Tag Archives: Differentiation

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We’re Screening out Our Visual Thinkers

Earlier this year, my husband and I found ourselves in a little independent bookstore, and we did what I love to do in these establishments: we bought a book. (Note that it was just one book; I’m very proud of my restraint.) The book that caught our eyes—actually, the author who caught our eyes—was Temple Grandin. Years ago, we watched her eponymous movie (starring Claire Danes), and we knew that she is both brilliant and autistic. Our younger son is autistic, and we thought that Grandin’s Different Kinds of Minds would help us understand how he thinks. But how Ian thinks continues to be a bit of a puzzle because what Thomas and I discovered upon reading Different Kinds of Minds was a greater insight into the brain of our dyslexic son, Peter.

If you know me or have followed my educational posts, you’ve heard of Peter, and you might even know that I went back to grad school to help him and other struggling readers. I love reading so much that it broke my heart when Peter couldn’t learn his letters, much less blend them together to make actual words. I am now a reading specialist, certified to help students with dyslexia and other reading disabilities. For learners like Peter, the road to reading is blocked by dyslexia, but after much intervention, he was able to detour around this permanent roadblock so that, by the time he was a preadolescent, he could read a text aloud, and no one would know all the hard work that was going on in his brain to help the words flow freely. Still, though his reading sounds good now, he has to be extremely focused and has learned things about himself—such as that he needs to take notes and engage in discussion—in order to retain and comprehend what he reads. It’s tedious and by no means instantaneous; it makes reading even a short text a chore. Give him a graphic novel, photographs, charts, or videos, though, and information becomes much more accessible.

There are a couple different deficits that could affect a dyslexic person. One is a deficit in rapid naming (for example, showing them a series of easily identifiable shapes, which they know but have difficulty naming quickly). The second deficit is phonological in nature, which could include the inability to match letter sounds (phonemes) to their corresponding letter shapes (graphemes) or the inability to rhyme. A person with both of these deficits has double deficit dyslexia, and that’s Peter. Before we knew he had dyslexia, he was diagnosed with a working memory deficit, which unfortunately, has no permanent remediation. Testing also revealed that of the four kinds of learners, (visual, auditory, reading/writing, or kinesthetic), Peter was weakest in auditory, which is unusual; many dyslexic learners are auditorily adept, allowing them to memorize or at least easily comprehend what they hear. Not so for Peter. All of these put together make the American educational system a nightmare for him to negotiate. But it wasn’t until reading Temple Grandin’s book that I achieved a new level of clarity: not only are there different kinds of learners, but there are different kind of thinkers.

Grandin describes two kinds of thinkers, verbal and visual. The former “think more in words than in pictures,” are well-organized, have good executive functioning skills, and “learn best by reading books and listening” (p. 10). On the other hand, Grandin describes visual thinkers as those who “think in pictures more than words,” have messy backpacks and desktops but know exactly where to find things, excel at puzzles and chess, and “learn best from images, charts, and diagrams” (p. 11). She describes a verbal-to-visual spectrum, in which most people fall somewhere between these extremes. For Peter, though, and other visual thinkers like him, they are so far to the visual side that it is very difficult for them to succeed in a world built by and for verbal thinkers. Grandin provides an 18-question quiz that my whole family took. I was very surprised with my own results. If you answer 10 or more with “yes,” you are probably a visual thinker. Where do you fit?

Temple Grandin’s Visual Thinker Quiz from Different Kinds of Minds (pp. 38-39):

  1. Do you think mainly in pictures instead of words?
  2. Do you know things without being able to explain how or why?
  3. Do you solve problems in unusual ways?
  4. Do you have a vivid imagination?
  5. Do you remember what you see and forget what you hear?
  6. Are you terrible at spelling?
  7. Can you visualize objects from different perspectives?
  8. Do you have trouble organizing?
  9. Do you often lose track of time?
  10. Would you rather read a map than follow verbal directions?
  11. Do you remember how to get places you’ve visited only once?
  12. Is your handwriting slow and difficult for others to read?
  13. Can you feel what others are feeling?
  14. Are you musically, artistically, or mechanically inclined?
  15. Do you know more than others think you know?
  16. Do you hate speaking in front of a group?
  17. Did you feel smarter as you got older?
  18. Are you addicted to your computer?

