As a public educator who has spent most of her career working in, or facilitating work about, the elementary panel, I've often reflected on the "generalist vs. subject specialist" debate.  Now working as an Education Officer in the Student Achievement Division, I occasionally have the opportunity to revisit this question from a more research- and policy-oriented perspective. 

A bit of a die-hard generalist at heart, I recently was faced with a situation that challenged my viewpoint.

A former secondary school history teacher had been asked to speak at a staff professional learning day. She and some colleagues were sharing details of a trip they had taken to a history site earlier in the year, and linking the experience to the concept of leadership.  Her role was to set the historical context of the event.

As she spoke, we were riveted; all 200 people sat glued to her every word.  The manner in which she presented made it clear that she was both an expert on the topic, and a passionate educator about said topic.  She "lectured" in a way that engaged us far more deeply than I could probably sustain a group's interest on pretty much any subject (unless maybe when regaling my pre-service teacher candidates with classroom management stories from the field)!

The first thing I thought about afterwards was the one big flaw of my generalist mindset, namely, that I know a little about a LOT of things (in terms of elementary level curriculum subjects and strands), but that said knowledge and understanding is in most cases quite superficial.  Due to the fact that I've pretty much always taught many subjects to a single group of students (rather than one or two subjects to several classes), and that I've only ever taught one grade for a maximum of two years at a time, any depth or breadth of knowledge and understanding on my part has typically been acquired alongside the students in my care, as we research, think and learn together. 

This really made me begin to rethink the "must be a generalist" position I had held for so long.  Perhaps, if ALL subject specialists were as knowledgeable and passionate about their topic as my colleague was about hers, AND assuming they were also good pedagogues (i.e. had a firm grasp of the assessment for learning models outlined in Growing Success, and understood UDL and DI principles and used them regularly in their practice), then maybe having subject specialists WAS the way to go.... ?

I puzzled over this for some time, as I still had a nagging feeling about it all. 

Despite being able to take care of systems and structures like timetabling (to avoid having middle school students run across the school from class to class) and other things that typically bothered me about the specialist model, I still felt a real sense of loss when I thought about giving up the generalist model altogether.

Finally, it dawned on me: Achieving a high degree of expertise in a particular field necessarily precludes considerable knowledge in other fields.  While becoming an expert in an area is important for some professions, in teaching, it can actually create barriers for our students.  Where a good generalist can help learners uncover connections between subject areas, and can facilitate meta-cognitive growth by highlighting skills and competences that transcend a variety of areas, a subject specialist risks becoming a "one trick pony", from whom students may even learn only one perspective on an event or skill. 

​Being forced to reach across curricula as a generalist breeds new knowledge for not just the students, but more importantly, the teacher, who begins to see things from different perspectives, and may often be encouraged to reexamine her own long-held beliefs.  (Less of a danger from the comfort of the subject specialty the specialist has always taught.)

I could never figure out my specialist colleagues who would marvel at how I could spend SO. MUCH. TIME. with one group of students (my last year in a classroom, I taught everything except French and Phys.Ed to a single group of Grade 6 students, and we often spent the better part of a day together in the same physical space). 

​But when you think in an integrated fashion, time flies!

I remember preparing a Science lesson, on flight, for that class... though really it was a lesson in dissecting non-fiction text... and also a digital and visual literacy lesson, as we had begun to experiment with mind maps.  And all that while we focused on developing perseverance and task-commitment while working effectively with a partner.

Similarly, the year before, the students and I dug into the stats on carding, as we examined racial profiling through data management and probability.  Was it a math lesson?  A social studies lesson?  A lesson in research and note-taking skills?  A expository writing and debate lesson? 

It was all of these.

Indeed, the layers of complexity were seamless; with a well-planned lesson, it was all happening at once... and it was really good!

Perhaps the answer is not generalist or specialist.  Perhaps the answer lies in new systems and structures at both the elementary and secondary school levels, structures that allow for a small group of diverse educators to work together to support the learning needs of a group of students.

I imagine a system where -- rather than one teacher having responsibility for one class, and a few periphery teachers are enlisted to fill in gaps like french or phys. ed. --  instead 3-4 educators are collectively in charge of teaching all subjects to a group of 60-80 students.  Ideally each educator team is carefully selected to include diversity: newer and more experienced teachers, gender, racial and other diversity, too.

Among themselves, the educators decide who will teach what to whom and when.  The flow of the learning is fluid, as different adults in the group may work with different students at different times. Sometimes I am teaching a focused reading lesson with a small group of 5 students while two of my peers are facilitating a science lab with 35-40 other students and our fourth colleague is reviewing a math problem with 8-10 other kids.  Another time, each of us has 18-25 students for a 40 minute mapping or fractions or health lesson... and then we switch.  And at other times, still, two of us work together with a group of 35-40 students between us.

Sometimes I am teaching math while my colleagues are teaching music, visual art or science, and at other times, they is teaching math while I teaching these other subject.  Sometimes one of us is teaching a specified subject, whereas at other times, the learning is so integrated, a visitor would be hard pressed to identify which subject is the focus of the lesson that morning or afternoon.

The fluidity of the structure here, and the positive interdependence built in for the adults to work together, would also enable the sort of collaborative, cross-curricular planning that a few of my colleagues and I tried to do with our collaboratively-planned Canada: Fair and Just? Inquiry last year.

