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CHAPTER 2

Changing Times, Changing Teacher Expertise

Pedagogical Shifts That Support Ambitious Learning for ELLs

College and career ready standards have ushered in an era of reform in U.S. education. In chapter 1, we noted that the college and career ready standards place increased demands on all students, and in particular on ELLs. We also discussed that ensuring that ELLs meet the standards requires a reformulation in teachers’ classroom practices. In this chapter, we focus on this reformulation of pedagogy for ELL students, which involves a series of shifts in the design of learning materials and pedagogical approaches.¹

Understanding and implementing these pedagogical shifts is pivotal to success in the education of future generations of ELLs. We characterize the shifts in table 2.1 below.² The “From” column represents much of contemporary pedagogical practices with ELLs, while the “To” column signals the shifts that we propose that ELL teachers need to make in their pedagogy.

TABLE 2.1 Shifts in Pedagogy for ELLs

. . .

Changing the Nature of Teacher Expertise

Let us begin our exploration of the shifts with a vignette that illustrates some of the major changes required to build college and career readiness for ELLs.

Tanya Warren, a teacher at the International Newcomer Academy in Fort Worth, Texas, a high school that receives newly arrived immigrant teenagers for one year before they are transferred to their community schools, is teaching her science class. Her students come from diverse language, cultural, political, and educational backgrounds. It is mid-October, and her students have been working in English for five and a half weeks. In Ms. Warren’s class, there are a few students who have had uninterrupted schooling in their home countries; the large majority, however, have experienced major interruptions in their lives and schooling.

While Ms. Warren hands out materials for the main lesson activity on subatomic particles, a slide is projected onto the whiteboard with directions for the first task of the day. “Before we start our investigation,” Ms. Warren announces, “we need to think about what we already know.” Directing students’ attention to the handout, she points to the front page, which contains pictures of items students are familiar with, each object named by a label beginning with the prefix “sub” (such as “submarine”). Students are directed to look at the pictures with a partner, to take turns reading the labels, and to then discuss the guiding question, What do you think the word “sub” means?

At one table, María and José work together. María uses the question written on her paper and says, “What do you think the word ‘sub’ means?” She pauses. “I think sub means below or under. What do you think, José?” He nods. “Yeah, under. SUBmarine.” He makes a gesture with his hand, miming a submarine diving under the water.

After they decide on their answers, Ms. Warren asks students at the different tables to share their answers, and she records them on the board. “Now that you have an idea of what ‘sub’ means,” she tells them, moving them into the next part of the activity, “I want you to write what you think the word ‘subatomic’ might mean. I also think it might help if you draw a picture of what you think subatomic might mean on your whiteboard.” At their tables, groups of four students using their definitions of “sub” work to come up with a collective answer and to draw an accompanying picture. After a few minutes, Ms. Warren invites students to take their pictures to the front of the room so that groups can share them with the class.

Juan, sharing his team’s picture, says, “We think the word subatomic means the structure inside the atom.” Representing the next team, María traces the picture she and her partners have drawn of a large circle with a smaller core inside as she says, “The subatomic is under, under the atoms.” She makes a gesture with her hand moving downward to emphasize “under.” “OK, under,” confirms Ms. Warren. “Great job!”

With the pictures on the whiteboards lined up behind her, Ms. Warren gestures to the drawings. “You all did a great job of using the idea of ‘sub’ as down, or under. And here there’s even this word, ‘inside.’ And here you drew inside of the atom. And if we keep going down and down and down, and smaller and smaller and smaller”—here Ms. Warren punctuates her words by making circles with her hands, which become smaller and smaller as she moves downward toward the floor—“what do we have?”

“Subatomic,” several students respond in chorus.

“Smaller, inside. Yes, so subatomic means inside, smaller than atoms.” She moves to the next slide on her whiteboard, displaying the next set of written directions. “Now we are going to watch a simulation. First you are going to watch the simulation, and I just want you to observe what is happening—only what is happening, what you see. The second time we watch the simulation, I want you to draw what you see and write down your observations.”

