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So, my last class of the day is a long block of junior English.  The way it worked out, I have nearly every kid in the junior class, in fact; I jam 22 hyperactive 16-year-olds into my room immediately after lunch and have to keep them there for an hour and a half.

The first two weeks of class had proven, well, challenging.  Yeah, there are a lot of kids (especially when one considers that the average class size in my school is about 12) and yeah, they’re coming to me all hyped up after lunch and yeah, they’re wide awake by the time they get to C block, but none of that was really particularly difficult; I’m good with 16-year-olds and we got off to what I felt was a really great start with the teacher-to-student dynamic.  I’d spent the first day or two getting to know them – learning their names, asking them questions about themselves, and generally setting the tone of the culture of my classes – and I was seeing that paying off in how the kids – especially the more recalcitrant ones – responded to me one-on-one.

It turns out, though, that the challenging part wasn’t the teacher-to-student relationships; it was the student-to-student relationships.

Within the first week of class, I could very easily see that the group was divided along three very clear and bright lines; the kids who are “good” at school and are confident in their ability to play the game, the kids who are “okay” at school but who are a little socially awkward, and the “bad” kids – the kids who’ve convinced themselves that they’re no good at school and who go out of their way to intimidate everyone into leaving them alone so no one can tell that they’re frightened and insecure.

Very often, it’s the “bad” kids to whom I tend to gravitate because, most often, they’re the kids who need me the most.  They’re the ones who don’t have an adult in their lives they can trust.  They’ve been told that they’re not “book smart” and have convinced themselves that is true.  They are often the most frightened and insecure and damaged, but they cover that up with bravado and volume and bluster so that they come off as too confident – cocky, even – and end up pushing everyone away.

I have 7 of those kids.  They’d come into my room and head for the far back corner – avoiding taking seats at the table and, instead, sequestering themselves into their safe and comfortable clique.  They’d interact with me directly, but they wouldn’t participate in class discussions.  Their side conversations and constant fidgeting were a huge distraction – even to me – and I had to stop class once every 7 minutes or so to try to redirect them.

Yesterday, the situation became untenable.  Despite having moved their seats around, despite having had individual and private conversations with each of them about appropriate classroom behavior, not a single one of the 7 could hold their shit together for longer than about 7 or 8 minutes.  It finally got to the point where I ditched the lesson and said, “you know what?  This ends now; we need to figure out a way to set this right or we’re never going to make it through the term.”

While I was in the process of expressing my frustration over the fact that we couldn’t come together as a class – that we couldn’t hear each other, that we weren’t listening to each other even if we could hear each other, and that the culture of the class was not in keeping with what I was trying to foster – one by one, each of the 7 got up and left.

I knew they wouldn’t go far – that there were adults in the building who would intercept and corral them – so I set to work on getting the remaining kids to download what the hell was going on in the class.  I had them do a quick write; “Tell me 3 things that are working in the class and three things that aren’t; then, tell me what you – the person sitting in YOUR seat – can do to try to address the things that aren’t going so well.  Finally, let me know if there’s anything you need from me that you’re not getting.”

The answers I got were both reassuring and profoundly disappointing.  They all universally enjoyed the class; they like me and my teaching style, and everyone said that they thought they felt well-supported and respected by me.  That was lovely.  What bothered me was that they were very quick to place the blame for how the class was failing on the 7 students who walked out.  “Look at how well the class is running without them!” a number of the remaining kids said.  “It would solve all our problems if we could just split the class up.”

As we were downloading this – and before I got a chance to address it – the principal of the school came into the room and asked to see me in the hallway.  He let me know that the rest of my class was assembled in the conference room and asked me to go there to talk to them while he kept watch on the remaining students.

I walked in to see the 7 arranged around the conference table in what – admittedly – would be a really excellent English class.  The kids back in my room were right; splitting the class would, in a very real way, be beneficial to everyone.  The students in the conference room were cohesive, they listened to each other without talking over or interrupting, and they get each other; there’s a kind of respect among those kids that they don’t extend to the rest of the class.