​But instead of 90 hours outside of the work day, this sort of collaboration is built into the very fabric of the way school is structured.  All four of us could begin the work one morning before the school day starts, and then two of us could continue the planning while the other two run an hour-long math clinic with the whole group of students.  The next day, one of us works with one of them to continue to develop the inquiry plans we've started, while the other works with the other teacher to follow up the math clinic, or writer's workshop, or whatever.

As the group of educators works together, each on brings her special knowledge and skills and expertise to the table, and they learn from one another as -- together -- they build something quite profound with and for the students they collectively serve. As each individual educator comes with distinct schema, she contributes to the evolution of understanding of her colleagues... both about the skills of teaching, and of the subject matters taught.

The students, too, get the benefit of four consistent expert learners.  They see their teachers as collaborators, communicators and team players, effectively working through problems together. 

This serves not only to model the global competencies we hope to engender in students, but also allows students to seek out the support of different mentors from the educator team at different times to serve emergent needs, both academic and social-emotional.  No one student is stuck with one teacher with whom they may not have a positive chemistry. (Conversely, each teacher on the team has three colleagues to consult when they face a difficulty with a student or family, as happens from time to time. )

Both in the subject specialty as in the  pedagogical skills associated with teaching in general, each educator lends a different perspective that serves to help their colleagues learn and grow, and, as a result, directly benefits the group of students that the team is responsible for. 

​These teams of 3-4 teachers attend some professional learning together, and some individually.  They do some learning on their own as a team, and some with other teams in the school.  Oh, and they keep their group of 60-80 students for at least two years, allowing the development of strong relationships with both the students and their families.

Well, now that we've developed the perfect model of schooling, I'll just have to convince my colleagues to write the policy... or maybe it's time to win the lottery and open my own fully publicly accessible private school!

 Despite enjoying a decent meal out, I'm no restaurant connoisseur, and I know very little about the industry.  Recently, however, my partner and I were treated to an impromptu yet phenomenal behind-the-scenes experience at a Toronto gem after dining there for lunch.

Richmond Station is a mid sized restaurant located in the heart of downtown Toronto, right on -- you guessed it -- Richmond Street!  An odd L-shaped design makes the space look deceptively small, and in some sense, provides two almost completely different dining areas, with distinct ambiances. 

We happened to have the good fortune to be seated next to a local foodie, who was obviously quite familiar with the locale, as evidenced by his personal banter with both the wait staff and head butcher Ryan Donovan, who is also a partner in the restaurant.

We connected with our table neighbour and his guest over dessert, and were soon set up with a tour of the premises conducted by Mr. Donovan himself.

For almost the next hour, we had the pleasure of Mr. Donovan's enthusiastic teaching about the restaurant industry in general, and the history of the Richmond Station venture in particular.  

We got to learn about not only the colourful past of the space, but about how the unique structure of both the space and the kitchen(s) influence the type of dishes prepared and the flow of work in general.  We learned of the chalk board menu that changes twice a day, and saw the open kitchen -- next time we'll dine at the chef's table for sure, and leave it up to the chef to concoct us something not on either menu -- as well as the eat-in pantry (great for small parties, with the added quirk of serving as a functional pantry, so that you or your guests may need to temporarily vacate a seat during your meal so that one of the employees can grab a dry pantry item from the shelf behind your chair)!

We also got a tour of the kitchen itself, and even the meat fridge, which Donovan proudly explained is big enough to allow for cold butchering, which is better for the food in terms of taste and food safety.  While we were there, I noticed a big tray of Bully Oysters from PEI; Donovan explained that as with other suppliers, he had negotiated to get only the best (in this case biggest and freshest) stock available.

As we proceeded with the kitchen tour, Donovan pointed out various aspects of the flow of the lines, making it clear that he was not only an enthusiastic manager, but also a knowledgeable and well-organized one.  He explained that the reason it may appear quite crowded was because the evening shift was already there, preparing in a side room so that the transition between lunch and dinner would be  a smooth one.  The lunch folks, he noted, would trade places with the dinner team soon, in order to do some prep work for their own lunch shift the next day. 

He also pointed out that the staff ate together as a family twice a day, an important part of establishing and maintaining a positive work environment, he and his partners felt.  (Our own waitress corroborated this sense of work satisfaction, even though she'd only been there for just shy of a year.)

This restaurant, Donovan noted, was a teaching space, and he and his partner Carl Heinrich wanted to ensure that everyone who came there showed promise and enthusiasm for the industry, and was able to work towards their own career goals by having a broad range of experiences at different stations in the kitchen (or front of house). Initiative is both encouraged and expected.

Carl Heinrich is not only the restaurant's executive chef, but also the winner of Top Chef Canada not too long ago.  He and his partners have a good thing going here,  both from the vantage point of a client in terms of taste and cost, but also from a lifestyle perspective in that the team they've assembled, and the way in which they appear to manage their business, lends joy to the work for all involved.

As someone interested in leadership and personal growth, and how a positive work environment contributes to and is influenced by both, I tremendously appreciated not only the incredibly tasty meal we were served, but also the opportunity to have a peek behind the curtain and learn more about leadership and learning in this particular environment which is so different from -- and yet surprisingly similar to -- my own in structure.

​These guys have maximized every experience they've had to squeeze as much learning out of it as possible, and it's clear they are applying said learning to this venture.  How delightful to have people like this enriching the culture of our city!