Students then watch the simulation, a short video showing subatomic particles moving around the atom and providing a close-up shot of the particles inside the nucleus. After the second viewing, Ms. Warren says, “Now, with your partner, I want you to think of questions you have about the simulation, using your observations. Remember, you are only writing what you saw—don’t make any inferences.” Ms. Warren invites students at their tables of four to first work with their “shoulder partners,” exchanging their questions. They will then share their questions with the other dyad in their groups of four. At one table, José and María work together:

María: For me the question is: because the s- the size is different.

[silence between José and María]

The size color is . . . different.

José: The size and color?

María: Yes, because the size and color is different. What is YOUR question? Other, other question.

José: No—It’s not a question because you have because. It’s WHY.

María: Ah! why! Why the size and color is different? For me, is my question. What is your question?

José: Mmm . . . Why (Spanish: Es que no sé cómo se dice alrededor.)

María: Round. Round.

José: Round . . . No, no, no, no, “around.”

María: Yes, around

José: Why . . . ? Wait.

María: Why the—the circles?

José: No, no. Why the atoms are together

María: Why the- Why the- ah, bueno. [beginning to write down José’s questions]

José: Why the atoms . . .

María: The atoms . . . ?

José: ARE together or IS together?—ARE together

María: Is together?

José: I don’t know.

María: Is together.

José: Why the atoms is together?

María: Uh . . . other question is, eh, why the electron is there round on the neutron and proton?

José: [inaudible] Why the atom do not have the same, the same, the same

María: No, no, why WHY the the electron is the round, round, round

José: No is my question (pero) . . .

María: Is my question, so . . .

José: Is your question?

Ms. Warren: I want you to share your questions at the table. Read your questions to the rest of your table group, and as you read, I want you to think about just one question. Alright? I want you to decide on one question that you’re going to share with all of the class.

As the students enthusiastically work together, Ms. Warren approaches a group and listens attentively to their deliberations. A student asks, “Why the particles is around the atom?” As he speaks, he twirls his pencil to emphasize “around.” A second student replies, “Oh, around the other atoms, why is going around the other atoms?” A third student says, “I think, why the electron is smaller than other atoms, and why so faster?” Hearing his question, Ms. Warren asks, “Can you say your question again, please?” He repeats, “Why the electron is so smaller and so faster?” Ms. Warren asks, “How do you know it is an electron?” The boy replies, “Because the electron is smaller, I know this.” “But we just had to observe the simulation, it didn’t say ‘electron’ in the simulation, right?” said Ms. Warren. “What did you see?” “Little circles,” the student responds. “Right, little circles,” echoes Ms. Warren. “Because we don’t know yet that it is an electron, we only know we saw little circles. So if you say it’s an electron, that is making an inference. We only know now what we can actually observe, right?”

At another table, students in a third group of four share their questions with each other and then start selecting which question they will present to the whole class. Suchada, a girl from Thailand, works with male classmates from Iran, Mexico, and Burma:

Suchada: Is there a structure of atoms?

Asef: What is this?

Ramiro: Why the particles is around the atom?

Farid: Why this little circle, eh, is smaller and, uh, faster?

Suchada: So which question are you—are we—are we going to ask?

Farid: MY question.

Suchada: Let’s do this [does “rock, paper, scissors” gesture].

I’m the only lady, so . . . No . . . I’m joking! Or maybe we can join together.

Asef: Yeah.

Suchada: Can do one.

Farid: One. Yeah. My question [finish].

Suchada: No. Let me see. No, we can all join together and just make one/once.

Let me see.

Asef: Why the particle is around the atoms?

Ms. Warren: This table: can you tell me your question, please?

Farid: [sharing the question that puts together the four students’ ideas] Why this little circle is smaller and faster and, uh, move around other atoms?

Ms. Warren: That’s a big question. Why the little . . . [starts repeating the question]

. . .

What are the major shifts we can see in this vignette? First, instead of learning language as an individual activity, students are engaged in learning as a social process through which they become familiar with science ideas. Second, rather than learning English in terms of grammar and structures, they are learning language as a means to apprentice in scientific analytical practices such as observation and asking questions, and developing scientific language uses. And third, the students are engaged in activities designed to scaffold their development and autonomy as learners.

Now we will elaborate on the pedagogical shifts outlined in table 2.1, describing the changes in practice that each one entails.