I listened to them spout almost verbatim the things that the rest of the class had said; THEY were the problem, THEY don’t respect us, THEY make us feel bad and so we respond by being confrontational and/or walking out of the classroom.  In both cases, it was they who were the problem; no one was at a point where they were able to stop and consider what they themselves were contributing to the situation.  While every one of those 7 agreed that I was doing a good job treating them well, they still didn’t feel like they belonged in the class.

That day ended with my telling the students that I heard them, but that we were going to have to figure out how to come together as a culture; splitting the class wasn’t an option and, even if it were, I wouldn’t do it because there is immense value in having different people with different outlooks and experiences come together to make meaning out of questions and issues and stories.  Somehow, I told them, we were going to have to work our shit out.

I spent last night trying to figure out what that was going to look like.  I spoke to my sister – who’s a social worker – and talked to my daughter  – who’s also a junior and these kids’ contemporary – and did a lot of thinking.

The first thing I came up with was that I had to rearrange my room; everyone MUST have a LITERAL seat at the table, and the way my room was arranged wasn’t conducive to that – we simply didn’t all fit.  Two of the kids in the middle group I mentioned above came to my classroom this afternoon to help me rearrange the tables so that everyone would fit.  It totally fucks with the feng shui in the room – the tables are all angled awkwardly and kids are sitting in corners and along edges – but everyone fit this afternoon.  I can’t see it being a permanent fix – I’m not even OCD, and the arrangement made ME itchy – but the point was made that I will go out of my way to make space for EVERYONE.  I think they understood that.

The other thing I came up with made me MUCH more edgy, but I did it and I’m glad I did it.

What I was seeing – from ALL the kids – was that our biggest problem was a failure of empathy.  The “bad” kids felt like the “smart” kids disrespected them and, despite the fact that those kids go looking for sleights, they weren’t entirely wrong; I had seen some kids roll their eyes at something one of the 7 would say, or try to shut them down by saying “I can’t believe you don’t know what that means” (though, in my defense, I lovingly but firmly stomped on the kid who said that, reminding him that we’re in school specifically because we don’t know things, and that admitting ignorance is the first step to eradicating it, but the target of the kid’s comment didn’t hear any of that because she was too busy winding herself up in her confirmation bias).  The “bad” kids were belligerent and blatantly disrespectful of anyone who wasn’t in their gang of 7 and, both literally and figuratively, invited a number of them to go fuck themselves.  No one – not one of them from any of the groups – was willing to step outside of their biases to think about what the other might be feeling.  I knew that if I could get them to do that – even for a short while – it might change the way they think about each other (and, maybe, themselves).

When they walked into class this afternoon – everyone at the awkwardly placed tables – I told them we were going to do something VERY hard and VERY scary and asked them if they trusted me.  They all said they did, and I offered that if anyone wanted to sit this out, I wouldn’t be offended.  I then explained what PostSecret is all about and told them that I was going to hand out index cards upon which I wanted them to write something they wish they could tell someone about themselves; something that would help the “other” understand a little bit about them and maybe make them feel less isolated and unwelcome.  I reminded the kids that, since we’ve not really done much writing yet, I still don’t recognize their handwriting, so they’d be COMPLETELY anonymous.  I had them write their “secret,” fold it in half – everyone folding the same exact way – and asked them to put them in a basket.  I’d read each one aloud, and they’d have a chance to respond to the secrets.  When we were done, I promised them that the cards would literally be shredded; I’d take them to the conference room and do the deed myself.

It was an AMAZING experience.

Everyone – even me – participated in putting a secret in the basket.  No one – not even me – could tell whose secret was whose (well, I knew which one was mine, but I wasn’t telling).  With the exception of one student – who was still listening – everyone decided to respond to some of the secrets.

The first secret I read was something like “I was raped, and now I don’t trust anyone.”  The secrets ran through a gauntlet from that to “I watched my grandfather abuse my little brother” to “my mother has anorexia and I’m worried all the time” to “I know I’m smart, and that I come off as stuck-up, but I really DON’T think less of anyone else” to “I often feel like an impostor and I’m terrified of letting people down” (that was mine).  It ended with “I’m wicked suicidal and I sometimes regret that I’m still here.”

To quote one of the 7; “Damn.”

