It's been a long year. Summer is halfway to its expiration date and I'm finally taking that first deep breath of summer air. It was about a year ago that my world was peeled away from me, leaving wounds that I was completely unprepared to heal. I had no idea that I would feel like my skin was cut away leaving me with nothing to protect myself. Certainly, I underestimated the impact it would have on me.
As if closing a school wasn't the hardest thing in the world, I then got to rise up to the next challenge of moving into a "new school". In the beginning it was as if I was time warped back to my first year when I knew nothing. When did we eat lunch? How long is recess? You want to take my kids to do what? It was heart-wrenching and defeating before the start whistle even blew. Here I was a seasoned teacher, with no voice.
Slowly I began to wonder is this the experience of most teachers? Do they go to work and do "what they are told", despite their better judgement? Do they not make a case for a better approach, for individuality, and for servicing all kids in some fashion? Have they been beat down so much, that they've given up? Maybe they have no idea what it could be like,to build up a community, together, with a staff. Have they dared to dream of what making a true impact feels like? It never occurred to me to ask the most important question, would they even want more if it meant that it would cost more? As the school year began to morph into an animal of frustration I let the distraction of my kids encompass me. I could make this work. Head down, eyes on the prize. I would make it work. You know the way you take the wrong key and try to shove it into the keyhole of your front door. You're so damn certain that its the right key that you just push and pack that thing like a Thanksgiving turkey. Never once looking down to see the key's unwavering commitment to a different keyhole.
In the midst of my "making it work" I found myself consoling a teacher who would more than likely not be returning, due to us having to pack the rooms at a higher ratio. She's the most sunshiny person I've ever met. So much so that on occasion I preferred sunglasses in her presence. Unfortunately this afternoon, sun drops gave way to rain through her eyes. She was devastated at the thought of not returning. Three long years in this school, bonding with these teachers, kids, and community, gone. For a split second I felt the untimely burn of perspective singe my tongue as I tried not to say "try ten years". What I found myself doing instead was even more astounding. With the eloquence of debutant I found myself telling her not to build her life around a school. Do not move somewhere and bond with people so much that it squelches your ability to move on. Run away from making an impact so great that it feeds your soul and you are hungry for more. The words continued to fall from my mouth like confetti before I could catch them. By all means do not give yourself to your students and a school in such entirety that without them you'll lose your way. In essence I whispered to her that she should never become me. Even now, as I write these words, it ignites a fire so deep that words seem to diminish the burn. How could we, as educators, parents, citizens, even human beings ever let this happen? How could we, the populace, allow for a system to get so derailed that the pillars of that system no longer wish to bare the weight? Somehow we have allowed money and politics to move to the forefront of what drives our decisions in education. As a result we are taking some of the most powerful members of a community, its educators, and we are disenfranchising them. We are removing them from from the humanity of teaching. So much, so that as educators we now advise each other not to connect, not to get attached, because it only ends in hurt. Fear the connections made in the craft of teaching . Create and connect with caution because someday you will be reminded that although no one on earth disputes the impact a teacher makes in the life of a child, they will fail to acknowledge necessity of that impact. Therefore, they will fail to make it the highest priority and you will pay the price. Maybe you won't lose your school, maybe just your class. In time as the mandates and criticism increase, the pay and reward decreases. Its not in our nature to rise up, but eventually we will crumble from the weight. I had built my life around a community and a school that no longer existed. Without it, for so many painful months, I was lost in the labyrinth navigating my way through the year.
I'd like to say that in that moment I knew it was time to try to move on, but that's not true. In that moment I realized that this change, this loss was one that I would feel for many years. I knew that, because in part, the wound remained so sensitive that it was easily reopened. The more that life went on, the more it stung to be reminded of what was lost. In that conversation the most important lesson was unearthed. I also realized that a large part of my pain was from the fact that I had made every effort to not be me. Its a scary thing when hiding becomes the secret lover of healing. All year I hid. I hid from the staff, the families, I hid from my family. In seeing that for the first time my path for healing was illuminated. The first step was to come out from the shadows. My first step was to share. For me that meant returning to the outspoken passionate person I was before the closure. For the people I work with, it means they are either going to love me or not, but they will hear from me.
By the time I packed my room, the keys flew from me. I parachuted to the car and left that Wonderland, knowing I would have to come back. I would have to return to a land of opposites, where nothing is what it seems. I will have to return to the Queen of Hearts. This time, I'm ready for it.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Love this article!!!!
Anyone who faithfully follows the musing of CVUSD and the acknowledgments they dish out to non Title One schools, might find this educational. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/01/opinion/01ravitch.html?_r=2
It's a lovely affirmation on the power of publicity. Its so sad when all it takes is thoughtful publicity to eanr a school recognition, but even sadder when lacking that leads to its closure.
It's a lovely affirmation on the power of publicity. Its so sad when all it takes is thoughtful publicity to eanr a school recognition, but even sadder when lacking that leads to its closure.