From . . . Seeing language acquisition as an individual process

To . . . Understanding it as a social process of apprenticeship

If we took a cursory look at a group of classrooms in American schools today, especially those with a high proportion of ELLs, in the majority of cases we would likely see a teacher standing in front of the room, students seated in rows, tables, or desks clustered together, silently listening to a teacher. Whether or not these teachers consciously hold this view, their actions indicate a belief that learners acquire the academic uses of a second language by listening to someone who knows how to use the language well. A reformulation of practice requires a shift from the view that language learning is something that is internally processed by the student in the brain’s “black box” as a result of external input—listening to the teacher. Consistent with sociocultural theory, students’ second-language learning is best fostered by participation in carefully structured interactions that provide them with the opportunity over time to develop conceptual understandings, analytical practices, and dynamic language use in a domain.³

An optimal way of characterizing this process of participation is apprenticeship. In any field, apprentices learn through being mentored and socialized to become members of a community of practice, for example, a community of lawyers, doctors, carpenters, or weavers. Apprentices are provided with models of their community’s practices and opportunities to develop skills, and are encouraged to take risks in a supportive environment so that they eventually appropriate the target skills.⁴

ELLs are no different. They become apprentices in a community of practice focused on specific disciplinary work (math, science, art, history) that entails specific uses of language. Through their apprenticeship in their classroom community of practice, all ELL students can become increasingly skilled in the language use of the discipline.

We saw student apprenticeship in action in Ms. Warren’s science class. The students are apprentices in learning an important science practice: asking questions after careful observation of phenomena to seek additional information.⁵ They are also developing their understanding of subatomic particles, and they are learning all of this in English, their new language. To support their learning, Ms. Warren has prepared a sequence of steps that take students from individual to group exploration of the meaning of the prefix “sub” through their viewing of, recording observations about, and formulating questions about a simulation video. Students use their own resources, including their native language when appropriate, to make sense of the task. They help each other refine their questions, and they listen attentively to partners’ queries. In the culminating activity, teams have to choose one question to be shared with the whole class. After some back and forth, one team decides to combine all of their individual questions into one. In the process, all the students have had the opportunity to meaningfully work on their emerging understanding of concepts and to express them in English.

Ms. Warren has made it possible for each and every student to think, come up with a question, express it, listen to and consider other queries, and finally, working in a group of four, decide on just one question of several offered to be taken to the larger group. In every instance, the process of conceptual, analytical, and linguistic development is mediated by interaction.

Through communicating with peers and mentors, students in Ms. Warren’s class gradually and purposefully rehearse their uses of the language, and in the process become increasingly adept at them. Nobody is silent in this class. Every student is provided with the opportunity to be an apprentice.

ELLs also need legitimacy, the recognition by members of the community that, from a shaky start, they have the potential to become full-fledged members of the group. They have the right to engage in ways that may be linguistically imperfect at first, but that nonetheless accomplish the work of communicating key conceptual understandings and processes. We saw the notion of legitimacy exemplified in Ms. Warren’s class. Both María and José know that their English is nascent and thus imperfect, but they are both convinced that their efforts are valued and that through them they will become increasingly accomplished at engaging in scientific practices in English. This, they realize, takes effort and perseverance.⁶

From . . . Conceptualizing language in terms of structures or functions

To . . . Understanding language as action

Traditionally, ELLs have been taught how to use the grammatical forms in the language or how to accomplish individual language functions, such as “suggest” or “introduce.” However, teaching form and function in isolation from real, meaningful, discourse-based communication has not produced generative, transformative learning for ELLs.⁷ Only an emphasis on language as action, which subsumes form and function, engages students in the meaningful learning of new disciplinary practices while simultaneously strengthening their language uses in those practices.

Language as action embraces the idea that, at its essence, language is a tool we use to act in the world. We talk, listen, read, and write to get things accomplished, and we use all language or language-related resources at our disposal: linguistic—language itself; paralinguistic—the intonation, stress, and rhythm that accompany our expressions to signal emphasis or emotional overtone; and extralinguistic—the gestures and body language that mark, amplify, and accompany our remarks. Learners, for example, emphasize their intentions by accentuating elements of their expressions—slowing down, raising their voices, signaling with their hands, using facial expressions such as smiles or frowns. These paralinguistic and extralinguistic features accompanying expression enhance the power and impact of the strictly linguistic elements of communication. When students are in the process of developing these linguistic tools, communication is imperfect, and intonation, repetition, and facial expressions take on added importance.

