History teacher at New Richmond Middle School. Tennis coach at SUA, Beechmont Racquet and Fitness, Lunken Playfield, and KCC. Striving to learn, create, and innovate one day at a time.
This year brings something new. After a long run in public education, I have made the switch to a small private school, St. Ursula Villa. I will be teaching 6th, 7th, and 8th grade social studies. The change already feels right. The school is close to everything I do, where I live, where I coach tennis, where life actually happens. If I need to run up to school, it will not feel like an all-day event. That alone is a big deal.
More than that, I will be able to be involved with school activities in a way that makes sense for me. Smaller class sizes, a supportive staff, and students who are eager to learn. It is a refreshing combination.
Why the Switch?
Honestly, it was time. I found myself saying things I never thought I would say. I was stressed out, going through the motions, just trying to survive the day. My great friend and co-author, Dr. Scott Petri, once told me, “Moler, your worst day of teaching is someone’s best day.” The problem? I was having way too many of those worst days.
When I interviewed for this position, the principal asked me why I applied. My answer came out without hesitation: “Because I miss teaching.” I was tired of babysitting. That pretty much sums up where I was at and why I needed a reset.
Leaving public education is not something I ever imagined doing, but the reality was clear. I needed a break. I needed to find joy in teaching again.
Looking Ahead
I am excited to start fresh. A new environment. Smaller classes. Great colleagues. Great kids. I can feel myself wanting to be more creative again, not just checking boxes.
That brings me to this blog. For years, I have written The Week That Was to reflect on my teaching. But writing about three different grade levels every week? That might be too much, both for me and for anyone reading. So I am rethinking the format.
Right now, I am leaning toward something like this:
My top 3 lessons of the week
Or maybe 3 wins and 1 that needs work
It keeps things tight, focused, and honest. Because the truth is, no week is perfect, and that is the point.
A new school. A new rhythm. A chance to get back to the kind of teacher I want to be. That is what this year is about.
Every so often, I go back and reread a blog post called Is Your Lesson a Grecian Urn? (It’s a great post from th Cult of Pedagogy). I’ve shared it in PD sessions, sent it to colleagues, and maybe most importantly, used it to check myself when I start planning something that’s more “fun” than it is valuable.
The first time I read it, it hit me like a well-placed serve in the ribs. Not all hands on learning is actually learning. We can wrap balloons in papier-mâché, make the prettiest PowerPoints, and check all the “engagement” boxes, but if it doesn’t move students forward in skills and understanding, it’s not much more than a time filler.
Why This Sticks With Me
I’ve been guilty of the Grecian Urn approach before. We all have. It’s so easy to fall into the trap of thinking, If they’re busy and smiling, they’re learning. But the truth is, smiles and productivity don’t always equal mastery. A “creative” project can still live in the lowest levels of Bloom’s Taxonomy if the thinking stops at remembering and regurgitating.
That’s why I like the Grecian Urn metaphor. It’s not anti-fun or anti-creative. It’s a gut check: Is the time spent on this task proportional to the learning it produces?
How I Use the Lesson
When I read the original post, I started doing a little mental math while lesson planning:
If students spend 3 days making something, what exactly will they be able to do with that knowledge after?
Could we hit the same learning target in a day with a tighter, more purposeful activity?
Am I grading for content, or for how “cute” or “neat” the final product looks?
This isn’t about stripping away every bit of creativity. It’s about making sure the creativity supports the learning, not overshadows it.
My Takeaway for Teachers
Here’s where I’ve landed:
If it’s for learning, make sure the heavy lift is in the thinking, not the decorating.
If it’s for fun or sanity, own that and don’t pretend it’s something it’s not.
If it’s a Grecian Urn, you can either cut it or tweak it until it’s doing real academic work.
The reason I keep going back to this blog post is because it reminds me that time is my most valuable classroom currency. Every minute students spend should have a clear connection to what I want them to know or be able to do. And if we can make it meaningful and enjoyable, that’s the sweet spot.
There are some people you can learn something from every time you talk to them. That was Scott Petri for me. Whether it was during a presentation, a text thread, or a chat about lesson design, he had a way of dropping a sentence or two that would make me rethink what I was doing in my classroom.
He helped me see Social Studies through a different lens. Less about just covering content, more about treating it like literacy instruction. That idea that we’re not just teaching history but also building background knowledge, academic vocabulary, and real writing skills, still shapes how I teach today.
Here are some of the biggest things that stuck with me….