Leaving the Legacy Behind
The last day of school is saturated with a myriad of emotional. More often than not, children start the day effervescing with excitement. It's infectious. Later, usually the older kids, especially those being promoted to middle school may begin to realize a sense of loss. Usually by the time the bell rings, laughter has been shared to lighten a teary yet much anticipated ending.
However, when a school is closing its doors, its the realization of a loss so profound it mimics death. In fact it is just that, but to much a larger degree because so many feel the immediate loss. Many people will read this and think, kids survive, they will be okay. Some will do just that. However many others may not and that outcome depends specifically on the type of school, the students served, and the level of service provided. I don't mean the teachers necessarily. Although that could be included in the scenario. If a school successfully serves the Title One population then odds are it has become a true community center. In my experience that is usually the case, but admittedly my experience is limited to just that, a predominately Title One School that became a community center. A school that served as a sanctuary for many Latino families who have sacrificed greatly to have their children educated in this particular community. Clearly that fact has not won the them the acknowledgment let alone respect of the greater community and district. So yes for this community to lose this safe haven and highly successful support system is a not only a death felt by hundreds. It results in the formation of a new perspective, that of the cultural and educational refugee.
Personally, the worst part of it is the process. The fact that, although for us in particular, it was a sudden decision, realistically time moves on and there are moments that allow you to forget the future. Moments in which you catch yourself planning for next year. A lull occurs that hypnotizes you into missing the obvious. You ignore the virtual labyrinth of boxes that emerge like weeds in a well established garden. You turn a blind eye to the random people visiting, especially the reporters. However I did notice that our school got more press coverage this year than it has in its entire existence. We play with the kids and somehow in the course of the day tend to misplace the feeling of dread. We live for the surreal moments of fictional faith and perceived possibility. All the while, like a dingo in the bushes, reality stalks us.
We all experienced random moments of realization. Often they were inspired by a gut wrenching "next step in the process." Whether it was the the students being placed at schools, many unsatisfactorily, or when the teachers were placed at future sites. In those moments the water works run on like faulty sprinklers that could not be contained. In the final weeks these moments simply start to run together. We hold the children as they cry, embrace the parents as they cry, and comfort each other as we slowly begin to unravel. And so it continues....
The last day moves you in a way that is only rivaled by the slam of the gavel after the board votes for closure. We did our best to distract the kids and parents, but at some point the gravity of this day would have to sink in. When it did words were simply not enough to console the devastated families, and I swear I could hear the hearts breaking. As the day slows for those final moments the weight falls down on you like a ton of feathers, soft and suffocating. Gone are the days of teacher gifts from 7-11 or hand me down ornaments. Families present you with a literal bed of flowers to express their love and appreciation. If you're lucky you may have the composure to whisper a thank you as you embrace them. Then they are gone, and a blanket of silence covers the school. I couldn't stand the weight of it, so I grabbed a basketball and shot a few hoops to get some distance. Somehow it slowed down time for me, and stretched those few minutes out long enough to help me compose myself. Standing back, away from it, I could feel the heart beat of this vibrant community center slowing. The echoes began to quiet. There aren't enough deep breaths that can prepare you for the next step. It was then that I realized that the hardest part would just be taking breaths to stay. To stay in every moment and let it suck you up because this place, these people, have earned the right to take as long as they need to let go. Emptiness spreads through the school like a plague, physically and emotionally.We have nothing to give any longer, because we now know that none of the assurances are real. Already they have interacted at their new schools and experienced what the world is like without this school as a resource. Already English forms have been tossed at them like bingo cards, and we will not be there any longer to help them. The anger and frustration builds inside a person as they fully understand what has been lost. Yet, this is only the beginning of the changes they will have to endure. For us, we stand by and watch. Its like watching amazingly powerful birds of prey attempt to take flight with wings of lead. Right now they are trying, and I pray they'll never give up.
However, when a school is closing its doors, its the realization of a loss so profound it mimics death. In fact it is just that, but to much a larger degree because so many feel the immediate loss. Many people will read this and think, kids survive, they will be okay. Some will do just that. However many others may not and that outcome depends specifically on the type of school, the students served, and the level of service provided. I don't mean the teachers necessarily. Although that could be included in the scenario. If a school successfully serves the Title One population then odds are it has become a true community center. In my experience that is usually the case, but admittedly my experience is limited to just that, a predominately Title One School that became a community center. A school that served as a sanctuary for many Latino families who have sacrificed greatly to have their children educated in this particular community. Clearly that fact has not won the them the acknowledgment let alone respect of the greater community and district. So yes for this community to lose this safe haven and highly successful support system is a not only a death felt by hundreds. It results in the formation of a new perspective, that of the cultural and educational refugee.
Personally, the worst part of it is the process. The fact that, although for us in particular, it was a sudden decision, realistically time moves on and there are moments that allow you to forget the future. Moments in which you catch yourself planning for next year. A lull occurs that hypnotizes you into missing the obvious. You ignore the virtual labyrinth of boxes that emerge like weeds in a well established garden. You turn a blind eye to the random people visiting, especially the reporters. However I did notice that our school got more press coverage this year than it has in its entire existence. We play with the kids and somehow in the course of the day tend to misplace the feeling of dread. We live for the surreal moments of fictional faith and perceived possibility. All the while, like a dingo in the bushes, reality stalks us.