For some of these questions, I wish I could ask what she means. Like #2, #15, and #17. I answered yes to all three. I suppose #2 refers to when you just “know” something (although I was a philosophy minor, so if I don’t know how or why, I tend to go to great lengths to figure out the answer and will create even longer explanations, like this very parenthetical aside). For #15, I know a lot of trivia and have a great memory for dates and names, a great skill to have in trivia games. But is that what the question is referring to? And for #17, I feel like pretty much everyone should be able to answer yes to this, so it doesn’t seem like it should count. Even without these, I answered “yes” to 11. The only ones that got a “no”: #1, I think in both words and pictures equally (and often simultaneously—my life is like a movie that I narrate in my head as I live it—often with a soundtrack that I may or may not be singing out loud); #6, I’m an excellent speller; #8, I’m an even better organizer (my super power, if you will); and #12, I have good, legible handwriting. Although I answered #18 with a “yes,” I suppose it may not count because, although my family would definitely say I’m addicted to my computer, what I’m usually working on is either a spreadsheet or a word document. But even if you don’t count that or #2, #15, and #17, that’s 10 with a “yes” answer. I was shocked. According to Grandin’s definition, I fit in with verbal thinkers because, hello, I’m verbose and write much better than I speak (BIG “YES” to #16). I also did very well in school and on tests, although I will forever hate standardized testing. I was not surprised that my husband was the least visual thinker (he answered “yes” to eight), and Ian had the next most, with 12. Peter, however, only answered “no” to one. He is almost entirely visual. And our schools are doing their best to hammer my visual boy into a verbal-shaped hole.

With her book and much of her life’s work, Grandin’s “goal is to get hands-on education back into schools so that we don’t screen out the people we need” (p. 7). Remember home-ec? Shop? They were a thing of the past by the time I got to high school. Although I live in a county that has some rural areas that still offer 4-H programs, not all students have opportunities like this. And who cares if you don’t want to be a farmer or rancher when you grow up? I think these are valuable things to learn, just to have an appreciation of them, if nothing else. I am a proponent of a well-rounded education, but the way our school system is nowadays, it shows what it values by testing students on the core subjects, period. And regarding standardized tests, if “the student doesn’t fit the mold? Too bad” (Grandin, p. 56).

This is a shame for people whose minds work in pictures instead of words. Who are these people? Grandin has a pet name for them that I love. She calls them “the clever engineers,” and they include artists, designers, inventors, electricians, architects, plumbers, and more (p. 7). Want some examples of real people? Think Steve Jobs, Albert Einstein, and Thomas Edison. Where would we be without these innovators? Peter also falls in this category of thinker. For years, we have trusted him to eye a space and tell us what should go where. For fun, he built our previous house in Minecraft. He’s in an architectural and engineering club in which they sometimes take on different challenges, and when the students were told to make a cantilever out of several pieces of paper, tape, and a paperclip, he was the only student to successfully MacGyver one out of the materials given. Yet he struggles with every midterm and final exam. He bombed both the ACT and SAT. If he has all the skills to become an architect but can’t pass the test to get into the college or university, what recourse does he have? Life skills seem to have no merit anymore. Grandin nails it when she writes, “It’s clear that doing well on tests can get you into good colleges; it’s not clear that doing well on tests leads to success in life” (p. 59).

At the elementary school where I teach, we strive to differentiate because we understand that there are as many types of learners as there are students in the classroom. At a professional development session a few years ago, our administration gave the faculty a group task that got us up and moving (which is great for our ADHD learners) and also allowed us to take on the tasks that spoke to our differing skill sets. At the end of it, everyone agreed that it was a great exercise that would work well with our students. One of my colleagues was worried, though—how would we assess their learning? And that’s the problem: there is so much emphasis on assessing that we lose all the great lessons learned in the process—including failure, which equals growth. I have no problem assessing skills to guide instruction, but I wish we would throw out letter grades. Yet, to keep our accreditation, to keep our doors open, we have to prove that our students are being taught and retaining certain skills. What is the answer?

First, I think that, if we say we honor “diversity” and “inclusion,” then we need to recognize that diversity goes much deeper than what we can see, and we need to include those who think differently than the test-writers. It has to do with what we can do and how we think, as well as what we bring from our individual experiences and cultures. Both of my kids are what we call “neurodiverse,” but even so, they are each differently neurodiverse, even though they have the same background and genetic makeup.

