Today seemed to be another day of the haves versus the have-nots, only this time the have-nots were the students (again). It baffles me that those in the upper ranks of the bureaucracy we call “education” never seem to put the students first. I don’t understand why people who do not care about children enter education. This offensive fact never seems to escape my curiosity. Why would someone enter the field of education if they do not care about the students?
As I watch my fellow faculty members, I feel that most of them (at least those I choose to associate with) do what they feel is best for their students. They adjust their lesson plans. They try new strategies and rework them so that it will serve their students best. They toil over the frustrations of the day and then work it out as a plan for success for the following day. They honestly reflect and look at themselves through the lens of their students and ask, “What will I do better tomorrow?” But those that are in the upper echelons of the bureaucratic monster ask, “What can I do to make my life easier, even if this action is at the expense of many students?” This is what happened today.
Students were displaced today at the expense of their education. A quarter of the way into our first semester, that’s almost two months into the school year, a problem that has existed since day one (a problem that people were well aware of) was dealt with. Students were removed from their tenth grade English class and scattered throughout the school so that a group of students enrolled in an elective class would have a permanent teacher. And why? Because the school needed to close an English department line. A line that should never have remained open after the ridiculous amounts of lay-offs this past year and the lack of funding.
And now, there are special education students whose needs are not being met, and whose entire schedules have changed. These students will, most likely, not be appropriately serviced. These students, who most need a stable environment, will need to adapt once again to a new classroom. These students who carry a legal burden on their backs will be walking time bombs. How long before someone “up there” will realize that they are not just dealing with numbers, but with students? With people? With someone’s son or daughter? I know that these people who make these decisions have children, and I know that they would not allow their own children to be treated this way. So why treat other people’s children with such disregard?
I have to keep questioning when we are going to prioritize the education of our students. LAUSD currently has us working in a system where the average high school class has over 35, and teachers are expected to help these students achieve levels of proficiency on high-stakes exams and see students through to graduation. I challenge the district to come up with a plan where this is possible in a room that does not allow the teacher to give each student the level of support, attention and feedback that they need for success. And I challenge those consumed by the bureaucratic monster to imagine that every student is their child. Perhaps, if we all did this, public education would be something that all Americans were proud of.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Haves and Have-nots
Why would the girl from the well-to-do family from the more than well-to-do neighborhood teach in a less than well-to-do neighborhood when she’s all grown up?
Why does a quality, free public education for all Americans matter to ALL Americans? Why should the private school parent care about the local public school child? Why should the honor roll parent care about the delinquent, apathetic child?
If you are scared of socialism, the rest of this blog entry may rattle your bones slightly. But why shouldn’t Americans care about the welfare of other Americans? What happens to the whole of our society when large portions of the population are living in poverty? What happens to the whole of our nation when large portions of the population are living in areas that look as though they belong in the third world?
In the extreme, people die. Children understand the world that they are exposed to, that they come into contact with every day. When they see what others have and they don’t, they understand the injustice. What they don’t often understand is why they have grown up in that world. They don’t understand the history that has shaped that world. They don’t know of the institutionalized racism, sexism and classism that found its way into our nation since its birth. Students die when they cannot handle this injustice. Students blame each other and those around them when they cannot understand this injustice. A student died in Chicago.
That death was not the fault of Arnie Duncan (who is in himself another topic for another blog entry). The death was not the fault of the Chicago Unified School system. The death was the fault of THE SYSTEM. The system of oppression. The system which creates extremes in the haves and have-nots. The system in which those have-nots grow up with few to no positive role models. The system in which those would-be role models do not want to return to their home town once getting a taste of the rest of the world. This is the world in which the students who are the have-nots grow up in. And it is this world that does nothing positive for America. In the end, this world requests Medi-Cal, welfare, free and reduced school lunches. And for those that do not believe in or support more government, more bureaucracy, higher taxes, can’t stand socialist comments like the ones I may have just made, it is for you that taking an interest in the have-nots should be important. (I am clearly assuming that those who do not support more government oversight do not support Medi-Cal, welfare, etc.)
So why do I work at a have-not school? Because I believe in a better America. Yes that sounds corny, but it’s true. This country gave hope and life to my family, and I want that hope to carry on to my students. I want them to wake up without a cloud of despair over their heads; they did not request to be born into their have-not lives, who would? They deserve to have a fair shot at the American dream. And so I go to work every day with love and hope, and it is my goal to pass this along to my students so that one day, they too can return this love and hope to those that need it.