Social Studies is English
Scott used to say he was a “closeted English teacher.” He wasn’t just throwing that line out, he meant that if we’re teaching history well, we’re also teaching kids to read better, write better, and talk about complex ideas. One stat he shared really changed how I viewed my role: 55% of a student’s academic vocabulary comes from Social Studies. That’s massive. It made me way more intentional about teaching words and concepts instead of assuming kids would just “pick them up.” When I treat Social Studies like an English class, my students grow more in both.
Listening Is Learning
Scott taught me that students can listen and understand two to three grade levels above where they can read. That fact gave me a huge mindset shift. I used to feel a little guilty when I read texts aloud or used podcasts or narrated videos. It felt like I was doing too much of the work. But this past year, when I was doing a lot of reading aloud to my class, I remembered what he said. I wasn’t just talking at them, I was helping them access content they wouldn’t be able to get on their own.
Letting students listen, follow along with a transcript, and take notes isn’t cutting corners, it’s smart scaffolding. It helps them build confidence and fluency without feeling lost. Multimodal input: reading, listening, writing works better than just throwing a hard article at a struggling reader. That’s something I leaned into more this year, and it paid off.
Connections Are Where the Learning Happens
Scott shared a stat in most of his presentations that came from the 2021 AP U.S. History exam: only 15% of students could successfully make historical connections. We’re pretty good at helping students recall facts. But making connections? That takes practice—and modeling.
Scott was always pushing us to slow down and help students ask questions like, “How does this relate to what we’ve already learned?” or “What’s the bigger theme here?” And this is exactly why he created the Archetype Four Square: a powerful tool that helps kids organize historical events into meaningful patterns and themes. It’s a simple structure that forces them to think about how ideas evolve, connect, and repeat across time. It’s one of the most practical ways I’ve seen to build true historical thinking skills.
Reflection Isn’t a Side Dish—It’s the Main Course
Another big takeaway from Scott was the way he used student reflection and exemplars. Not as an extra. As a core part of the learning. Whether it was a Cybersandwich or a Number Mania or a Retell in Rhyme, he modeled how to show students what good looks like, and then helped them figure out how to get there.
After a Cybersandwich, I’d show students the notes I wish they had written. After a Number Mania, we’d reflect: “Did these numbers tell a story or just fill a slide?” That kind of thinking has changed how I run my classroom. It’s not just about doing the activity. It’s about growing through the feedback loop……..
Final
I still catch myself quoting things I heard Scott say in a Zoom call or presentation. Little ideas that stuck with me and ended up changing how I teach. He helped me raise the bar, not by making things harder, but by helping me teach smarter.
If you’ve ever wondered if those small moments of professional learning matter trust me, they do. They ripple. They stay with you. And sometimes they become the foundation of how you teach moving forward.
It wasn’t some big dramatic moment. Just a soggy afternoon, a rained out practice, and a quiet conversation in the parking lot.
I turned to my coach and said, “I just want to be better.”
Not the best. Not great. Just better.
At the time, I was 7th or 8th on the team at NKU. No scholarship. No spotlight. I wasn’t bad, I was just there. And I was tired of that. Tired of feeling average. Tired of going through the motions.
So I said it. Not for attention. Not because anyone asked. I just needed it out of my head and into the world.
Coach didn’t make a big deal out of it. He didn’t hold me to it. But I held myself to it. That decision turned into early mornings twice a week: driving to the local racquet club before class. Coach would feed me backhands. Reps. Then volleys. More reps. Over and over.
I played more. I practiced with purpose. Not just hoping to improve, working to improve.
That mindset. That repetition. That intentionality…changed everything.
By junior year, I earned a scholarship. By senior year, I kept it. And after my last season ended, Coach handed me money for books. Just a quiet sign that he saw the work, too.
That whole stretch of time taught me what I carry into the classroom today:
Show up early.
Put in the reps.
Don’t chase perfection. Chase progress.
Be intentional.
I don’t expect my students to be the best. But I do want them to be better, and to want that for themselves.
Because better is what shapes you. Better is what sticks. Better is what makes you a force…not just in sports, but in life.
That’s where it started. I was a teenager working at Ivy Hills Country Club, learning how to roll clay courts, line baselines, and scrape off the dried teneco when it got too thick. I knew how to hustle. I knew how to show up. But I didn’t know I had something to give.
Enter Brett.
He didn’t just teach me how to coach, he taught me how to carry myself. How to speak with purpose. How to hold the line when nobody’s watching. There was a precision to the way he ran things, but also a presence, like every interaction mattered. He wasn’t just building tennis instructors and players. He was building people.