Second, for kids like Peter, who have artistic leanings but might get screened out of certain higher learning programs—which also means getting screened out of a career at which he could excel—we need more options. One option that Grandin touts is that of the apprenticeship, which is dying out in America. She writes that “we are facing an unprecedented skills gap. European and Asian countries have trained and encouraged their clever engineers. We have screened ours out” (p. 78). And if college degrees are still a requirement for such careers, then apprenticeships, internships, and experience should count toward college credit.

Lastly, more colleges—no, all colleges—need to quit requiring testing for acceptance. Does this make more work for the committees that decide who to admit and who to decline? Absolutely. But does it guarantee a fairer process? Yes. We have a friend who is an engineer, but he did so poorly on the math section of his SAT that the last college on his application list was the only one that would accept him, and even after entering their program, the academic rigors almost made him quit. Thank goodness he didn’t because he has had an amazing career and is very successful. His story gives me hope for Peter and learners like him, but… I wish that it didn’t have to be his story. How many others like him gave up and aren’t following their passion? I wish everyone’s story fit their learning profile and not what our school system decided to value. If you’re good at taking tests, hey, I am, too. But if not, you should be able to prove your knowledge some other way.

Grandin’s book covers many more issues, including parenting, a whole chapter on animals and how they think and feel, and the importance of different kinds of thinkers working in collaboration. I highly recommend it. (It’s also written for young readers, so it’s not full of dense jargon.) I bet you’ll start to identify visual thinkers in your life. The more we know about them and how they think, the more we can advocate for them and for changes that will help them have a positive educational experience. When our visual thinkers thrive, innovations happen, art and design are created, and we have outside-the-box problem solvers who can come to the rescue when there isn’t an instructional manual available.

Check out my Teachers Pay Teachers store for instructional videos and resources, Mrs C Loves to Read. 

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In America, an A Is an A, and a B Is a D

Dusting off the top of my soapbox and climbing on…

I’m on team of teachers who work exclusively with students with learning differences. We meet throughout the year to evaluate our students’ progress, problem-solve, and commiserate with each other over things we can’t change, such as what goes on at home. Many parents remain in denial about their children’s needs, even with a diagnosis in hand. One problem with learning differences is that they can be elusive. Okay, yes, you can tell that a child doing log rolls across the floor has the H (hyperactivity) of ADHD, but dyslexia, dyscalculia, anxiety? These are not nearly as obvious, and students with high IQs and good coping skills can fly under the radar for a long time. In some ways, it might be easier for children who have a physical difference because people can see it and adjust their expectations. For example, parents of a blind child might be disappointed that he won’t grow up to be a professional baseball player, but they understand his limitations. Not so with some of my students. I’ve known parents to name drop with the universities they attended, as if their impressive alma maters will somehow make it possible to “cure” their kids—like maybe I’ll try harder now that I know what’s at stake. They can’t accept that their kids might not be Harvard material because if their kids don’t follow in their footsteps, then what’s the point?

Think I’m being harsh? How many people do you know who have fallen out with their parents because they didn’t live up to their unreasonable expectations? Or even expectations that seem reasonable but don’t work for that particular child. Unfortunately, I can think of too many.

Reflecting on the worst of the discipline problems I dealt with this past year, they boil down to two categories:

  1. Parents don’t want to be bothered by child, so child seeks negative attention over no attention; and
  2. Parents don’t understand child, so child lashes out when parents try to force the square child into a round hole.

Forget about #1 for now—that’s a whole series of books unto itself. But #2 often happens with the best of intentions. The issue isn’t that parents don’t love their children (although one could argue that sometimes parents are attempting to fulfill their unrealized dreams vicariously through said children); the issue is that parents need to wake up.

My first wake up call came over 10 years ago (read about my second one here). My husband and I have no learning disabilities and are fairly intelligent people. We’re both college graduates, both motivated and self-disciplined. If we didn’t achieve something (academically), it was on us. When we had our first child, we did what “good” parents do: we kept him away from screens, read to him, fed him healthy foods, made sure he got plenty of sleep, gave him educational toys. He even started going to school at the age of three. There is not any reason in the world why this child with this life shouldn’t know his letters, except he didn’t. He is dyslexic. This is not something we could have bought our way out of or prevented, and it will be part of his identity his whole life. Just the possibility of him being dyslexic scared me because all I knew were a pile of myths and misinformation, and I thought trying harder and tutoring and encouraging him would fix the “problem.”