We all experienced random moments of realization. Often they were inspired by a gut wrenching "next step in the process." Whether it was the the students being placed at schools, many unsatisfactorily, or when the teachers were placed at future sites. In those moments the water works run on like faulty sprinklers that could not be contained. In the final weeks these moments simply start to run together. We hold the children as they cry, embrace the parents as they cry, and comfort each other as we slowly begin to unravel. And so it continues....
The last day moves you in a way that is only rivaled by the slam of the gavel after the board votes for closure. We did our best to distract the kids and parents, but at some point the gravity of this day would have to sink in. When it did words were simply not enough to console the devastated families, and I swear I could hear the hearts breaking. As the day slows for those final moments the weight falls down on you like a ton of feathers, soft and suffocating. Gone are the days of teacher gifts from 7-11 or hand me down ornaments. Families present you with a literal bed of flowers to express their love and appreciation. If you're lucky you may have the composure to whisper a thank you as you embrace them. Then they are gone, and a blanket of silence covers the school. I couldn't stand the weight of it, so I grabbed a basketball and shot a few hoops to get some distance. Somehow it slowed down time for me, and stretched those few minutes out long enough to help me compose myself. Standing back, away from it, I could feel the heart beat of this vibrant community center slowing. The echoes began to quiet. There aren't enough deep breaths that can prepare you for the next step. It was then that I realized that the hardest part would just be taking breaths to stay. To stay in every moment and let it suck you up because this place, these people, have earned the right to take as long as they need to let go. Emptiness spreads through the school like a plague, physically and emotionally.We have nothing to give any longer, because we now know that none of the assurances are real. Already they have interacted at their new schools and experienced what the world is like without this school as a resource. Already English forms have been tossed at them like bingo cards, and we will not be there any longer to help them. The anger and frustration builds inside a person as they fully understand what has been lost. Yet, this is only the beginning of the changes they will have to endure. For us, we stand by and watch. Its like watching amazingly powerful birds of prey attempt to take flight with wings of lead. Right now they are trying, and I pray they'll never give up.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Moving on up....to the sky.....or not
When does one decide that it is acceptable dismantle a classroom. The jury is still out on this one. Is it acceptable to push up the date for destruction when there are mitigating factors, like the closing of one's school? I for one would like to think it changes nothing. Yep I'm that super optimist that believes that children should get the "full experience" up until the very last minute. Of course I would also be that teacher that would be packing until the next millennium too, right? It's certainly a duplicitous dilemma!
For a moment now, let's examine what it really means to pack up and prepare a school for its destruction. It means taking all of your curriculum (Teachers Edition books and what not for the lay people) inventorying it and then giving it to someone else to inventory. It means prompting students to make their way through a labyrinth of grade signs and masking tape pathways to find the correct place to put their text books. It also means figuring out how to pack your vomitroucious collection of the dreaded "things and stuff". You see what many people don't know is that these professional moving companies have tools of the trade. So they tell you, if it is going to spill put it into one of our idiot proof boxes. Idiot proof boxes that are so small that many things will be too tall to fit inside. your next choice? The blessed Gondola. Now when hearing about this one, most would think that the teacher gods have created a blessed tool to move you to and fro between your room and the packing room. Although I must admit, I can crawl onto one of those myself I have yet to find a student I would trust to transport me. Really, they are random rolling shelves with a pretty name. Apparently the grand finale of tools and apparatuses will come in the next few days so keep tuned for details!
The best part is that districts really do work hard to plan ahead. Yes, they want all of your "things and stuff" to end up in the correct place. So, they would greatly appreciate it if you affixed a handy dandy colored label onto all of your items, the boxes, gondolas, etc. Theses puppies are even color coded for those visual learners! Unfortunately they are also meant to have the schools that you and your colleagues will be assigned. Hmmmm.....if only they knew where that was. Yes so there in lies another issue. Do you pack and keep all of these items (Gondola and all) in your classroom until the bloody color-me-happy labels arrive? Or do you wait for fear the one thrill seeker in your class will use the Gondola as a mode of transportation down the hall in a lovely game of Bowling for First Graders? Hmmmm decisions, decisions. Yes this year will not end in the normal craziness, its a whole new kind of crazy for those blessed teachers at the closing school.
For a moment now, let's examine what it really means to pack up and prepare a school for its destruction. It means taking all of your curriculum (Teachers Edition books and what not for the lay people) inventorying it and then giving it to someone else to inventory. It means prompting students to make their way through a labyrinth of grade signs and masking tape pathways to find the correct place to put their text books. It also means figuring out how to pack your vomitroucious collection of the dreaded "things and stuff". You see what many people don't know is that these professional moving companies have tools of the trade. So they tell you, if it is going to spill put it into one of our idiot proof boxes. Idiot proof boxes that are so small that many things will be too tall to fit inside. your next choice? The blessed Gondola. Now when hearing about this one, most would think that the teacher gods have created a blessed tool to move you to and fro between your room and the packing room. Although I must admit, I can crawl onto one of those myself I have yet to find a student I would trust to transport me. Really, they are random rolling shelves with a pretty name. Apparently the grand finale of tools and apparatuses will come in the next few days so keep tuned for details!