It was a HUGE risk to take – not only for the kids, but for me, too.  The kids were opening themselves up – REALLY opening themselves up – and I was honored to the point of tears that they trusted me that much.  I had to be able to hold my own shit together enough to be the strong, caring, loving adult that could guide them through this experience.  It could have gone horribly, horribly wrong, but it didn’t.  In fact, it was exactly the opposite of horrible.

When it was all over – when the last secret had been read – the kids were amazed.  No one knew who wrote what secret, but they all had a newfound appreciation for the fact that EVERYONE in the room had something really hard to deal with.  They started seeing each other as survivors, and they started recognizing that, really, they had a lot in common despite what they may have thought of each other when the activity – or even the semester – started.

I had 10 minutes left in the block, so I did the human knot activity; I had the kids all get into the middle of the room and grab someone else’s hand, then we worked together to untangle ourselves.  I felt like we needed to literally touch one another, and I loved the symbolism of untying ourselves and ending up holding hands in an unbroken circle.  With the five minutes that were left, the kids walked around the room – talking to kids they often never spoke to – and hugging.  When it was time to go, I stood at the door and acknowledged every student as they left, hugging some, fist-bumping others, and telling every single one of them that I love them, because I do.

I’m expecting that Monday’s class is going to be a new beginning.  I can’t wait to get started.


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Calling in the Troops

If you haven’t been reading me for a while, you might not know that I am VERY collaborative.  I’m TICKLED when someone emails me to ask if I’ll share resources with them (I get a lot of hits from Google for “film in the classroom” and “film and literature,” and I’ve shared my film and lit syllabi and eight-year plans with about 7 readers so far… by the way, if you’re one of them, hit me up and let me know how your class went / is going, wouldja?).

It’s because I’m so willing to share what I have that I’m also willing to ask for what I need, and I need some help.

OKAY, Smart People: I am not going to lie to you; I’m freaking out a little bit about teaching this humanities class.

I’m teaching a range of freshmen – and by “a range,” I mean I’ve got kids in class who are obviously hooked into this English/history thing and are eager to play the game, and I’ve kids who, let’s be honest, would probably have to work up a sweat to care any less than they do about this class.  I’ve got kids who are fairly confident readers (and who, by the looks of the few things they’ve written for me so far, are pretty competent writers) and kids who are really not.  I’ve got kids who come into class vibing at least some energy and a few who come in dragging tail (though, to be fair, the new schedule is, I think, not going to last past this school year.  My current schedule is two humanities classes back to back; one for AN HOUR AND A HALF, FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, EVERY DAY – and yes, I meant to yell that – and the other is 45 minutes immediately following that class.  In January, the sections will flip, so the skinny block kids will occupy the long block and vice-versa.  It’s brutal, and I’m going to suggest that, next year, we try a college-style, M/W/F, T/TH schedule but, for now, I’ve got what I’ve got).

My problem (and I can see it clearly) is that “humanities” usually covers everything from pre-historic Egyptian culture to, you know, yesterday, taking into account nearly EVERY aspect of human culture and society; politics, literature, fine art, music, theatre, economics, religion, language… you get the idea.   Now, I’m smart enough to know two things: A) even though I’ve got a whole year with these kids (for AN HOUR AND A HALF, FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, EVERY DAY!  ah-hem.  Sorry; that’s a thing for me), there’s NO POSSIBLE WAY I’m going to be able to get through everything and B) even if I COULD, the kids really couldn’t take it.  More to the point, *I* don’t really see the VALUE in slogging through the whole catalogue of human existence, so I can’t really justify that kind of slog to the kids.

So far, I’ve covered:

a) the things that make up societies (culture, religion, politics, economics, and social concerns)
b) the difference between ‘observation’ and ‘analysis’
c) a quick overview of how they see themselves. I’m working up to an identity project in which they incorporate the elements of their society to see how those things affect who they are and how they see themselves.  In the coming week, they’ll do some investigation of the different aspects of society and consider how those things affect how they see themselves as they compose a visual project that represents their own sense of identity.  I’ve also got an exercise lined up where they’ll look at HONY photographs and discern how people choose to represent themselves in the portraits, addressing issues of perspective, lighting, angle, and composition.