The students in Ms. Warren’s class emphasize their intent for clarification by intoning in interrogative ways, so that “because the size is different” can be rightly interpreted as “why is the size different?” The problem for María is that “why” and “because” sound the same in Spanish (por qué/porque). Fortunately in this case, an advantage is that María is from Honduras and José is from Mexico, so they both share Spanish as their native language and recognize the connection.

Whenever the use of their family language is helpful, Ms. Warren encourages students to use it for the benefit of the development of their new language, a practice increasingly advocated in the development of English as a second language.⁸ In the careful class grouping, however, students are also required to engage in communicative activity with peers with whom they do not share a language. For example, in María and José’s group, one of the students comes from Burma (and speaks Karem) and the other from Iraq (and speaks Arabic).

Language as action emphasizes communication and its impact on language users. This entails using language beyond the production of isolated utterances, emphasizing instead discourse, the verbal interchange of ideas. When José asks his question about why the atoms are together, a discussion of whether the right verb is is or are ensues before José’s question is accepted. Then it is María’s turn to express another question, and she asserts her turn in spite of José’s interest in adding another question of his own, “No, no, why WHY the electron is there round on the neutron and the proton?” María proposes, but—out of turn—José insists with his question, and María responds, “It is MY question . . .” indicating it is her turn to ask a question.

As we see in José and María’s interaction, engagement in discourse takes the form of a to-and-fro between speakers, like tennis players hitting the ball back and forth across the net. José and María’s back-and-forth takes them from negotiating an initial idea to negotiating multiple ideas to arriving at some sort of a conclusion. In their brief interaction, we observe how language can both shape and be shaped by its use in particular social settings. It illustrates how naturally occurring interaction uncovers the practices and processes of reasoning by which students make sense of what they are learning.

The nature of the interaction between the students in Ms. Warren’s class is possible because she has taught them to pay attention to each other, to focus on what their peers are saying, to “listen beyond accents and errors,” and to work hard at making sense of what the other says, improving it if possible. Being deliberately attuned to the other person and what he or she is saying and doing is what sociolinguists call intersubjectivity.⁹ As Leo van Lier observed, “[It] is construed as the development of increasingly effective ways of dealing with the world and its meanings.”¹⁰ Intersubjectivity leads to mutual respect and to students’ efforts being focused on communication rather than on form and function.

From . . . Seeing language acquisition as a linear and progressive process aimed at accuracy, fluency, and complexity

To . . . Understanding that acquisition occurs in nonlinear and complex ways

Most classes for ELLs operate on two erroneous premises: (1) language is learned along a universal progression of linguistic forms; and (2) not correcting student errors (the student knows the grammatical rule but fails to apply it correctly) or mistakes (the student does not know how the rule works, and so his production is ungrammatical) will lead to “fossilization,” the inevitable perpetuation of incorrect forms in the student’s English. Were teachers to revisit their own experience, or their observations as parents or relatives of babies learning to communicate, they would see that language emerges instead in spiraling ways. To quote van Lier again: “The learner is immersed in an environment full of potential meanings. Those meanings become available gradually as the learner acts and interacts within and with this environment.”¹¹

As an apprentice in a language community, the toddler initially asks for the cookie she wants by directing her sight to the cookie jar and smiling at her mother. Mother then responds appropriately, “Ah, so you want a cookie,” and gives her one. Over time, the child learns to say “cookie,” “want a cookie,” “Can I have a cookie,” and, much later on, “I know I shouldn’t have this cookie, but . . . ,” inviting reassurance by others. Because the child has apprenticeship opportunities, her range of possibilities to engage in the same requests appropriately across a wide variety of social circumstances gradually increases.

The same process occurs in second-language learning when students are invited and supported to engage in valuable activity, which provides them with practice and the opportunity to develop increasing sophistication in their linguistic uses. Just as the young child learned and practiced language according to the context of the language use, requesting cookies, the sequencing of the language that ELLs learn and practice is determined by the conceptual and analytical development required, not by the assumed complexity of the grammatical forms of the language.