His problem had more to do with me than himself. Once I took the time to learn what dyslexia really is and how Peter is wired, I got the right help for him and realized that my expectations for him to follow in my academic footsteps put way too much pressure on him. He put in all the effort, but tests are not made for kids like him. Project-based learning is more his speed, but for all we educators like to talk about differentiation and equity (both great things—don’t get me wrong!), our American school system has yet to get with the times. And after all, it’s not as easy to assess a great, failed science project where lots of learning occurs than penciled-in bubbles on a scantron.

And even if we were able to assess every child in a way that took into account his or her own particular learning profile, that wouldn’t magically make kids who struggle good at every subject. For those who need help in one area or another or—gasp—only muster a B, are they unfulfilled as humans?

At one of my team’s meetings, we were talking about how great one of these “B” students was doing—a student with “we went to this impressive college” parents, so Bs aren’t acceptable—when one of my colleagues said, “In America, an A is an A, and a B is a D.” How right she was (and thanks for the great post title)! The opposite of apathy, this stance is that if you’re not achieving the top at [fill-in-the-blank], then you might as well have not tried to begin with. It’s even true of myself—cough—if I’m to be honest. When I was in grad school, I started to panic if I thought my work might earn less than 98%. And why? My grades were between my professors and me—no one else knew. It’s a hard habit to break, caring about grades. And it’s not that getting good grades is bad—I’m really proud of my kiddos (at home and in the classroom) when they do well. But I’m also proud of them when they make a good effort, when they take a risk by going outside their comfort zones, when they make mistakes and learn from them. Unfortunately, our esteemed institutes of higher learning don’t seem to think that way. Even state universities (like my alma mater) are turning away great kids. Can you blame Lori Loughlin and Felicity Huffman for doing what they did to fudge their kids’ college admission documents? Well, yeah, I can and do, but you get my point. If people with all the money in the world can’t get their kids into the schools they want, what are the rest of us lowly, normal parents to do? (Secondarily, why do they want those schools for their kids? Would their lives amount to anything at a different school—or no school?)

Those aren’t rhetorical questions. Here we go:

We can be proud of our kids for being who they are, period. I’m not talking about giving up. Kids should still be motivated to give their best effort, but even more importantly, they should be nurtured in ways that allow them to discover their true passions. I’m proud of a mom I know for doing just that. I was catching up on what her daughter’s been up to lately. This girl is a phenomenal singer and actress, and I was surprised to hear that she’s not pursuing the stage. “But it’s not her passion,” her mom said. Wow. If only more parents would realize this. Just because their kids are good at sports or ballet or academics doesn’t mean their future is decided based on those things. I feel like our culture is making this even harder now that young athletes are getting paid at the collegiate level. It certainly would be hard to turn down free college tuition and a giant paycheck, especially at the impressionable age of 18 when the lure of the almighty dollar is so powerful.

When I was in my 20s, I struggled with the desire to be at home with my children and my (in)ability to afford it. My husband just about killed himself, working extra to pay the bills, while I floundered at a mediocre freelance writing career (if you can call it that). I’m a good writer and editor, and I got some business, but it wasn’t nearly enough to pay for diapers, much less all the other expenses we incurred with two small children. A couple of my friends were court reporters and told me that, with my typing and proofreading skills, I would be a natural. I could “be my own boss” and make a six-figure income. It was very, very tempting. But when I thought about leaving my babies and spending all day in a courtroom…my soul shrank away from the idea. I know it’s a great job for some people but not for me, even though the idea of that salary was so alluring.

While I tried to figure out what in the world to do with my life, I began volunteering at Peter’s school, and when they put out a plea for substitute teachers, I thought that was something I could do and make a little extra money. When my younger son started attending there, too, it just so happened that they had a full-time job for me. In a very unexpected way, I found my love of teaching (something I said I would never do)… and it started with saying no to something much more lucrative. In fact, if we think about salaries, you could say I turned down an A for a C. But if it means making less money to be fulfilled, that doesn’t even feel like a choice.

Yes, encourage your kids to always do their best. Lead by showing them the right choices instead of the easy or flashy ones. Have compassion (on them and yourself) when setbacks happen. What did we learn?

That grades are for school, and there they should stay.

That tests are for people who are good at taking them.

That a life worth living can’t be documented on a resume or a paycheck.

Check out my TpT (Teachers Pay Teachers) store, Mrs. C Loves to Read, to see what I teach in the classroom.