take the “How many different possible meal combinations are there on the kids¹ menu?” problem. I’d give ’em tables and tree diagrams up front. A problem became practice. Once I “turned the tables” and allowed students time to get started, I could later ask groups to share *their* tables or I could step in at just the right time with tree diagrams to help make sense of spaghetti nightmares.

¹Kid’s? Kids’? This is why I’m not a prolific blogger.

**Related:** The more sides you have, the smarter you are.

**Recommended:** “You Can Always Add. You Can’t Subtract.” Ctd. by Dan Meyer

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