Beyond that, though, I’m kind of struggling to make a comprehensive, coherent, and cohesive plan.

So, here’s where you, the aforementioned Smart People, come in.  If you were to take my humanities course, what aspects would you want that course to highlight (given that you can have literally everything from pre-historic Egypt to, you know, yesterday)?  What are the important things that you think we need to understand from our collective past that help us to understand our collective present?  What kinds of concepts, big ideas, or key themes should kids get spit out of high school really understanding?  What can they learn in my classroom that’s going to make their lives richer, easier, and more productive?

I have pretty much complete academic freedom here; there’s no textbook, which is both a blessing and a curse; it means I don’t have to follow an arbitrary framework, but it also means I have no guidance and no materials ready-made for me.  I have computers for every student and there is pretty regular internet access.  I can use film, I have a great art teacher across the hall, and the history teacher and I are buddies, so there’s some decent support there.  If I’m creative enough (and have enough lead time), I can probably get any materials I need.

Aaaannnnd, GO!


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Lesson Planning

Okay; I’m working on a project idea and I’d love some input.

I had started out thinking that I’d run my Humanities classes with a traditional trek from Greece and Rome, a trip though the Dark and Middle Ages, and a romp through the Renaissance and the start of the Modern age, but that’s just not going to play with my kids. I need to make it personal. To that end, I’ve decided that the classes are going to focus on how we posit ourselves as individuals in the context of the larger world (so, the way outside forces influence who you are, how you think, and what you value). I figure I can bring in some of the high points of ancient and foreign cultures while still keeping the kids focused on why they, personally, should give a shit about them.

We’ve already talked, albeit briefly, about how cultures are arranged and what kinds of things are necessary for them to thrive. I’ve done the quickest thumbnail sketch of the basics of citizenship. Today was spent investigating the difference between observation and analysis, and I’ve given them a bit of poetry (I snuck a Shakespearean sonnet in there!) and some art to scrutinize, and I think those exercises went pretty well.

I want to continue the work of analysis, but I want to turn it inward a bit. The art I had the kids analyze was Samuel Bak’s Self Portrait:

self_portrait of samuel bak holocausto

They did REALLY well with it, so I’m thinking that this might be a good spot to run with the idea of ‘self portraits’ and have them do a project in which they consider their own identity and then represent themselves in a bunch of different ways.

I want the project to have three different components; a written, a visual, and something that demonstrates that they’re able to see the ways in which they have been influenced by outside forces, whether that’s family, religion, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, or something else.

I’m going to start them with the visual aspect, I think. I’ll get them started tomorrow with an exercise where they brainstorm adjectives that describe them as they see themselves, and then get them working on coming up with some way of representing those qualities visually (depending on how they take to this idea, I may invite them to include some aspects of how they think OTHERS see them, as well, but I’ll wing that). I want to give them a lot of leeway in how they do this; I know that *I* would rather have the opportunity to create a collage or a powerpoint presentation than try to draw myself (i.e., creating an ACTUAL self-portrait), and I want the students to be able to free themselves from concerns about their artistic skills and instead have them focus on what they want to SAY about who they think they are – and how they think they got that way.

I’m happy to entertain suggestions about what the written and analytical pieces should look like (and whether they should be separate assignments or one focused piece of writing). I’m expecting this project to take a week or so (given that we’ve got a four-day weekend coming up in two days, and a four-day week after that). Who wants to help me put this together?

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I’m Feeling a Bit Like Bilbo…

… getting ready to go on a big adventure.

Today was the first in-service day at my new job. It wasn’t at all anxiety-inducing; I’d worked at the school last year as an aide, so I already know everyone (minus a new math and science teacher named Lisa who was hired over the summer; she seems lovely and I’m looking forward to having the opportunity to talk with her some more), though I did feel a little different – more ‘real,’ if that makes any sense. As an aide, I didn’t really fit in anywhere; I wasn’t part of a department, I had minimal interaction with any of the classroom teachers save one (who’s left the school to take a really fantastic gig with the state; I miss him already). Now, as a full-time classroom teacher, I feel more like part of the group (and it may be that the group can now be more accepting of me).

