Tag: Education

Remembrance of Things Past

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And much more am I sorrier for my good knights’ loss than for the loss of my fair queen; for queens I might have enough, but such a fellowship of good knights shall never be together in no company.
Thomas Malory, Le Morte de Arthur
 

A new school year started this week. It’s the first week in years–11? 12?–that Drew Chiles didn’t amble into my room and give me hell about whether I was going to teach the kids anything worthwhile this year. Or something similar. As much as his sudden death shocked our school last spring, I didn’t have an insight or memories or comforting words to spread as a balm over the people looking for answers.

I still don’t. What I do know is that this week, I’ve missed my friend more deeply than I expected. I don’t feel sorry for him–he’s past all that. I won’t post messages on facebook for him or write him notes; the man I knew would raise one eyebrow, stare, and comment on how droll superstition is when supposedly intelligent people act on it.

I also won’t engage in hyperbole about him. He was human–and flawed. The last couple months of his life, he and I had some intense disagreements, and we had some very hard conversations. That’s history–and I can honestly say that he and I don’t have unfinished business; before he died, we’d come to terms with what needed to be dealt with. At least as much as we could at the time. People have loved to corner me for sympathetic “talk” about whether Drew and I were “ok.” Guess what: I have no qualms about avoiding and shading the truth to most of the “concerned” people–if it was their business, they knew all the details they needed.

But this week, loss is hitting me hard in several ways, and the lesson I’ve taken from Drew’s sudden death is this: the wheel keeps on turning. There’s a new teacher in his room, a young, energetic man who is even teaching ONU classes for credit, so our kids still have that option. The Senior English/senior social studies combined class is still going on, with the new teacher and I inventing the curriculum to fit us as we are now. Our school may miss Drew the friend–but Drew the teacher has been replaced.

I miss Drew’s scoffing, devil’s advocate arguments with me, I miss sparring intellectually with him–and sometimes, I even miss his mind-games and power plays. But the wheel turns. The person I feel sorry for isn’t him–it’s me.

As a eulogy goes, it’s not much. He’d be the first to tell me I’ve engaged in needless emotional rhetoric without making a salient point. And he’d be right….but the wheel is turning again, and he’s getting further away. Next week, or next month, I’ll walk in his room without thinking of him. Soon, I’ll remember to quit calling his room “Chiles room,” and the kids will know it as Mr. Vermillion’s room. And the ghost fades further away, and the wheel turns another notch.

 

 
 

Who’s the Boss of Me?

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I want to scream. To rail against the Gods. To resurrect Martin Luther King Jr and Gandhi and Abbie Hoffman and….I don’t know who all else–anyone who can organize an insurrection.  All because the currently pending legislation impacting teachers in Ohio (and other states) is fundamentally wrong–and I’m not talking the ethics, or the economics, or how I believe it would impact education. I’m talking about the core intent; a major paradigm shift is occurring in the business of education, but it’s being shrouded in warm, fuzzy concern about student achievement and fair use of public money.

So here’s my question: who is my boss? I’m a teacher, I am paid from public money. No debate there. But all these laws coming at me with the speed of Darth Vader’s X-wing, are they coming from the people who are actually “my boss?”

That’s such a tangled question that modern education should be on the Maury show to determine who the Daddy is. That’s a crucial question, though, in any discussion of laws impacting education.  It’s easy to agree or disagree with any specific point in bills such as Ohio’s SB5, and it’s even reasonable to discuss if teacher’s working conditions, compensation, and accountability are in line with their counterparts in the private sector. Those may be vital discussions. But lumping hundreds of pages of diverse points in one bill–and adding on with the “budget”–then giftwrapping it in the flag….that’s not a discussion. That’s punitive with a hidden agenda, fueled by marketing and prejudice.

Here’s the issue, as simply as I can explain it: in America, the educational model is based on local control. Individual school boards can hire or fire as they wish–yes, the teachers are licensed by the state, but the decision whether to hire lies with the local board. Also, local boards can apply for special licenses for people who don’t have traditional credentials.  The power is local.

Likewise, the basic budget of a district is raised from local money–traditionally, property taxes, but sometimes other taxes are available now IF THE LOCAL VOTERS AGREE. Note, the power is local, and it’s one of the very few types of taxes that voters have a say on. I can’t vote to send money for wars, or farm subsidies, or universal health care, but I can to decide if my local school gets more money.