He saw something in me early on. Maybe it was potential. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe he just needed another set of hands on the court. But whatever it was, he handed me a clipboard, a basket of balls, and a level of responsibility I didn’t think I’d earned yet. I stumbled through those first lessons, missed more targets than I hit, but he never pulled the plug. He let me grow.
And more than that – he expected me to.
Brett once told me, “Find a job that pays you even when you’re not working.” I’ve thought about that a lot over the years. At first, I thought it was financial advice. Now I know it’s about legacy. About being so present, so intentional, so damn all-in that your impact keeps echoing long after the bell rings or the last ball bounces.
Teaching is that job for me.
Some days, I still feel like the kid who couldn’t feed a forehand. But I carry Brett’s voice with me, in how I mentor kids, how I show up for colleagues, and how I keep raising the bar for myself. I try to be that person who sees someone before they see themselves.
My parents divorced when I was young. I spent most of my time with my mom and stepdad; and his mom, Irene.
For years, I wondered what to call her. Was she my grandma? Step-grandma? Something in-between? I spent too long trying to figure out a title, but looking back now, it didn’t matter. She didn’t need a label. She was just Irene. And she was one of the most important people in my life.
She lived to be 99. That alone is remarkable. But it’s not the number that sticks with me, it’s everything she lived through along the way. She survived breast cancer. Multiple strokes. Multiple heart attacks. She lost her eyesight to macular degeneration. Her hearing slowly faded. Her mobility declined. And yet, she was the happiest, most positive person I knew.
She’d sit at the kitchen table, smile wide, and tell me stories. About the year she got oranges for Christmas. About riding her horse, Jigs, to school in the cold, sometimes in the snow, like it was no big deal. Her voice would light up when she talked about those days. Not because they were easy, but because she had found joy in them.
Irene didn’t complain. She didn’t focus on what she’d lost. She focused on what she still had: people, memories, faith, and the ability to love. She’d ask about my day, even when she could barely hear the answer. She’d laugh even when she couldn’t see who was in the room. That shaped me.
Her strength didn’t show up in loud moments or big speeches. It showed up in the quiet way she kept going. In the way she kept finding good in the world, no matter how much the world took from her.
Irene didn’t need to be called Grandma. She was love, presence, joy, and grit, all in one. Sometimes the people who shape us most don’t come with official titles. They come with oranges at Christmas, a horse named Jigs, and stories that still echo long after they’re gone.
“Not sure if I should say good morning or good night as it is 1:40am. We were talking about school and you came up in the conversation. I wanted to thank you for making learning easier and enjoyable.”
That was the email. No subject line. No assignment attached. Just a student, up late, thinking, and choosing to send a thank you. I didn’t need anything more.
These kinds of messages hit different. They’re not about test scores. They’re not about grades. They’re about how the learning felt.
And let’s be honest: that phrase: ‘easier and enjoyable’ didn’t come from thin air. It came from structure. From intentional repetition. From low cognitive load with high cognitive payoff. It came from EduProtocols.
I get messages like this often. Not every now and then. Often. Kids will tell me in class or write a note after the year ends. They’ll say things like:
“I actually liked coming to your class.”
“We learned but it wasn’t stressful.”
“It felt like we were doing something different every day, but I could always keep up.”
“We actually create things in your class.”
That’s not magic. That’s the outcome of running Fast & Curious consistently. That’s what happens when we build Thin Slides into weekly routines. That’s what Thick Slides and Sketch & Tell allow for talking, processing, seeing, and remembering.
Students feel the difference when we stop overloading them and start giving them rhythm. EduProtocols create a culture where thinking becomes normal. Where success doesn’t depend on who finished the worksheet, but who was brave enough to share a thought.
And because of that rhythm, because they know what to expect, students actually engage. They don’t need every direction reexplained. They don’t need to ask, “What are we doing today?” Every protocol becomes a stepping stone toward learning how to learn.
It’s easy to think EduProtocols are just about efficiency. About lesson planning made easier. But they’re also about connection. They shift the cognitive load to students without turning school into a grind. They open the door for late night thank you emails that aren’t about content, but about feeling seen and capable.
That email wasn’t just a thank you. It was proof. Proof that EduProtocols aren’t just changing the workflow – they’re changing how students experience school.
In the past I have been asked, “How do you decide which EduProtocols to use, and how do you stack them together?”
On the surface, a rack and stacked lesson looks like it just works. Kids are engaged and the transitions are smooth. But there’s a lot of planning behind that flow. Decisions that start long before the first Gimkit or Frayer Model ever hits the board.
It’s not just about which EduProtocols I like. It’s about what kind of thinking the content demands, and what kind of thinking I want students to practice.