We started the day with a whole-staff meeting (there are 10 of us, total, so “whole staff” isn’t as ominous as it may sound to folks who work in big schools). We opened the meeting with one of those activities that everyone hates (so WHY do we do them?!); we all had to introduce ourselves (which seemed silly, given that only one of us didn’t know everyone), to say one thing we “appreciated about the summer” and one thing we’re looking forward to in the new school year.

For as much as I really do hate these kinds of things (how many people really LISTEN to what the people who come before them have to say? I mean, really; you’re not listening because you’re too busy wondering what YOU’RE going to say and hoping you don’t come off like an idiot… or you’re frantically trying to think up a new answer because the person two seats ahead of you just said what YOU were going to say, the bastid!!), I actually had good answers to the questions this morning.

My family and I just returned from two weeks in England (which I haven’t written about yet; I should do that while the memories are still fresh, but I’m still a little overwhelmed by the the whole experience that I’m not really sure where I’d start), so that was my contribution to what made my summer memorable.

It was my answer to what I’m looking forward to this year that felt more important, though. Since I left CHS three years ago, I’ve felt a little adrift. I’ve been teaching since then – I never left the profession – but the kind of teaching I’ve been doing – namely adjunct work in colleges and universities – is a very different kind of work than classroom teaching. I’ve been grateful for the experience of teaching at the collegiate level, but I found the work to be isolating. I am, by nature, a very collaborative person. I don’t LIKE working alone; I can do it, but I don’t like it. I feel much more engaged, much more effective, and much more energized when I’m part of a team. I love coming in in the morning and talking to my colleagues. I love listening to lunchtime talk about a lesson that clicked (or one that fell flat), or about this or that kid who’s either kicking ass and taking names or stumbling (and what we’re going to do as the respective kids’ support system to help). I like sharing materials and ideas, I like sharing successes and failures, and I like sharing the day-to-day that make up the best part of this kind of work.

So that’s what I said I was most looking forward to; being part of a team again. I don’t know if I’m going to click with everyone on staff, but I know I’ve connected well with the two with whom I’ll be interacting most (the other upper school English teacher and the social studies teacher; I also get on well with the two science teachers and, perhaps more importantly, the principal and the lead office goddess). In fact, as I was composing this, the English teacher – I’ll call her Rachel – texted me with a “nice work today!!” message.

I can’t wait to get started.

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Setting Up

I’m getting closer to moving in to my new digs at my new high school!

A few weeks ago, Pete let me know that he’d decided which room I’d be occupying. He warned me not to settle in just yet, though, because the custodians hadn’t done their summer floor refinishing.

When I left CHS, I took everything – EVERYTHING – that belonged to me; I would be damned if I was going to donate anything to that place. As a consequence, I had a LOT of stuff; I’d bought decorations and posters and such, I’d bought a TON of books (well, not literally, but it sure felt like it once they were all packed), I’d bought book cases from IKEA. ALL of it came with me. When I was given the heave-ho, Mr. Chili went to Staples and bought dozens of boxes into which I packed pens and Post-it notes, books and magazines, containers of wipes and bottles of Lysol, posters and magnets and bumper stickers. All of those boxes got stored at Chez Chili, divided between the basement and the as-yet-unfinished master bathroom and, after Pete decided which room would be mine next year, my family helped me cart all those boxes up the stairs and into my new space.

The boxes sat on top of tables for a couple of weeks while we waited for the custodians to work their magic, and the other day one of the lovely office ladies, whom I’ll refer to here as Molly, sent me a message giving me the green light to come in and start unpacking.

My nephew, Nate, who’s been living with us since November (he’s moving here from England and has had a bit of trouble finding a good IT job) was keen to help, so we packed up the un-assembled book cases and made the half hour trip to the school. I started unpacking boxes while he started putting together a book case, only to realize that he’d failed to put the case backs in the car. This wasn’t REALLY a problem, though; there is a built-in book case in the room, plus a freestanding unit against a wall, so I was able to put some of my books away. Besides, what I REALLY wanted the man to do was to get a handle on all the computers in the room and, given that this is his particular talent, he was happy to help.