Why does a quality, free public education for all Americans matter to ALL Americans? Why should the private school parent care about the local public school child? Why should the honor roll parent care about the delinquent, apathetic child?
If you are scared of socialism, the rest of this blog entry may rattle your bones slightly. But why shouldn’t Americans care about the welfare of other Americans? What happens to the whole of our society when large portions of the population are living in poverty? What happens to the whole of our nation when large portions of the population are living in areas that look as though they belong in the third world?
In the extreme, people die. Children understand the world that they are exposed to, that they come into contact with every day. When they see what others have and they don’t, they understand the injustice. What they don’t often understand is why they have grown up in that world. They don’t understand the history that has shaped that world. They don’t know of the institutionalized racism, sexism and classism that found its way into our nation since its birth. Students die when they cannot handle this injustice. Students blame each other and those around them when they cannot understand this injustice. A student died in Chicago.
That death was not the fault of Arnie Duncan (who is in himself another topic for another blog entry). The death was not the fault of the Chicago Unified School system. The death was the fault of THE SYSTEM. The system of oppression. The system which creates extremes in the haves and have-nots. The system in which those have-nots grow up with few to no positive role models. The system in which those would-be role models do not want to return to their home town once getting a taste of the rest of the world. This is the world in which the students who are the have-nots grow up in. And it is this world that does nothing positive for America. In the end, this world requests Medi-Cal, welfare, free and reduced school lunches. And for those that do not believe in or support more government, more bureaucracy, higher taxes, can’t stand socialist comments like the ones I may have just made, it is for you that taking an interest in the have-nots should be important. (I am clearly assuming that those who do not support more government oversight do not support Medi-Cal, welfare, etc.)
So why do I work at a have-not school? Because I believe in a better America. Yes that sounds corny, but it’s true. This country gave hope and life to my family, and I want that hope to carry on to my students. I want them to wake up without a cloud of despair over their heads; they did not request to be born into their have-not lives, who would? They deserve to have a fair shot at the American dream. And so I go to work every day with love and hope, and it is my goal to pass this along to my students so that one day, they too can return this love and hope to those that need it.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Knowing I Don't Understand
I was chatting with a friend today that while I may know things, they still remain hard to understand. This got me thinking about work. Today we discussed what the academic intervention plan would be for the students in our Academy (small learning community). I was shocked, yes SHOCKED, when one of my colleagues said she would not tutor this year if she was not properly paid for it. How naïve am I? That I expect a colleague to tutor without compensation! If I recall, my teachers were willing to tutor after school and they received no compensation. Again, perhaps this is just something I know exists but still fail to understand.
When further discussing our plan, one colleague mentioned that if 60% of the students in our class received a D or F on a unit test we should definitely reteach and retest. Again, I felt that this was a give-in. Of course we would reteach and retest! A 60% no pass rate clearly means our students did not learn, right? Not according to one colleague. He stated that he MUST move on, that there is simply not enough time to reteach, and that he would not be following the pacing plan set by his department and professional learning community members if he took the time to reteach his students to make sure they understood the unit. His reasoning? Clearly his students did not study if SIXTY PERCENT receive D’s and F’s.
Now, I am no saint. I know that I need to assess my students more so I can see where they need me to reteach them. I know that I often do not reteach enough, and feel that if I cover the same concept later they will surely learn it then. Or, as some of my colleagues joke, “You mean talking louder and slower is not reteaching?” But I really was simply shocked that my colleagues even thought these things. No tutoring if you are not going to be paid for it? No reteaching if the majority of your class clearly did not learn what was supposedly taught to them? It crushed me to know that I work among these people. I do not understand why someone who does not believe in the value of learning would become a teacher.
This is exactly why the public schools in America are behind those in the rest of the world, industrialized, developing or unindustrialized. What happened to the idea that education is a means of learning? What purpose has it served if my students clearly have not learned? Again, I am not perfect and I know I am far from becoming the ultimate teacher that I know lies within me, but if my students have shown that they clearly have not learned what I thought I taught, it does not matter if I am keeping up with the department pacing plan or if I am being reimbursed for the time I spent tutoring. All that matters is that I failed at my job.