The best part is that districts really do work hard to plan ahead. Yes, they want all of your "things and stuff" to end up in the correct place. So, they would greatly appreciate it if you affixed a handy dandy colored label onto all of your items, the boxes, gondolas, etc. Theses puppies are even color coded for those visual learners! Unfortunately they are also meant to have the schools that you and your colleagues will be assigned. Hmmmm.....if only they knew where that was. Yes so there in lies another issue. Do you pack and keep all of these items (Gondola and all) in your classroom until the bloody color-me-happy labels arrive? Or do you wait for fear the one thrill seeker in your class will use the Gondola as a mode of transportation down the hall in a lovely game of Bowling for First Graders? Hmmmm decisions, decisions. Yes this year will not end in the normal craziness, its a whole new kind of crazy for those blessed teachers at the closing school.
STAR light STAR bright....I wish they may, I wish they might...get most of the answers right
Oh yes! The worst two weeks of every year, STAR testing. For any of you who may not know, this is California's policy makers finding a way to stress out even the youngest of students. It's our version of standardized testing. Now I understand the need for it. Really, I do. It's important to be able to tell the world "see they are learning". Or wait, it's important to tell the world "see we are holding those uneducated educators accountable". Hmmm....now I'm not really sure why we have these lovely little tests...oh that's right, to show that students are learning the state standards.
When I first taught, I worked with older children. They were old enough for me to say "Rock it out! Do your best! If you mess up, then hey it's only a snapshot. You are more than a number." For some strange reason it didn't occur to me that in moving to teach the little people, that my standard response would not work. Little people are naturally intimidated by assessments. They have not yet perfected the "F is for fantastic" mantra and most still want to do well, generally speaking. I was unprepared as we sat down to take our practice tests. I read the directions, they began, and all was well. Then it happened....sniffles. First here, then there, then...like a plague...EVERYWHERE! What is going on here? Is this some sort of reaction to the secret ninga dust bunnies that lurk in our room? No, that can't be it. They could not all possibly be fighting bats in their caves, right? No the booger bandit could not be waiting to emerge. Then it became worse, there was sniffling, and whimpering! I looked around the room in total shock. I was staring at some sort of natural disaster and I was frozen. What is wrong with them? So quickly and quietly I made my way around the room to assess. Were they holding their stomachs? Sitting in a puddle of the dreaded pee pee? No and no. They were crying. Most of them were crying. Now why pray tell were these little people crying? They were crying because they were afraid. The problem was, I had no idea why they were afraid. Were they fearful that "someone" would know that they did not do their best? Or that they guessed on a question here or there? No. As a later, much needed, discussion would reveal, they were far more mature than I ever realized. They were afraid of failure. The amazing part was that, they knew they would never see this test again, that it was a one shot deal and yet they were still afraid. As the conversation progressed, I sat listening and transformed into the student as they began to teach me about their learned test anxiety.
That conversation was a major turning point for me. To hear eight and nine year-olds clearly articulate the redundant feel of defeat that they encountered as they progressed through the test, was an awakening. Of course they were afraid, heck they didn't even understand half the questions on the test. Far be it from me to ask them to actually answer these dreaded little demonic inquiries. It must be scary to be in their position. At that age most of them are still deeply invested in pleasing adults and the joy of learning. So to have your entire classroom transform into a sterile environment, and your usually goofy animated teacher turn into a robot spitting out directions must be a real shocker! So I decided from that point on, I was going to set it up to change as little as possible. That's right folks, there will be no resources on my walls (because then we don't have to cover them up). We have no silly little ankle-biter alphabets, no never ending number line, and certainly none of those "If you don't know how to think, here's how" posters. I changed everything! I reformatted all of my assessments so that the testing conditions would be the same, created "assessment rituals" that would be used throughout the year, and encouraged them to become excited about the opportunity to "show off their awesomeness".
OMG was that a boatload of work! Surprisingly enough I had to answer about a zillion questions about my new found decorating practices. To a certain extent I'm quite sure that I offended a rather fossil-minded professional at my school when I refused to make use of sound cards. The idea that I would not give them a resource was apparently mind-boggling! The thing was, in my mind I was giving them a resource. I was forcing them to think for themselves, and darn it if there was a moment when they needed to look up the spelling of a word or sound, then they could find that information in the reference section of our classroom.
It's been four years now and I have to say that the majority of the test anxiety has completely disappeared. It's still the most fantastically boring experience of the year for all parties involved, but we survive without the tears. That's enough to make me try to walk the coals with them every time.