There are tables around two edges of my room upon which are situated a number of computers for the students to use. While I’m not obsessively type A, I really do like my environment to be neat and orderly, and these computers were ANYTHING but; there were cables EVERYWHERE. Nate had noticed this when we were moving the boxes in and volunteered to get all that mess under control; as soon as we got home from the box moving trip, he went online and bought some velcro straps and assured me that he’d put the whole thing right for me.

He did. He spent most of the other day tracing cables back to their origins (at one point making me laugh by walking into the middle of the room with a line of cable spooling out behind him, then turning to me with an hysterical look on his face and saying, in his lovely British accent, “Right; this cable needs to be about 18 inches long. What is this? 10 feet? What were they THINKING?!”) and making sure that everything worked properly. I kept myself busy unpacking books which, I’m not ashamed to say, felt a little like Christmas; I rediscovered books I’d forgotten I had – AND I found all of MY copies of the books I teach (distinguishable by all the myriad sticky note flags in the pages; despite a world-class English teacher training, I still cannot bring myself to write in the margins of books).

By the time we thought to look up, it was already quarter past five and we needed to get home. We went back today – with Bean in attendance – to do some finishing up, so we put the book case backs in the car and headed over. Nate built book cases (there’s still one left to build; we need to find some more wooden plugs because we somehow came up short) and I filled them.  Bean had a blast decorating my classroom with posters, stickers, magnets, and memes I’ve printed from the internet.

be a weed

By the time we left this evening, I felt really good about the way the room looks. Bean has promised to come back with me next week to help me sort all the books. Some of them are in logical places, but the ones I put away today were just thrown on shelves with no discernible order, and I can’t have that; I need to have at least a general idea of where to look for a title. There’s still a bit of work to be done – the tables need to be rearranged, I need to decide which chairs I’m going to use (I’m hoping to switch out the chairs that are in the room for rolling chairs from a room down the hall) and I NEED some plants – but I’m confident that I can make this space a really great and welcoming place for students to learn.


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Back At It

I’ve been very remiss in my writing practice over the last year or so.  Part of that was a sort of cold-turkey response to my blog-post-a-day habit; for a number of years, I posted literally every day (I think I missed a St. Patrick’s day one year), but I came to the realization a while ago that the habit was stressing me out.  I didn’t want for writing to be a source of tension, so I dropped the writing (and replaced it with a facebook habit, but that’s another story).

My proverbial pendulum has swung back to center, though, and I’m realizing that my life is made better and richer when I’m writing; I take the time to observe and reflect when I’m writing, and I feel much more present in and connected to my life.  To that end, I’m going to wade back in to my writing practice, though I don’t think I’m going to jump into the deep end that I was inhabiting when I was posting something every day.

Another motivation for my writing again is that I like having a record of my thoughts and experiences, and over the last few years, my professional life hasn’t really been something that I’ve been eager to recount.  Since I left my job at the charter school under profoundly difficult conditions in the summer of 2012, I’ve worked a series of adjunct gigs at Local University and a few area community colleges, and while the jobs helped pay the bills (and helped keep me from going too deeply down the proverbial rabbit hole of professional ennui and despair), none of the experiences was especially noteworthy or exciting.

I’m hopeful that that’s about to change.

Last fall, my adopted daughter (here referred to as Sweet Pea) introduced me to a co-director of the charter school from which she graduated (after leaving the train wreck that was high school where I worked).  She felt that this woman – let’s call her Elizabeth – would resonate with me and I with her; we had, Sweet Pea assured me, a similar energy and we valued the same things.  She arranged for us to all meet over pizza, and before our drinks were even brought to the table, both of us knew that Sweet Pea was right.

We had an energetic (and energizing) conversation about education, about what we think is important in school (and what a lot of schools are missing) and, perhaps most importantly, WHY we’re in this business.  By the time our lunch was over, I almost wanted to weep with relief; Elizabeth gets it, and I felt like I could be enthusiastically myself without having to worry that I was “too much” for her because she, herself, is also too much.

A few days later, I got an email from Elizabeth asking me if I thought I could be “free in January.”  She was pretty cagey about the request, telling me that she couldn’t really tell me any details, but that she really wanted me and was “working on something that might interest” me.