In this vein, let us reflect for a moment on an often-seen practice in American classrooms. How stimulating can it be for second-language learners to be restricted to learning expressions in the present simple tense, or to filling in blanks with the correct form of the verb in the past simple tense in an exercise consisting of ten unrelated sentences? Even worse, based on the assumed inevitability of this sequential understanding of English as a second language, when students do not produce a given percentage of the correct (although meaningless) forms of English in a test, they may have to repeat the same low-level course, and for another semester continue doing the same meaningless exercises that were not helpful in the first place.¹²

It is likely that this pedagogical orientation sustained year after year contributes to the existence of “long-term English language learners” (LTELLs) in middle and high school, those students who have been enrolled in U.S. schools for more than six years who are not progressing to English proficiency. However, the practice of focusing on discrete pieces of language is difficult to counteract, because teachers have developed this habit over many years during the “apprenticeship of observation.”¹³ The net result of this kind of apprenticeship is often evident in the reactions of other teachers who see videos of Ms. Warren or her colleagues engaged in similar work in other disciplinary areas with ELL newcomers. Many of them comment that the students they watched “cannot be beginning ELLs.” Their belief in the sequential development of English tells them that in week 6 of learning English, students cannot yet engage effectively in disciplinary practices, which will necessarily come “after students have more English.” Yet, imagine if the pace and excitement of work in Ms. Warren’s class were the norm. ELL students might exit the ELL category more rapidly and better tooled!

A number of the same teachers also worry that Ms. Warren does not correct her students’ English. What they have yet to realize is that when students are needlessly corrected, they are not only discouraged from developing their ability to participate in academic practices, they are also delegitimized and belittled in their efforts to contribute, as the following example poignantly demonstrates.

In her book The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, an ethnography of the tragic consequences arising from miscommunication between a California Central Valley medical community and immigrant Hmong refugees, Ann Fadiman relates an incident in a middle school. The teacher had given her class an assignment that required students to describe an autobiographical event. May, a Hmong ELL, wrote an essay about the harrowing experience of her family escaping their home village, walking with small children and babies through territories impacted by a vicious war. May’s essay powerfully conveys well-sequenced events, including the abandonment of valuable property the family had started their journey carrying, and sadness and appreciation for the sacrifice made. May’s writing is reproduced here exactly as she wrote it:

My parents had to carried me and two of my younger sisters, True and Yer. My mom could only carried me, and my dad could only my sister. True with many other things which they have to carry such as, rices (food), clothing, and blankets for overnight. My parents pay one of the relative to carry Yer. One of my sister who died in Thailand was so tire of walking saying that she can’t go on any longer. But she dragged along and made it to Thailand.

There was gun shot going on and soldier were close to every where. If there was a gun shot, we were to look for a place to hide. On our trip to Thailand, there were many gun shots and instead of looking for a place to hide, my parents would dragged our hands or put us on their back and run for their lifes. When it gets too heavy, my parents would tossed some of their stuff away. Some of the things they had throw away are valuable to them, but our lives were more important to them than the stuffs.¹⁴

May has used the resources she had developed so far to communicate this tragic and admirable experience. She understands the assignment as an invitation to engage in action and narrate a powerful personal experience. From a communicative point of view, she succeeds. The teacher, however, responds to May’s assignment with these comments:

“You have had an exciting life!” wrote her teacher at the end of the essay. “Please watch verbs in the past tense.”¹⁵

A more appropriate response would have been for the teacher to have expressed her respect and sympathy for May’s effort to relate such a painful incident, acknowledging her action. She also errs pedagogically by focusing first on formal aspects of the language, the correct use of the past tense. In fact, one could argue that May has developed an understanding of the rule for the past tense in English (add ed to the verb), but her knowledge of the rule is incomplete, so she overgeneralizes it to verbs that do not follow the pattern. Later on, at some point in the lesson, the teacher could have said: “By the way, I see you have detected a pattern in the formation of past tense of verbs in English, that is wonderful. But languages are complicated, and as well as having rules, languages also have exceptions that make learning them difficult. Let us take a look at some instances of exceptions to the rule in your paper . . .”