When I first taught, I worked with older children. They were old enough for me to say "Rock it out! Do your best! If you mess up, then hey it's only a snapshot. You are more than a number." For some strange reason it didn't occur to me that in moving to teach the little people, that my standard response would not work. Little people are naturally intimidated by assessments. They have not yet perfected the "F is for fantastic" mantra and most still want to do well, generally speaking. I was unprepared as we sat down to take our practice tests. I read the directions, they began, and all was well. Then it happened....sniffles. First here, then there, then...like a plague...EVERYWHERE! What is going on here? Is this some sort of reaction to the secret ninga dust bunnies that lurk in our room? No, that can't be it. They could not all possibly be fighting bats in their caves, right? No the booger bandit could not be waiting to emerge. Then it became worse, there was sniffling, and whimpering! I looked around the room in total shock. I was staring at some sort of natural disaster and I was frozen. What is wrong with them? So quickly and quietly I made my way around the room to assess. Were they holding their stomachs? Sitting in a puddle of the dreaded pee pee? No and no. They were crying. Most of them were crying. Now why pray tell were these little people crying? They were crying because they were afraid. The problem was, I had no idea why they were afraid. Were they fearful that "someone" would know that they did not do their best? Or that they guessed on a question here or there? No. As a later, much needed, discussion would reveal, they were far more mature than I ever realized. They were afraid of failure. The amazing part was that, they knew they would never see this test again, that it was a one shot deal and yet they were still afraid. As the conversation progressed, I sat listening and transformed into the student as they began to teach me about their learned test anxiety.
That conversation was a major turning point for me. To hear eight and nine year-olds clearly articulate the redundant feel of defeat that they encountered as they progressed through the test, was an awakening. Of course they were afraid, heck they didn't even understand half the questions on the test. Far be it from me to ask them to actually answer these dreaded little demonic inquiries. It must be scary to be in their position. At that age most of them are still deeply invested in pleasing adults and the joy of learning. So to have your entire classroom transform into a sterile environment, and your usually goofy animated teacher turn into a robot spitting out directions must be a real shocker! So I decided from that point on, I was going to set it up to change as little as possible. That's right folks, there will be no resources on my walls (because then we don't have to cover them up). We have no silly little ankle-biter alphabets, no never ending number line, and certainly none of those "If you don't know how to think, here's how" posters. I changed everything! I reformatted all of my assessments so that the testing conditions would be the same, created "assessment rituals" that would be used throughout the year, and encouraged them to become excited about the opportunity to "show off their awesomeness".
OMG was that a boatload of work! Surprisingly enough I had to answer about a zillion questions about my new found decorating practices. To a certain extent I'm quite sure that I offended a rather fossil-minded professional at my school when I refused to make use of sound cards. The idea that I would not give them a resource was apparently mind-boggling! The thing was, in my mind I was giving them a resource. I was forcing them to think for themselves, and darn it if there was a moment when they needed to look up the spelling of a word or sound, then they could find that information in the reference section of our classroom.
It's been four years now and I have to say that the majority of the test anxiety has completely disappeared. It's still the most fantastically boring experience of the year for all parties involved, but we survive without the tears. That's enough to make me try to walk the coals with them every time.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Orchids and Dandelions
I read an article recently that used the metaphor of flowers to describe resiliency in children. Dandelion children are those children that thrive no matter the circumstances. They could have every conceivable card stacked against them, yet they persevere. They push on and succeed. They "make it". Then we have the orchid children. These are our delicate flowers. They actually have the potential to thrive; it's possible. The circumstances must always be right for them. They must be in the right environment, with the right families in the right school, with the right teacher, etc. If all of those elements are a good fit they will not just thrive, but blossom with unspeakable beauty.
This whole analogy got me thinking, of course about education. If a child is a plant, well then a district must be the greenhouse. It is the framework, the foundation, the housing. What kind of greenhouse do we have? How is it set up? What kinds of plants does it best cultivate? Certainly not orchids, that's for sure. Oh we may have raised some beautiful orchids, but that is clearly not a testament to the greenhouse, but rather some very focused care-takers, gardeners. They are an amazing breed, the gardener whose job is more of a passion rather than a means of income. They wake early to be there to measure the sun, and only leave when their job is complete. They study the plants, measure their progress and adjust accordingly. They are vigilant in their quest for growth. They will not rest until every plant has had an opportunity to succeed. They know when to take a plant out of the greenhouse, let it bask in the sun. They know when to adjust the elements. Most importantly, they talk to their plants; they care for them. If there is something they do not know, they simply learn it. This is their craft, their love. Of course there are those gardeners that simply arrive on time, water, feed, maybe weed, and leave. If they happen to raise a successful orchid, then its luck of the draw.They do not go above, nor beyond, and they follow their job description to the letter.