Those were a couple of LONG months, I’m here to tell you.

Round about the middle of January, Elizabeth sends me a text message asking if I can meet to discuss what she’s been “working on” since we met in the fall.  It turns out that she couldn’t put me in a classroom, but she could get me a gig working as a one-on-one aide with a kid with mild Asperger’s.  She explained to me that she understood that this job wasn’t in my field of expertise, but that it was well within my ability (the kid was a joy; truly) and that it would position me to be ready to slip into a classroom job that she was sure was going to open up for the 15-16 school year.

Even though I was a little insecure about the one-on-one job – I don’t have any SPED training beyond a couple of classes I took as a graduate student – I trusted Elizabeth when she said it was a stepping stone, and I jumped at the offer.  The student I was working with was a senior who really just needed someone to help keep him on track (which was a good thing; all his classes were math and science based, and I was essentially useless as a content tutor, but I could help him with the executive functioning).  He was sweet and happy, and I started looking forward to going to work every day.

A few weeks ago, the other co-director of the school, a gentle giant I’ll call Pete, caught me in the cafeteria after lunch and asked me if I could stop by his office before I left for the day.

I’m going to let you in on a secret; no matter how old you are, no matter what position you hold, and no matter that you’ve never done anything wrong, when you get called to the principal’s office, you get nervous.  I KNEW that he was asking to see me so that he could talk to me about the possibility of my coming to work in a different capacity next year, but I spent the rest of the afternoon fretting that I’d done or said something I shouldn’t have, even though I knew I hadn’t.

In any event, he’d called me to ask me if I would be interested in coming on board as a faculty member next year (and got a chuckle out of my confession that a call to the principal’s office still makes me edgy).  He was very vague on the details – they hadn’t worked out yet what position I might fill or what classes or grade levels I might teach or whether the position would be a full or part-time – but he wanted to know if I wanted the job.

It was seriously all I could do not to squeal.

I’m still in a bit of limbo.  My senior has graduated, so I’m filling in as a floating aide around the school (a situation which I really, really don’t like, but it keeps me present in the community).  I had a meeting a week or so ago with both Pete and Elizabeth and was formally offered a classroom position for next year; though they’re still not sure exactly what classes I’ll be teaching and I’ve not been presented with an actual contract yet, the deal is essentially done.

I cannot express in words how excited I am to be back in a high school classroom again.  I haven’t been right since leaving my job at the charter high school (even though leaving was absolutely the right thing – the only thing – to do), and I’m very much looking forward to feeling right again.


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If You Don’t Want to Hear What I Really Think….

…. don’t ask me the question.

A former community college student of mine is doing some work for an Ed. class and sent out a call for answers to some of his questions about standardized tests.  Here’s what he got back from me:

Are standardized tests accurate examinations of a student’s (STUDENTS’) knowledge? (I can’t help it, N; I’m going to correct the grammar in your questions.  Deal with it.)

No, standardized tests are not accurate examinations of students’ knowledge.  Standardized tests, by their very nature, target narrow and specific slices of student capacity.  Standardized tests may be able to measure how well a student can retrieve information from a given text, for example, or how well they can answer a math question, but they cannot take into account a student’s creativity, problem-solving, or cooperative skills.  Because standardized tests are narrow in their scope, they can’t measure the ability of a student to make meaningful connections between, say, an historical event and a novel, or to apply a formula from math class to solve a physics problem, or to appreciate beauty in a poem or a work of art.  In short, the things standardized tests measure are not the things that we claim to value in our students, and they are certainly not an indication of how competent the students’ teachers are.

1. Do you feel standardized tests are important to schools (QUESTION MARK)  why (CAPITAL W) or why not?

I do not feel that standardized tests are important to schools; or, rather, I feel they SHOULDN’T be.  The facts on the ground say that standardized tests ARE important to schools; the results of standardized tests are being used to determine things like school performance (and, by extension, funding) and are now starting to be used to determine teacher quality (and whether or not teachers get to keep their jobs).  Schools have been shut down – or taken over – because of poor student performance on standardized tests, and these tests have historically been used to rate schools and determine the kinds of federal funding they’d receive (which makes exactly ZERO sense to me; the schools that do well are rewarded and the schools that do poorly are punished.  The reverse should be the case; schools with lower test scores should be receiving more support, not less).  So, perhaps you should reword your question.  ARE standardized tests important to schools?  In the current scheme of things, yes; they are vitally important – sometimes to the very existence of the school.  SHOULD they be important?  Absolutely not.