I may know that teachers want to be paid for their hard work. I may know that there is stress to stay on the timelines presented to and designed by and for us. But what I don’t understand is the teacher who does not see the value in successful learning.
When further discussing our plan, one colleague mentioned that if 60% of the students in our class received a D or F on a unit test we should definitely reteach and retest. Again, I felt that this was a give-in. Of course we would reteach and retest! A 60% no pass rate clearly means our students did not learn, right? Not according to one colleague. He stated that he MUST move on, that there is simply not enough time to reteach, and that he would not be following the pacing plan set by his department and professional learning community members if he took the time to reteach his students to make sure they understood the unit. His reasoning? Clearly his students did not study if SIXTY PERCENT receive D’s and F’s.
Now, I am no saint. I know that I need to assess my students more so I can see where they need me to reteach them. I know that I often do not reteach enough, and feel that if I cover the same concept later they will surely learn it then. Or, as some of my colleagues joke, “You mean talking louder and slower is not reteaching?” But I really was simply shocked that my colleagues even thought these things. No tutoring if you are not going to be paid for it? No reteaching if the majority of your class clearly did not learn what was supposedly taught to them? It crushed me to know that I work among these people. I do not understand why someone who does not believe in the value of learning would become a teacher.
This is exactly why the public schools in America are behind those in the rest of the world, industrialized, developing or unindustrialized. What happened to the idea that education is a means of learning? What purpose has it served if my students clearly have not learned? Again, I am not perfect and I know I am far from becoming the ultimate teacher that I know lies within me, but if my students have shown that they clearly have not learned what I thought I taught, it does not matter if I am keeping up with the department pacing plan or if I am being reimbursed for the time I spent tutoring. All that matters is that I failed at my job.
I may know that teachers want to be paid for their hard work. I may know that there is stress to stay on the timelines presented to and designed by and for us. But what I don’t understand is the teacher who does not see the value in successful learning.
Friday, October 2, 2009
An Ode to my English Teachers
I always knew that my friends enjoyed high school, and I always knew that I never understood why. I couldn’t stand that place. All those apathetic kids just doing things because “it looks good on my college application.” Although I wasn’t in the top of my class, or maybe the brightest student, no one could say I wasn’t hard working. I went to school to learn.
I loved going to class, even the boring (what I may now look at as challenging) ones. I remember straining through geometry, chemistry and physics, and working extra hard in our Algebra II class so I didn’t disappoint our hard working teacher who got the short end of the stick from his students. (Saying someone’s wife is a mail-order bride simply because he is an awkward, bald man is cruel.) And even though I might have gone to some of these classes for the pure entertainment I received from our wacky teachers (why must chemistry teachers always personify atom particles?), I looked forward to my English and yearbook classes every day.
I remember on that first day freshman year. Walking into that English class and seeing our wiry, immaculately kept teacher, her long hair pulled into a knot and her bony fingers manicured to perfection. “Fantastic,” I sarcastically thought to myself. I grew to love her so much that I purposely made my schedule sophomore year to include both her and my yearbook class. Nothing else mattered (except a somewhat decent math teacher so I could pass the class and learn something. What’s with math teachers anyway? I should save this for another blog). That woman taught me how to write. She forced us to see that the details of writing were the finer points of writing; once I had my thoughts and sentences down I had to make sure each period, comma, colon and apostrophe was in its proper place. And for this I admired her. In fact, I hated high school so much and couldn’t wait to get out of there that I was the only one who didn’t cry at senior events or graduation. But when she caught me in the hall the second to last day of school her comment made me cry. “So soon to go?” was all she said.
While the passion for writing (and Shakespeare) came my freshman and sophomore years, my passion for reading came next. Junior year was filled with what still remains as some of my most favorite literature. Street Car Named Desire has to be one of the best dramas I ever read in high school (other than Mr. Shakespeare, of course. Even after teaching it four times, I still love Romeo and Juliet), and I know that my love for that play grew from the guidance of my teacher. I love that play so much that I often fight with my colleagues about teaching Miller over Williams. And each day we entered that classroom, there was a provocative quote or tidbit on the board just for us to share a piece of our minds. No one had ever asked me, a teenager, what I had thought about such things. Having a place to organize my opinions was a novel idea for me, and an experience that I have often brought to my students who have a very hard time thinking outside the box.