However, most districts can’t make it on just what the local voters are willing to give, especially poor districts. So a long time ago–in the late 50’s, maybe?–states realized that they could offer needed funds to districts, with a few logical, easy-to-live-with strings. That’s grown and continued till many districts couldn’t exist without the state money–and the state conditions. But in the legal chain of command--the state does not control education. They offer money for specific programs, they provide funds to compensate for poor or handicaps students–in districts like mine, they provide a sizable amount of money, all coming because of specific criteria or expectations. In real terms, there is built-in accountability for those tax dollars; those funds go away if the criteria isn’t met or changes.

The state has tests that students must pass to get an official certificate, true, and they have specific classes that are required for graduation as well. However, LOCAL CONTROL gives a great deal of leeway about what those classes teach. As long as the students pass the Ohio Graduation Test and take the right core curriculum, there’s no oversight as to what textbooks are used, what projects or units are covered, how students are assessed and graded–public education is NOT standardized beyond teacher licensing and OGTs, in actual practice.  Even the state standards and benchmarks are guides, often unrealistic, and often impossible because of student achievement levels, time,  or educational supplies available. Again, local control, local oversight.  State money has come with strings that add layers to that, but any school solvent enough to not get specific money also can avoid specific strings.

More recently, add the federal government to the party. Same process, only they don’t currently have one test, one model–they have all the No Child Left Behind requirements (most unfunded or underfunded at the local level, but with strings that make the states respond), then Obama’s Race to the Top grants…another whole level of fun.

Imagine education on the Maury show, with grandmas, step dads, maybe-daddies, and a whole family tree of dysfunction arguing over how the baby is to be brought up, with the mom standing there confused and powerless, but knowing that at 3 am when the baby’s crying, she’s going to be alone in the dark.  That’s the business of education as we are trying to practice it now.

When the state report cards come out, who’s blamed or praised? The local principals, teachers–the people on the front lines. We know that bottom line, the local district in in control. Bad teachers can be fired–I’ve seen it happen. There’s a process to protect them, yes–but in Ohio, getting rid of a bad teacher is fairly simple.  Likewise, the unions don’t get higher teacher  pay than the district can offer; teachers in poor districts generally get paid less than teachers in richer districts. That’s basic economics with built-in limits. Teachers are NOT running up the state budget.  If a specfic neighboring district would hire me today, I’d get over $8000 more than I get now per year. And they’d pay more of my health insurance. I wouldn’t be any better as a teacher; the price merely reflects the district budget.

Teachers do not cause the state economic hardship. Teachers’ salaries are determined locally, and paid largely out of local funds. The local school board can’t offer more money than the have in their budget. Teachers are more subject to the vagaries of their local economy than other “public” workers for that reason.

I have more issues with bills like SB5, but at the core, there’s the problem. I’m not hired by the state. I’m not responsible to the state. These bills slyly shift from local control to state control–but only the aspects that they want control of. If we’re going to change the paradigm, we need to do away with the current mirage of “local control” to create a cohesive, effective state-wide or nation-wide educational system.  Then it would be clear who the boss of me is.

Throughout their investigation of Watergate (google it, children….), Woodward and Bernstein were repeatedly told by their informant, Deep Throat, to “follow the money.” He insisted that if the reporters would do that, the source of the power and the problem would become clear. Woodward and Bernstein brought down a whole presidential administration by using that theory.

Trying to apply that to modern public education doesn’t work; there are so many checkbooks waving around that it’s nearly impossible to untangle the specifics in many district. But underlying it all is this: the people who sign my paycheck are not funded directly from the state or federal dollars. Officially, local control and local dollars are the bedrock of our public schools. Bills like Ohio’s SB5, which micro-manage a huge list of issues that have always been under local control without formally, officially transferring the entire educational system to the state government, are out of line because under current laws,  it’s just NOT their job. I know who my boss is–and it’s not Ohio governor Kasich.

…..But George Was Curious.

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When I heard those words as a child, I knew that the Man in the Yellow Hat was going to have to rescue Curious George in just a few pages. The formula was clear: George got curious, George got in danger, George got rescued…usually by the Man in the Yellow Hat.  Even now, George’s antics lead me to intense questioning, like “why did the Man in the Yellow Hat think it was a good idea to leave George alone,” and “Wait–why did the Man take George from his happy existence in his native habitat to live in an urban environment?”

I didn’t, however, learn that curiosity was bad.  That is a major difference between me and almost all of my 11th and 12th grade students. In a recent class discussion, I used the word “curiosity,” and was struck by how many students seemed to assume that word had negative connotations.  I thought–hoped–that was a fluke—so I did what any English teacher would do: assign a writing prompt dealing with curiosity. I gave the students four quotes about curiosity, quotes by Walt Disney, Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, and Eleanor Roosevelt–people who knew a bit about the topic. The students were to choose one quote and write about what they believed it meant and their reaction to the ideas in the quote. (That’s the short explanation of the assignment, by the way.)