Its actually comical that these higher level gardeners continue to show up and religiously perfect their craft. Comical, because they are also the very ones who bear the weight of the greenhouse. When a fungal infection occurs, no one looks at the greenhouse. They don't look for new methods of ventilation, or any other way to solve the problem. They simply blame the gardeners. The gardeners weren't attentive enough, they didn't give all plants a uniform feeding schedule. or they didn't follow instructions with complete fidelity. Maybe the gardeners have not done enough additional reading on the subject, maybe they do not work hard enough. People make grandiose commitments to evaluate the substandard gardeners, to assess their knowledge. Why don't people ever look at the greenhouse? More often than not their windows are rusted shut, maybe they don't even have a ventilation system. Without that all living things suffocate. If a gardener used a pesticide, it could not only kill the gardener but all of the other plants too. The air becomes dank, stagnant with chemicals. Yet no one looks for a way to bring in air. I mean who needs air right? Its amazing really. Amazing how easy it is to miss the most obvious answer.
Yes some plants survive in this rigid, restrictive environment. That's all they do. They survive. Yet somehow the educational community is proud of that. What would happen if we changed our perspective completely? What would happen if we judged our system not on the children that survive and succeed, but the ones that do not? How many of our schools or districts would fall short? How many would struggle to meet the changing needs of the orchids? How many would successfully cultivate orchids? I for one, am certain that were the criteria by which we evaluated schools, one of the best orchid schools in Ventura county would not be closing.
On a coincidental side note: I've been raising orchids in my kitchen window for almost a decade. I know I've been neglecting them, because life has been crazy. I had not idea how bad it was, only three are still alive.:(
This whole analogy got me thinking, of course about education. If a child is a plant, well then a district must be the greenhouse. It is the framework, the foundation, the housing. What kind of greenhouse do we have? How is it set up? What kinds of plants does it best cultivate? Certainly not orchids, that's for sure. Oh we may have raised some beautiful orchids, but that is clearly not a testament to the greenhouse, but rather some very focused care-takers, gardeners. They are an amazing breed, the gardener whose job is more of a passion rather than a means of income. They wake early to be there to measure the sun, and only leave when their job is complete. They study the plants, measure their progress and adjust accordingly. They are vigilant in their quest for growth. They will not rest until every plant has had an opportunity to succeed. They know when to take a plant out of the greenhouse, let it bask in the sun. They know when to adjust the elements. Most importantly, they talk to their plants; they care for them. If there is something they do not know, they simply learn it. This is their craft, their love. Of course there are those gardeners that simply arrive on time, water, feed, maybe weed, and leave. If they happen to raise a successful orchid, then its luck of the draw.They do not go above, nor beyond, and they follow their job description to the letter.
Its actually comical that these higher level gardeners continue to show up and religiously perfect their craft. Comical, because they are also the very ones who bear the weight of the greenhouse. When a fungal infection occurs, no one looks at the greenhouse. They don't look for new methods of ventilation, or any other way to solve the problem. They simply blame the gardeners. The gardeners weren't attentive enough, they didn't give all plants a uniform feeding schedule. or they didn't follow instructions with complete fidelity. Maybe the gardeners have not done enough additional reading on the subject, maybe they do not work hard enough. People make grandiose commitments to evaluate the substandard gardeners, to assess their knowledge. Why don't people ever look at the greenhouse? More often than not their windows are rusted shut, maybe they don't even have a ventilation system. Without that all living things suffocate. If a gardener used a pesticide, it could not only kill the gardener but all of the other plants too. The air becomes dank, stagnant with chemicals. Yet no one looks for a way to bring in air. I mean who needs air right? Its amazing really. Amazing how easy it is to miss the most obvious answer.
Yes some plants survive in this rigid, restrictive environment. That's all they do. They survive. Yet somehow the educational community is proud of that. What would happen if we changed our perspective completely? What would happen if we judged our system not on the children that survive and succeed, but the ones that do not? How many of our schools or districts would fall short? How many would struggle to meet the changing needs of the orchids? How many would successfully cultivate orchids? I for one, am certain that were the criteria by which we evaluated schools, one of the best orchid schools in Ventura county would not be closing.
On a coincidental side note: I've been raising orchids in my kitchen window for almost a decade. I know I've been neglecting them, because life has been crazy. I had not idea how bad it was, only three are still alive.:(
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Wtvs with Superman! We'll take any hero at this point
There are two kinds of educators in the world, those that who have chosen this noble profession and those who were chosen by this noble profession. The previous teachers work hard every day, they put in their time, mainly enjoy it, and some even last beyond the first five years. Others reluctantly sacrifice their commitment to nobility in attempt to replace it with a life, an easier job, or a career in a field where your worth is somehow reflected in your compensation. The rest of us, the "chosen" ones are shackled to this profession in one form or another, for life. We are the ones who were born for this, and many of us exist in public education. We come into this profession bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with a tornado of ideas and excitement in our wake. We learn quickly that from late July to mid June its futile to even attempt a real life. Not only are there papers to grade, events to attend, and planning to be done, but our free time is sucked up by the volcano of ideas that will erupt the second our brain notices it may have room for more information. It does not matter where this breed of teacher works, because their commitment is unwavering regardless. We are those crazy people who arrive at work at 7:00am and often don't leave till the late evening hours. We sacrifice time with our families and friends, because in our hearts we know we must. The expectation that we carry for ourselves is far greater, far higher, than anyone could place upon us. We give every piece of us that we can, because we know no other way. We do this because in that moment, when the bulb of success and understanding illuminates a child's face, almost all of those pieces are replaced and once more we can breathe.