From May’s teacher’s actions, we might conclude that she does not have a deep understanding of how the English language works; she fails to see in May’s writing the beginning of her development and control of the linguistic system. To ensure May’s committed future participation in class and her resulting growth, the teacher would do better to make efforts to recognize her strengths in communicating and to work on building her confidence. Every time teachers engage first in meaning making with students, they develop their interest in communicating and their willingness later on to review their oral and written productions to improve them.

In Tanya Warren’s class, we see quite a different response to her students’ communicative efforts as she redirects students’ performance as it relates to the important elements of the science practices they are learning. For example, when a student draws an inference from his observation of the simulation about electrons, he says, “Why the electron is so smaller and so faster?” Although the teacher’s instructions have been to observe and ask questions, Ms. Warren responds, “How do you know it is an electron?” When the student replies, “Because the electron is smaller, I know this,” she redirects him: “But we just had to observe the simulation, it did not say ‘electron’ in the simulation, right? What did you see?” leading the student to respond, “little circles.” Ms. Warren’s objective is to apprentice her students in the scientific practices of keen observation and of asking questions about the observations. She also wants her students to develop conceptual understandings related to the subatomic particles. In future lessons, they will continue developing their understanding as well as the concomitant language uses.

While we have stressed the language in action approach and the benefits of engaging students in language use in worthwhile disciplinary contexts, occasionally and strategically, teachers can leverage a “language moment,” calling attention to a salient feature of language and explaining how it works. Immediately after, the teacher continues work on substantive aspects of ideas and analytical practices for which that specific language is used. In employing this language moment, the teacher is somewhat akin to an orchestra conductor, who may need to isolate the violins to focus on a few bars, and when satisfied that the desired level of playing has been reached, immediately returns the violins to continue playing the symphony with the full orchestra, making the music the composer intended.

Language use spirals in sophistication, depth, and eventually correctness, based on the opportunities students have to use it to express important ideas, and it always develops simultaneously with conceptual understanding and analytical disciplinary practices.

From . . . Emphasizing discrete structural features of language

To . . . Showing how language is purposeful and patterned

All languages are patterned. There is regularity in the way linguistic elements are used to indicate the types of actions speakers or writers want to accomplish, for example, in convincing somebody to use a particular type of product or to leave a bathroom clean after it is used. To illustrate this further, we’ll consider the use of persuasion in advertising.

There is a continuum in the degree of force that a persuasive text conveys depending on its use of modal verbs. An advertisement can convey different suggestive pressures depending on which of these statements is used: You could have multiple admirers if only . . . or Be popular . . . or You ought to look nicer this summer . . . ELLs need to understand these differences in order to recognize the impact that language can have on others.¹⁶

Likewise, texts of a certain type or genre follow similar organization, and use similar expressions. When we hear a colleague say, “Oh boy, what a class I had during my fifth period today . . . ,” we expect this to be the beginning of a narrative to give us information, or to entertain us or make a point. We know our friend’s story will unpack an event that made the day special for her in one way or another! We also expect that specific events will be linked by words such as then, after that, suddenly. This understanding of the social function of texts, their organization, and typical language enables speakers or readers to orient themselves to the act of communicating. For example, whenever students hear “How are you?” from somebody they do not know well, they should recognize that the other person is being friendly and greeting them. They should also know that only certain responses, such as “Fine, how are you?” or “I’m doing well, thank you” are appropriate. They should know that saying “Today is Monday” or “I am feeling terrible, I have a bad headache and I didn’t sleep very well last night,” while grammatical and even factual, are inappropriate responses to the question asked.

The same is true of written texts. For example, short stories and essays are very different types of texts, and in each of these genres their purposes determine their linguistic features, which make them immediately recognizable. If ELLs are taught to identify the nature of texts, their communicative purpose, and their typical organization and characteristic expressions, they will be able to free their attention to focus on the novel elements of the text. For example, an ELL student in an elementary school is helped to recognize that the phrase “once upon a time” introduces a story. She also learns that story structure involves a character, a setting, and that something happens to the character (the plot). She will also expect to hear or read transition statements that describe the sequential action in the story: then, after that, suddenly, meanwhile. Finally, she will know that in the end something will happen to resolve a situation in happy or unhappy ways. Recognizing the “landscape” of the story and the expressions usually used to move the action forward helps her concentrate her efforts on making sense of the novelty in the story—how this story is different from (and similar to) others she has heard or read before.