Senior year was when I told my mother that I wanted to teach senior English some day. Now I’m not as interested in those seniors, but what drew me to that year in particular was the literature. “Metamorphosis” and The Stranger truly drew me in. The philosophies that lay behind those books just boggled my mind. What I loved most about my English teacher was her passion for what she taught; she was not ashamed of loving literature and appreciating good writing, and she allowed a space in the classroom for creativity, something that I find we now have very little space for.
But most of all there was yearbook. Mr. C was by far my favorite teacher, and at the end of the day, yearbook was why I was absent maybe twice in my entire high school career. That class just kept me coming back for more. It was a space to showcase my writing and creativity all bundled into one. I began to develop an eye for photography, was able to sharpen my design skills, and learned how to be a more positive, effective leader. I could take the rigor and joy of writing and combine them into one in that class. And our style guide still sticks with me today; it is not just the rules of journalistic writing, it has become a way of thinking. That class pushed my writing not just to be specific and creative, but to be professional. And it is to Mr. C that I feel forever indebted as I have been able to follow in his footsteps, along with my other English teachers, to pass along the joy of both reading and writing.
I loved going to class, even the boring (what I may now look at as challenging) ones. I remember straining through geometry, chemistry and physics, and working extra hard in our Algebra II class so I didn’t disappoint our hard working teacher who got the short end of the stick from his students. (Saying someone’s wife is a mail-order bride simply because he is an awkward, bald man is cruel.) And even though I might have gone to some of these classes for the pure entertainment I received from our wacky teachers (why must chemistry teachers always personify atom particles?), I looked forward to my English and yearbook classes every day.
I remember on that first day freshman year. Walking into that English class and seeing our wiry, immaculately kept teacher, her long hair pulled into a knot and her bony fingers manicured to perfection. “Fantastic,” I sarcastically thought to myself. I grew to love her so much that I purposely made my schedule sophomore year to include both her and my yearbook class. Nothing else mattered (except a somewhat decent math teacher so I could pass the class and learn something. What’s with math teachers anyway? I should save this for another blog). That woman taught me how to write. She forced us to see that the details of writing were the finer points of writing; once I had my thoughts and sentences down I had to make sure each period, comma, colon and apostrophe was in its proper place. And for this I admired her. In fact, I hated high school so much and couldn’t wait to get out of there that I was the only one who didn’t cry at senior events or graduation. But when she caught me in the hall the second to last day of school her comment made me cry. “So soon to go?” was all she said.
While the passion for writing (and Shakespeare) came my freshman and sophomore years, my passion for reading came next. Junior year was filled with what still remains as some of my most favorite literature. Street Car Named Desire has to be one of the best dramas I ever read in high school (other than Mr. Shakespeare, of course. Even after teaching it four times, I still love Romeo and Juliet), and I know that my love for that play grew from the guidance of my teacher. I love that play so much that I often fight with my colleagues about teaching Miller over Williams. And each day we entered that classroom, there was a provocative quote or tidbit on the board just for us to share a piece of our minds. No one had ever asked me, a teenager, what I had thought about such things. Having a place to organize my opinions was a novel idea for me, and an experience that I have often brought to my students who have a very hard time thinking outside the box.
Senior year was when I told my mother that I wanted to teach senior English some day. Now I’m not as interested in those seniors, but what drew me to that year in particular was the literature. “Metamorphosis” and The Stranger truly drew me in. The philosophies that lay behind those books just boggled my mind. What I loved most about my English teacher was her passion for what she taught; she was not ashamed of loving literature and appreciating good writing, and she allowed a space in the classroom for creativity, something that I find we now have very little space for.
But most of all there was yearbook. Mr. C was by far my favorite teacher, and at the end of the day, yearbook was why I was absent maybe twice in my entire high school career. That class just kept me coming back for more. It was a space to showcase my writing and creativity all bundled into one. I began to develop an eye for photography, was able to sharpen my design skills, and learned how to be a more positive, effective leader. I could take the rigor and joy of writing and combine them into one in that class. And our style guide still sticks with me today; it is not just the rules of journalistic writing, it has become a way of thinking. That class pushed my writing not just to be specific and creative, but to be professional. And it is to Mr. C that I feel forever indebted as I have been able to follow in his footsteps, along with my other English teachers, to pass along the joy of both reading and writing.
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