Most of us, surprisingly enough, end up at Title One schools, where the majority of children live in poverty. That takes things to a whole new level. In educating these little guys, what was once a dance of dialogue, persuasion, and motivation in an effort to facilitate learning, now becomes a bloody battle of safety, trust, access to resources and survival skills. Children of poverty have a life, that for most of us, seems unimaginable. They need you as a teacher, a co-parent, a counselor, an advocate and an educator. There is no doubt that schools populated with children in this position have a difficult time retaining teachers. Some last for many years, but eventually need to devote more time to themselves or family. Other teachers would give anything to stay, but are laid off due to the "budget crisis". Some are "placed" there as a result of the district's seniority shuffle. Usually these teachers are simply counting the seconds until there is an opening elsewhere and they can escape the jungle. Then, of course, there are those that remain. I've had the privilege of knowing many of these die-hards, and this breed is indeed rare. Their commitment is unwavering, and it shows in everything they do. Watching them struggle day to day,week to week, year to year is simultaneously gut-wrenching and inspiring. It's like watching a beautiful bird attempting to fly;unfortunately it is unaware of its lead wings.
There are schools, Title One schools, that have found their niche and risen up despite the struggles they face. These schools become community centers that are regularly buzzing with activity, day or night. It takes more than a devoted staff and administration to build this. It takes a community, a collaboration of hearts and minds striving to reach a shared goal. It also cannot be done without the protection of the school district and the respect of the outside community. This is the lesson that many schools are learning as a result of today's "budget crisis". They are expendable and nothing is sacred.
What happens to the families and staffs of these schools when they are dismantled? Let's sit back over the next five years and watch. Our schools are in huge trouble, because with out the support of these types of schools, struggling students will crumble. Some will make it, but most will not. The teachers, unfortunately are going to learn an excruciating lesson as well. They will learn that yes their efforts paid off in the microcosm of that school; but in the destruction of their school the only people who really recognize and benefit from their efforts are the very ones that they will be separated from, the families. They will learn that they have no power to protect their investment, and that very few people truly understand their work or commitment. They will reluctantly learn that they are not only a unique breed of teacher, but an endangered breed. Worst of all the entire community will learn that decades of work and accomplishment can be destroyed in one thirty minute board meeting or by the discussion of a committee that has never even set foot on their campus. So, maybe an evolution will occur. Maybe those teachers that survive this type of catastrophic event, become the teachers who see it as "just a job, with summers off". Let's face it, missing their OWN children's first day of school, Back to School Night, Open House, Dr. appointments and so much more hasn't paid off for them, has it?
In education we embrace the concept of differentiation in the classroom. Yet our administration expects uniformity between schools. Uniformity, "all must do this in this fashion", has been the driving force behind the decline in American education. Mediocrity is rewarded in our current system. Whether we are talking about No Child Left Behind or the willingness of a local education agency (a school district) to examine its own practices, stepping outside the box is a mortal sin. Ineffective teachers sit stagnant in classrooms because principals feel as though "poor evaluations" will cause problems. Even when the principals have union support to start the process of dismissing a tenured teacher, the districts are too fearful of litigation to pursue the issue. Principals receive no support from the union, so if they step outside the status-quo, if they voice too much opinion that is not in line with the district's approach they can be immediately fired. If our leaders are not encouraged to take risks and try new things how can we solve our problems? How can we improve? How can we stay on the cutting edge? We can't. It is far easier to mandate uniformity through encouraging mediocrity. Thus our current situation exists.
Surely, it has its strengths. Parents have no need to school-choice to a different school in the district, if they are all the same. When a family cannot go to a school of their choosing, any other school is "just as good". There can be no bragging about the great things over here, and complaining about the low caliber of things over there. Well, theoretically that's how it works. Uniformity, or fidelity to the program makes it far easier to make unilateral decisions. It also provides an escape for accepting the responsibility of those decisions and how they effect smaller groups of people and smaller programs. The mantra becomes "All of these services are provided or can be provided everywhere". In terms of achievement the catch-all becomes "We have followed the scope and sequence and implemented the program with complete fidelity", which translates into "It's not my fault the students tested poorly, its the program's fault." In forcing all of us to be the same, none of us are personally responsible for the outcome.
So here we are in a community of affluence and prestige; yet we are closing schools. We are surrounded by powerful businesses and yet none of them are supporting our schools beyond the status quo, if at all. Our general community, has spent more time debating the issues of a sign on their freeway, then exploring let alone implementing, a new parcel tax to help our struggling schools. We are educated enough know the importance of innovation, yet we reward mediocrity and mandate uniformity. We comply with regulations that we know to be detrimental to our students for fear of the reprecussions. We willingly place additional burdens on our most struggling populations and conversely acquiesce to the very groups with which we have chosen to form contentious relationships. We are the perfect setting for a new comic series; we only need a hero.