I read almost 40 papers discussing those quotes. The students’ reactions were nearly unanimous. Being curious was dangerous. People who were curious were at great risk of getting hurt, getting shunned, getting punished. Several of the teen mothers and many of my students who bear a great deal of responsibility for younger siblings were graphic in their descriptions of how important it is to teach kids to stay out of things, not make messes, not bug people with questions. A few conceded that being curious could be helpful, but not generally.

These are kids who want to succeed at college, kids with dreams of being lawyers and engineers, doctors and veterinarians. These are kids whose home lives offer little support for those dreams–and with little understanding of the difference between a dream and a goal. Their parents care, but have themselves come from a culture that penalizes curiosity.  They limit themselves to what they are told to learn, told to think about–in the manner and context that they are told to, of course.

Current educational rhetoric blames teachers for all the ills of student achievements–and I will admit with no reservations that improvements in teaching are possible and needed–but when students have been taught even before they reach their first formal classroom that being curious is bad, student’s are only motivated to do the basic amount required for whatever grade they (or their parents or coach) deem acceptable. Students who are curious are a prime component in creating “excellent” schools and “effective” teachers.

I talked about Curious George with some of the students. A few remembered those stories–mainly from the short cartoons that sometimes show on PBS. Without exception, they agreed George was very bad and needed beat so he’d learn.

….and with that, I lost the curiosity that lead me to discussing the topic with them. There was nothing left to say.

Seeking Wisdom

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Note: this was the first post I wrote on a blog site I dedicated solely to education. And just in case you don’t know: all the things I feared are more true now.

I started this blog intending to write about education issues regularly. For a long time, I’ve been in the front lines in urban education, then in the vortex of urban education reform–I thought I had something to say.

Then all hell broke loose in educational reform, and the inmates started running the asylum. There’s no shortage of words, no contemplative silence while people seek wisdom. There’s not even a common vocabulary for identifying and discussing the issues. George Orwell’s “doublespeak” has come to pass in ways he couldn’t have predicted.

In times like this, I start looking to literature for comfort and answers. The greats often provide perspective;  The Beatles “Fool on A Hill”  and Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall,” gave me some ideas and options, for instance. Jesus clearing the temple from the moneychangers seems like an equally appealing model.

Then my class read MacBeth and heard Sir Patrick Stewart offer this observation: “….it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” (MacBeth Act V, scene 5).

There are fools on the Hill–and in the statehouse. And even more people are offering tales full of sound and fury–no meaning, nothing that helps address the real issues in our classrooms and cafeterias–nothing that addresses the real crises in our governmental budgets and priorities.

But still they talk–the politicians and media mavens, the philanthropists and businessmen, strutting and fretting their hours onstage like the poor player MacBeth disdains.

I don’t have answers, and I’m not sure I know the questions, but it’s time that I start talking. As Fox Mulder asserted, “The truth is out there.” It’s getting lost in a tsunami of hyperbole.  I’m a  teacher who deals primarily with poor minority teens–kids who are becoming more marginalized, more stigmatized, and more disheartened; at this point, those words describe their teachers, too.

I’m tired of giving the fools and idiots the power. It’s my turn. Stay tuned.

Playing Poker in Lima

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First: I am going to NOT write about school this summer….as much as possible. Although this is based on Lima student mentality, I’m even limiting how often I blog about that. I’m tired of school, of teaching, of education sucking my soul and asking that I tithe my creativity and intellect at a proportion not commiserate with my job description.

HOWEVER,….gotta write this one. The elephant in our school is the Lima Mentality, a special blend of learned helplessness, entitlement, resignation, and eensy-teensy locus of control. It’s not just the kids–it permeates the city. We’re limited by “our population” and “our situation;” we don’t name the elephant, of course–confronting the issues of underclass, acceptable loss, and racism head on. We’re in an elegant do-si-do of enabling and whining, with a soupcon of schadenfreude thrown in for the barely middle class among us.

I’ve been in multiple conversations over the last few months about this problem, with a variety of people who all deal with it (and fall victim to it) in various contexts. I could analyze and sympathize and sermonize, but I am beginning to belief that my generally warm fuzzy, empathetic encouragement is not the best way to deal with the Lima Beast, even when it shows up in myself (which I will cop to…reluctantly).