The predictability that comes from knowledge of story elements and expressions is essential for ELLs’ understanding of the genre’s communicative purpose and organizational pattern, and assists students in recognizing what tends to come first and what follows in the ideas presented.

Similarly, when ELL students encounter a taxonomic report, one that classifies items into classes or types, they need to understand that the purpose of these texts is to organize some area of knowledge according to a class-subclass categorization or a part-to-whole arrangement. They also need to know that structurally these texts usually begin with a general statement whose purpose is to classify and define, and that they then name the classes as a macro theme. Students need to be aware that what occurs next is a description of subclasses and their distinctive characteristics, with the addition of parts and functions of each component. In terms of language, ELLs need to know that taxonomies include definitions of technical terms, classifiers and describers in noun groups, generalized participants, “timeless” simple present tense (“It rains a lot in Portland”), relating verbs (be, have, seem, appear), a topic as a theme, general-to-specific organization of information within paragraphs, and no time sequence.¹⁷

As another example of an opportunity to develop students’ understanding of language patterns, in beginning courses, students could learn how to understand the purpose and organization of a text by perusing it first and learning to notice key details, such as, does the author say he is going to tell a personal story, describe a process, or explain why something is valuable? They could also focus on the words that link ideas. For instance, do the students find words that refer to sequences, such as first, then, after that? If so, this is a clue that the text may contain instructions or be the narrative of an event.

Students could also learn that many words used in disciplinary texts look similar in English and in Latin- or Greek-derived languages, such as Spanish. For example, cognates, words that look alike in two languages and share the same meanings, are recognizable in print, although they are pronounced differently. Structure and the Spanish word estructura look similar, as do composition and composición, so the chances are that they refer to the same concept. Students need to see the words in Spanish and English to be able to identify them as cognates and assume they mean the same thing in both languages. Since a discussion about cognates and their exceptions conducted in English would be too complex for students at the beginning level of proficiency to understand, the explanation about cognates could be given in their native language if the teacher speaks it. For example, if the teacher speaks Spanish, using this language may be helpful to most students, given that the highest percentage of ELL students in U.S. schools speak Spanish as their family language. What teachers say, even those who speak Spanish, needs to be carefully prepared with the help of specialists, so that students are provided with a script that neither overexplains nor does not accomplish its purpose. These explanations should initially be given to teachers in writing to help them offer students the “just-right” kind of information, no more and no less. An example of such a script is:

Miren, muchachos, hay palabras que en inglés se llaman cognates—en español, “cognados.” Estas palabras se ven muy similares tanto en uno como en otro idioma si estos derivan del griego o latín, y tienden a ser palabras importantes en el desarrollo de prácticas disciplinarias. Cuando lean un texto, revísenlo para ver si encuentran cognates, porque pueden serle muy útiles. Por ejemplo, composition y composición, relevance y relevancia, y structure y estructura son cognados en inglés y español.¹⁸

Many students, however, come from homes where languages other than Spanish are spoken. In this case, teachers could engage speakers of those languages from the community in preparing translations, which may be written or recorded.

With such activities, students beginning to learn English are able to develop understandings that are typically not expected of students at early levels of proficiency in their second language. In contrast, when students focus on discrete formal language knowledge, they do not develop academic skills and language awareness that will be transferable. Emphasis on discrete pieces of language does not lead to generativity; instead, students’ language skills remain inert. Over time, metalinguistic skills, such as the ability to recognize types of texts by concrete indicators, are practiced in English and appropriated, while other disciplinary practices become the focus of apprenticeship in English.

Knowledge of the patterns of language is essential not just to orient second-language learners through their work in a language they are beginning to control, but also to help them grasp the most important rules of the system and gain confidence in their use of the language. Recognizing patterns leads students to feel more in charge of their own learning—to be able to use language across contexts and to develop their agency as learners.

From . . . Using lessons focused on individual ideas or texts

To . . . Using clusters of lessons centered on texts that are interconnected by purpose or by theme