Most of us, surprisingly enough, end up at Title One schools, where the majority of children live in poverty. That takes things to a whole new level. In educating these little guys, what was once a dance of dialogue, persuasion, and motivation in an effort to facilitate learning, now becomes a bloody battle of safety, trust, access to resources and survival skills. Children of poverty have a life, that for most of us, seems unimaginable. They need you as a teacher, a co-parent, a counselor, an advocate and an educator. There is no doubt that schools populated with children in this position have a difficult time retaining teachers. Some last for many years, but eventually need to devote more time to themselves or family. Other teachers would give anything to stay, but are laid off due to the "budget crisis". Some are "placed" there as a result of the district's seniority shuffle. Usually these teachers are simply counting the seconds until there is an opening elsewhere and they can escape the jungle. Then, of course, there are those that remain. I've had the privilege of knowing many of these die-hards, and this breed is indeed rare. Their commitment is unwavering, and it shows in everything they do. Watching them struggle day to day,week to week, year to year is simultaneously gut-wrenching and inspiring. It's like watching a beautiful bird attempting to fly;unfortunately it is unaware of its lead wings.
There are schools, Title One schools, that have found their niche and risen up despite the struggles they face. These schools become community centers that are regularly buzzing with activity, day or night. It takes more than a devoted staff and administration to build this. It takes a community, a collaboration of hearts and minds striving to reach a shared goal. It also cannot be done without the protection of the school district and the respect of the outside community. This is the lesson that many schools are learning as a result of today's "budget crisis". They are expendable and nothing is sacred.
What happens to the families and staffs of these schools when they are dismantled? Let's sit back over the next five years and watch. Our schools are in huge trouble, because with out the support of these types of schools, struggling students will crumble. Some will make it, but most will not. The teachers, unfortunately are going to learn an excruciating lesson as well. They will learn that yes their efforts paid off in the microcosm of that school; but in the destruction of their school the only people who really recognize and benefit from their efforts are the very ones that they will be separated from, the families. They will learn that they have no power to protect their investment, and that very few people truly understand their work or commitment. They will reluctantly learn that they are not only a unique breed of teacher, but an endangered breed. Worst of all the entire community will learn that decades of work and accomplishment can be destroyed in one thirty minute board meeting or by the discussion of a committee that has never even set foot on their campus. So, maybe an evolution will occur. Maybe those teachers that survive this type of catastrophic event, become the teachers who see it as "just a job, with summers off". Let's face it, missing their OWN children's first day of school, Back to School Night, Open House, Dr. appointments and so much more hasn't paid off for them, has it?
In education we embrace the concept of differentiation in the classroom. Yet our administration expects uniformity between schools. Uniformity, "all must do this in this fashion", has been the driving force behind the decline in American education. Mediocrity is rewarded in our current system. Whether we are talking about No Child Left Behind or the willingness of a local education agency (a school district) to examine its own practices, stepping outside the box is a mortal sin. Ineffective teachers sit stagnant in classrooms because principals feel as though "poor evaluations" will cause problems. Even when the principals have union support to start the process of dismissing a tenured teacher, the districts are too fearful of litigation to pursue the issue. Principals receive no support from the union, so if they step outside the status-quo, if they voice too much opinion that is not in line with the district's approach they can be immediately fired. If our leaders are not encouraged to take risks and try new things how can we solve our problems? How can we improve? How can we stay on the cutting edge? We can't. It is far easier to mandate uniformity through encouraging mediocrity. Thus our current situation exists.
Surely, it has its strengths. Parents have no need to school-choice to a different school in the district, if they are all the same. When a family cannot go to a school of their choosing, any other school is "just as good". There can be no bragging about the great things over here, and complaining about the low caliber of things over there. Well, theoretically that's how it works. Uniformity, or fidelity to the program makes it far easier to make unilateral decisions. It also provides an escape for accepting the responsibility of those decisions and how they effect smaller groups of people and smaller programs. The mantra becomes "All of these services are provided or can be provided everywhere". In terms of achievement the catch-all becomes "We have followed the scope and sequence and implemented the program with complete fidelity", which translates into "It's not my fault the students tested poorly, its the program's fault." In forcing all of us to be the same, none of us are personally responsible for the outcome.
So here we are in a community of affluence and prestige; yet we are closing schools. We are surrounded by powerful businesses and yet none of them are supporting our schools beyond the status quo, if at all. Our general community, has spent more time debating the issues of a sign on their freeway, then exploring let alone implementing, a new parcel tax to help our struggling schools. We are educated enough know the importance of innovation, yet we reward mediocrity and mandate uniformity. We comply with regulations that we know to be detrimental to our students for fear of the reprecussions. We willingly place additional burdens on our most struggling populations and conversely acquiesce to the very groups with which we have chosen to form contentious relationships. We are the perfect setting for a new comic series; we only need a hero.
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