Instead of helping with problem-solving, encouraging baby-steps, holding their hands through trials and risk-taking (and some of those “risks” are amazingly small and normal, by middle-class standards), here’s what I think I’m going to adopt as my new attitude:

“Yes, you didn’t get dealt a fair hand in life. If you’re going to whine, make excuses, and be a victim, leave the table. Otherwise, play your cards as smart as you can, work harder than everyone else at the table to learn the game–and maybe the next round you won’t lose your stake. If you’re not willing to play harder and smarter than the people who were born with aces up their sleeve, don’t pretend you’re playing the game.”

There are valid reasons and situations that add a great deal of strife and complication to my students’ lives. No argument. But reasons for failure shouldn’t be excuses, they should be incentives for success. And it bugs me more than I can express that I can see that phrase on a t-shirt, turned into a damn motto for happy people to chant as the cycle of enabling and failing continues.

A, B, C, D: The Paradox I Live

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I don’t believe in grades. That’s a blanket statement, and I do mean it. And yes, I did just submit names of students who will not graduate based on not passing my class, and I will be grading papers tomorrow to determine who gets an A, who gets a B and who gets to sit in my class again.

I don’t believe grades say anything significant or valid about a student’s accomplishment–except, of course, how well the student “plays school.” Kids who do all their work will get higher grades than ones who miss assignments. That’s simple math. And if a teacher factors in “participation points,” offers extra credit, or includes some other wild card, grades reward those who “play school” well even better. A student who has turned in but failed every assignment can, with those types of wild cards, pass a class. A student who gets all A’s and B’s on major projects or tests, but doesn’t do the daily stuff….it’s anyone’s guess how the grade will be tallied, and depends more on the teacher’s system than the student’s knowledge and skills.

It is possible that other content areas are easier to quantify; English is more subjective than most English teachers will admit. But consider this: there is no correlation in my school between the ACT, the Ohio Graduation Test, or the Watson-Glaser critical thinking test we’ve been giving and a student’s grade point average. While I understand the correlation wouldn’t be exact because of the purpose and formats of those tests, no correlation? That suggests something is flawed somewhere. As low as our average ACT score is (and it’s below the national average by enough to matter), over 25% of our students are on the Honor Roll.

Furthermore….even if I come up with a system of grading that gives good feedback on what a student has mastered, and what the student needs to work on–which would be a very valid type of assessment, I think–there’s another issue looming under us: what is the yardstick I’m using to measure with? Should students be assessed relatively, either against their own progress or against their peers in the class? Or is there an absolute standard that we should have as our guide?

For anyone who doesn’t deal with grading (lucky people), that’s the core issue behind “grade inflation.” Teachers don’t walk in, see poor, minority students and think, “wow, I’m going to right generations of oppression and societal marginalization by giving these students better grades than they deserve.” We grade paper after paper, and see which ones are better, which are weak, and before too long, our sense of “good” is skewed. Especially because most of us haven’t seen a wide cross-section of papers to gauge from before we get a pile of our own and a nifty red pen.

Until I went to an AP workshop with teachers from affluent districts–places where a noticeable percentage go to Ivy League colleges and most state schools are a last resort–and we spent a large amount of our time working with the very specific requirements of an AP essay, I had no clue what people in other types of schools thought an A or B paper was. My A papers would have barely gotten C’s from those schools. And I can list plenty of reasons my students shouldn’t be graded like that….which means I’m using relative grading, and there is not an absolute. Also, the underlying assumption there is that my students can’t compete with affluent kids–welcome to the perpetration of the underclass.

I watched a few episodes of “Dancing With the Stars” this season, and it was a petri dish of assessment. At the beginning, the stars get comments based on relative standards–Kate Gosselin and Nicey Nash (the non-dancer and the one with “jiggly parts”) heard about how they improved and what they needed to work on; but quickly, the star with potential–this season, Evan the Figure Skater and Nicole somebody–they got comments based on professional, experienced dancers, comments designed to push them. The judges were often boo’d by the audience, whose reaction was based on their emotional reaction instead of absolute standards. The scores, though–everyone got graded on the absolute standards. Kate Gosselin’s scores tanked; hard as she tried, she’s not a dancer, at least at this level. Even with the “curve’–the audience call in votes–the judges retain the power at the end. Their grades matter; their understanding of the absolute standard of assessment matters.

So… as I finish grading this week, I know I’m playing a game—but teachers become teachers because we “play school” well. The system needs overhauled, I know. Next time I’m ready to tilt at windmills, that’s on my list.