Start with the End in Mind
Every lesson starts with one question: What should students know or be able to do by the end of this?
For Manifest Destiny, I wanted students to understand the concept and controversy of the idea—why people believed in it, what it looked like, and how it’s viewed today. They needed to analyze both visual and written sources and make comparisons between historical and modern perspectives.
For the Nullification Crisis, the goal was to understand how tariffs sparked tension between state and federal power, and to analyze Jackson’s leadership through that conflict. This wasn’t about memorizing dates—it was about understanding motivations, perspectives, and consequences.
The learning targets were content-specific, but they were rooted in bigger historical thinking skills: sourcing, analyzing POV, sequencing causes and effects, and making comparisons.
Build the Stack Around Thinking, Not Just Activities
Here’s where the rack and stack comes in. I don’t start with a random list of EduProtocols. I think about how the brain learns (I’ll fully admit, no clue if these terms are correct, but it’s how I think about them):
That learning arc helps me organize the protocols in a way that makes sense.
My coauthor Scott Petri would always stack (sequence) EduProtocols in a way to help students create something/express themselves at the end of a lesson. An example of this is his use of Fast and Curious and Thin Slides throughout a lesson that would build to the Thin Slides being used for an Ignite Talk.
Manifest Destiny Stack
Fast & Curious: Vocabulary primer to retrieve key terms
Wicked Hydra: Generate questions from a controversial headline to spark curiosity
Sourcing Parts: Analyze the “American Progress” painting to tackle symbolism and sourcing
MiniReport: Synthesize a textbook excerpt and a modern article into a structured comparison
Nullification Crisis Stack
Fast & Curious: Start again with vocabulary retrieval
Frayer Model: Use student data to target the most-missed terms for clarity and fluency
Somebody-Wanted-But-So-Then: Sequence the conflict with a narrative lens
2xPOV: Explore Jackson vs. Calhoun’s stances through primary source excerpts
The protocols change, but the pattern doesn’t. Start with retrieval, build into context and complexity, and finish with a chance for students to show their creativity/knowledge.
Let the Content Shape the Thinking
The thinking flow stays the same, but I adapt it based on what the content demands.
Manifest Destiny is full of imagery, myth, and legacy. It asks students to wrestle with beliefs, intentions, and consequences. I use EduProtocols that bring those pieced to life through visuals, structured writing, and modern-day connections.
The Nullification Crisis, on the other hand, is rooted in power dynamics and constitutional interpretation. It’s about understanding who wanted what, why they clashed, and how it played out. So I lean into story structure and POV work to help students break it down.
I’m not asking, “Which protocols do I like?” I’m asking, “What kind of thinking does this content require?”
Some Skills Go Beyond the Content
There’s another layer here, too. Sometimes it’s not just about history skills, it’s about cognitive skills that matter long after students leave the classroom. I’m trying to take care of the present while preparing kids for the future.
Here are three skills I intentionally built into these stacks:
Adopting a Different Perspective: The POV Analysis protocol pushed students to consider two very different interpretations of the same conflict: Jackson and Calhoun’s views on states’ rights and federal authority. That’s more than a history lesson. That’s about being able to hold multiple perspectives in tension, something we all need more practice with in and out of school.
Synthesizing Messages: In the Manifest Destiny lesson, the MiniReport asked students to combine ideas from a traditional textbook and a more critical, modern article. They had to make sense of competing viewpoints and turn it into a coherent written product. That’s the kind of synthesis skill that transfers to writing, speaking, and decision making.
Asking the Right Questions: Wicked Hydra helped students generate their own questions from a provocative headline. We didn’t start with answers – we started with curiosity. That habit of inquiry matters. It helps students know what to ask when things get unclear or when they need to dig deeper, whether it’s in history or real life.
Final Thoughts
When I rack and stack, I’m not just filling time or tossing in a protocol because it’s fun. I’m designing a flow. A lesson that moves students from buiulding background knowledge/retrieval to confident creation – without burning them out along the way.
Even though the topics change, the thinking stays consistent:
Start with the goal
Build the sequence that supports the right kind of thinking
Keep the cognitive load manageable
Let students do the heavy lifting, at the right time, with the right support
If you’re just getting into racking and stacking, here’s my best advice:
Start small. Pay attention to the thinking each step requires. And when in doubt, ask: What do I want students to do with their brain next? That’s the question that drives everything I build.
After years of using EduProtocols, I’ve learned that a few always rise to the top, especially in a year with content to cover, AI to manage, and routines to maintain. These three protocols: Fast and Curious, Number Mania, and Thick Slides became the top 3 EduProtocols I used this year.