2. Do you feel that students try on the standardized tests (QUESTION MARK)  why (CAPITAL W) or why not?

The students who care about such things will try their best on standardized tests, as they try their best for the rest of the work they’re asked to do.  The students who do not care about such things won’t.  The really smart students – the ones who really care about their work but who recognize that the standardized tests don’t affect their GPA, or who pick up on their teachers’ or parents’ disdain for the uselessness of the tests – may or may not bother.

When I was teaching high school, I was honest with my students.  They had to take the NECAP – we had no say in that matter – and I made sure they understood how I felt about the tests.  I also told them, however, that the results of the tests were going to go a long way to determining the kind of rating that their school received and that the rating would determine whether a) the school received funding or b) the school would be put on a “watch list” for not making “ADP” or “adequate yearly progress.”  They understood that the stakes were high for their school, though not necessarily for them as individual students.  In the three years I taught at the school, the reading and writing portion of the NECAPs went up steadily, so I know that a) I prepared my students well for the tests (we had test-specific classes in the two weeks leading up to the test date) and b) the students took them seriously enough to do well.  Let’s not kid ourselves, though; we know for sure that there are some students who fill in bubbles to make a pattern and really don’t care about the results of the tests (and, really, why SHOULD they?).

3. Do you think there should be another method to test the knowledge of the student (QUESTION MARK)  why (CAPITAL W) or why not?

There ARE other methods to test students’ knowledge.  Teachers implement these assessments literally every day.  Essays and projects and portfolios and reflections and presentations and speeches and experiments and, and, and….  The question I think you’re asking is perhaps better posed as “should there be another way of proving to politicians that all students know the same thing?”

Look, the problem that we’re running into here is twofold.  The first, of course, is the intrusion of politics into education.  This is a complex and difficult thing to unravel because it deals with things like grandstanding (politicians claiming loudly that our schools are a shambles and “SOMETHING MUST BE DONE!” but having no idea whether what they’re saying is true nor how to address whatever problems may actually exist), the vilification of teachers (“our kids are coming out of school without basic knowledge of important things, therefore the teachers must be at fault!”), and a complete hypocrisy on the part of a society that SAYS it values education and then guts funding, attacks curriculum (google “Texas textbooks” to see just a sample of what I mean here), trashes teachers, and refuses to do anything to address the despicable conditions of our schools (we’re MORE than happy to build new prisons, but bonds to build new schools are almost universally defeated).  Add to that the incursion of interests that want to privatize schools (look into the motivations behind the GOP to push school vouchers, charter schools, and homeschooling movements to see what I mean here) and you’ve got a system under attack.

Our kids are NOT stupid.  They are NOT failing school because they can’t learn or because their teachers are bad.  They’re doing poorly because many of them come from poverty (a hungry kid can’t learn – see Maslow’s hierarchy).  Their home lives are unstable; their parents can’t find work (or work two or more jobs, or THEY work after school because they have to).  They’re doing poorly because they’re stuffed into overcrowded classroom with overworked (and under-paid) teachers who are expected to meet the needs of these diverse kids with little or no support and few if any materials.  They’re doing poorly because they’re expected to learn the SAME thing at the SAME time to the SAME degree and demonstrate that knowledge using the SAME assessments, and they recognize that that’s bullshit dehumanization and they don’t want to play along.  They’re doing poorly because, in our zeal to “achieve” to the test (and our desperate need to balance our ever-diminishing budgets), we’ve done away with art classes and music classes and gym classes and home economics classes and shop classes and have completely abandoned EVERYTHING we know about child and adolescent development in a desperate attempt to do the best we can under the conditions in which we’ve been forced.

I have a LOT more to say about this, but I suspect this may already be more than you need.  Feel free to hit me up with questions or points of clarification.


Mrs. Chili

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