It set the tone for class, gave us quick retrieval, and got vocab into students’ brains before they needed to use it in a deeper task. I stuck with Quizizz most days and kept the sets short, tight, and tied directly to our content theme. Played it twice: once cold, once after a fast reteach or class discussion. Bonus if the class average hit our target, they earned 100% in the grade book.
How I used it:
Previewed key terms for units on Colonization, Constitution, Expansion, Industrialization, and Civil War
Included terms like mercantilism, urbanization, checks and balances, sectionalism
Built student buy-in by letting them submit terms to include
Used it mid-lesson when attention dipped or as a quick Friday review
Turned Quizizz class averages into a challenge: beat your Monday score by Friday
Fast and Curious Tip:
You can easily find premade quizzes on Gimkit or Quizizz – simple, easy, ready to go. However, I don’t often do that because they are not worded in a way that I teach or word things. So, I will often take the textbook section of readiongs for the week and upload those to ChatGPT. I have ChatGPT extract vocabulary words and create questions that fit with the content.
Number Mania
This protocol moved from a go to graphic organizer to one of the most powerful thinking routines I used all year.
At first, it was just about identifying meaningful numbers. But it quickly became the tool that helped students back up their claims with evidence, especially when layered into short writing tasks or argument structures.
How I used it:
After short readings on Jamestown survival rates, Revolutionary War casualties, Constitutional compromises, factory wages, and Civil War production
Students pulled 3 – 4 key numbers, paraphrased them, and explained their significance
Paired with icons, AI generated visuals, or short captions
Rolled right into Short Answer responses or “Divide the Pie” arguments
Posted top examples to Padlet and used them as models
The extension that worked best: I started requiring students to use two of their numbers in a Short Answer claim. For example: “Why was the North better positioned to win the Civil War?” They had to cite the railroad mileage, factory output, or population numbers they had just worked with. The writing was better because the thinking was already done.
Bonus variation: AI generated “Truth with Sprinkles” – I gave them a fake paragraph with incorrect numbers, and they had to fix it using their Number Mania notes. Quick, smart, and fun.
Thick Slides
This became my go to for synthesis and creative output.
Students got one slide to make their thinking visual. We used a set structure title, visuals, stat or quote, short summary and it let me see quickly who got the content and who needed help.
How I used it:
Wrapped up content from Colonial Regions, American Revolution, Industrialization, Reform Movements, and Civil War
Assigned AI image generation to visualize abstract concepts or quotes
Had students screenshot their slide and upload it to MagicSchool for feedback
Turned slides into gallery walks or Padlet posts to compare perspectives
The best variation this year: After students created their slide, I had them use it in a Divide the Pie activity. Each student argued which reformer, event, or region had the biggest impact—using only the details from their slide. It forced them to know what they made and defend it.
Final Thought
These three: Fast and Curious, Number Mania, and Thick Slides did more than fill time. They became a rhythm. Retrieval led to analysis. Analysis led to argument. Argument led to creative synthesis. They worked with any unit, played well with AI, and kept students focused.
Let me know if you want copies of my Number Mania prompts, Thick Slide templates, or how I stack these across a full week. Always happy to share.
Not long ago, I had a job interview where someone implied I might not be great at building relationships with students.
Fair enough. I get how I come off. I’m dry. I’m short and to the point. I’m introverted. I don’t do grand entrances. I’ve always been that way.
But if you think I can’t connect with kids—ask my students.
Coaching tennis helped me figure that out. When you’re on a court, you don’t have to be the loudest person in the room, you have to be on. You have to read the situation, encourage through frustration, and know when to step in or back off. Teaching is the same. Presence matters more than performance.
Over the years, my students have taught me more than I could ever teach them. I’ve seen middle schoolers walk into class after nights of chaos at home and still manage to be kind, still find ways to work hard. I’ve had students crack jokes that stopped me mid lesson. I’ve seen creativity in unexpected forms, a side conversation that turns into a brilliant project, a single sentence that says more than a five paragraph essay.
I’ve learned to listen more and assume less. I’ve learned that just showing up day after day matters more than people realize. And I’ve learned that connection doesn’t always look like a hug or a pep talk. Sometimes it looks like a quiet nod, a sarcastic comment, or a student hanging out in your room just a little too long after the bell.
I still have the letters. The artwork. And a letter of recommendation a student typed up for my Ohio Teacher of the Year application. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to.
So yeah, am I quiet? Definitely. But don’t mistake that for disconnected.
Moler's Musings 