On my first day at my new job (I was laid off, had to find a new school or sit around twiddling my thumbs waiting to get my job back, found one that a lot of teachers might covet--not this one!) my students received a short writing assignment that was in conjunction with a small class project. I've done this assignment many times before with my previous students--from the "ghetto."
This particular activity involves making connections between vocabulary words (sounds easy, but making connections is a somewhat advanced cognitive activity). What did I find my from my new students? Sub-par responses. Lack of connections. Now, my previous students may not have had the most grammatically correct sentences. They may have invented their own sentence structures, but their ideas! Their ideas were great. They made well thought out connections; some connections even extended beyond the simple vocabulary and pulled in examples from the real world. A teacher couldn't ask for more. But at my new school...
At my new school where I've been told that students are "better" and "smarter" and "achieve more" the response were dull and thoughtless. I wasn't shocked, but I was in shock. I knew that my previous bunch were no less intelligent than these kids, but here it was plain as day. My new students may test well on the CST and CAHSEE, but when asked to work on more advanced levels, wow. No different. Maybe weaker. So what did I do? The majority of my students received Ds on their assignment (blasphemy!), and were asked to rewrite them.
The rewrites were better, and they've since avoided slacking off in the thought department. They are really starting to grow. But the real lesson here lies in the true data gathered: these kids are no smarter nor high achieving than my previous students. No matter what those standardized test scores say.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Free pass
The public school I now work at is overwhelmingly Jewish. Due to both the student and faculty population, when there are very important Jewish holidays, the school calendar states, "Local Holiday." Lucky me. I get a four day weekend.
So today, before our four day weekend, I assigned a small packet of homework to my journalism students. They need to learn how to count and write headlines. And who raises his hand to protest? The child with the perfectly kept Afro (and I'm not talking Jew-fro, here. I mean genuine, gorgeous Afro). "Excuse me? Homework? Don't you know there is an important weekend of Jewish observance?"
Thanks, Einstein.
"I'm Jewish. Thanks for the update. Do your homework; it's due Monday."
Were any of my fellow tribe members complaining about homework? No. They were not trying to get a free pass. And to them I say, l'shana tova. Now where's my apples and honey?!
So today, before our four day weekend, I assigned a small packet of homework to my journalism students. They need to learn how to count and write headlines. And who raises his hand to protest? The child with the perfectly kept Afro (and I'm not talking Jew-fro, here. I mean genuine, gorgeous Afro). "Excuse me? Homework? Don't you know there is an important weekend of Jewish observance?"
Thanks, Einstein.
"I'm Jewish. Thanks for the update. Do your homework; it's due Monday."
Were any of my fellow tribe members complaining about homework? No. They were not trying to get a free pass. And to them I say, l'shana tova. Now where's my apples and honey?!
Friday, July 15, 2011
Outdated Pedagogy and 21st Century Skills
I stumbled upon this article from Talk of the Nation on NPR. Very interesting way to look at education, and our approach to 21st Century skills. I would have to agree that our pedagogy is definitely outdated.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Kids say the darndest things...
My tenth graders are continually trying to make me laugh—I try my best to stay very stern and serious—and they are also inappropriate teenagers, which generally coincides with making me laugh.
We were working on some grammar, you know, combining two sentences into one with the help of our good friend: the conjunction. Well, if the conjunction starts the sentence, the period that separated the sentences needs to be changed into a comma (for example, changing “I followed the recipe. I burnt my cake” to “Before I followed the recipe, I burnt my cake”). We are making these corrections together, as a class, and I ask aloud, “And what do we do with the period?” To which one of my oh-so-witty students responds “Give it a tampon!”
Inside I was laughing, hard. Outside I was disappointed, seriously. It took all of my will not to laugh!
We were working on some grammar, you know, combining two sentences into one with the help of our good friend: the conjunction. Well, if the conjunction starts the sentence, the period that separated the sentences needs to be changed into a comma (for example, changing “I followed the recipe. I burnt my cake” to “Before I followed the recipe, I burnt my cake”). We are making these corrections together, as a class, and I ask aloud, “And what do we do with the period?” To which one of my oh-so-witty students responds “Give it a tampon!”
Inside I was laughing, hard. Outside I was disappointed, seriously. It took all of my will not to laugh!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Martyr Syndrome
Movies always seem to portray teachers are martyrs. We come. We conquer. We leave. Take Erin Gruwell of Freedom Writers fame, for example. She worked incredibly hard, even at the expense of her marriage, for four years with the same group of students. She was able to move them “from apathy to action” (www.freedomwritersfoundation.org). And then, when her one group of students that she worked with for four years graduated, she left, too. She never worked in a public high school with another group of students. She never tested her curriculum to see if it could transcend the amazingly strong bond she had with that group of students. She went. She conquered. She left. And now, she’s famous and has a movie all about how amazing she is (ahem, was).
Then we have Michelle Pfeiffer’s character, Louanne Johnson, from Dangerous Minds (1995). Fictitious yes, but still following the teacher-as-martyr formula. Fresh out of the Marine Corps, Ms. Johnson has to conquer America’s battleground: the inner-city classroom. Gangbanger, parolees, teenage parents, galore! Johnson’s classroom is a walking stereotype of the inner-city classroom, but have no fear! She arrives. The kids could care less! But have no fear, Johnson reads every single book on teaching and classroom management ever written. But, alas! It still does not work. Until, she connects to her students through music, of course. And then, at the end of the year after many ups and downs, she leaves. What is the moral of the story? Can we only be great teachers for one year and then we need to leave?
What good are teachers who leave the profession after only a few years? Are we meant only to serve as martyrs? Now that my first class is graduating, I suppose it is time for me to leave the teaching profession, too. Time to make room for a new martyr.
This perception of teaching is absolutely ridiculous, and the mentality can be seen in the many charter schools that work their teachers to the bone and have incredibly high turn-over rates. They are not working to mold wonderful teachers for the future of tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow. They are just working to create martyrs. They wring every last drop of energy from these people, and then they leave the teaching profession forever. The same can be seen with Teach for America. The majority of their Corps members leave the profession after their contracted two years.
The teacher is not a martyr. That is not our job, and it never should be. If the teacher is meant to be a martyr, we will fall into the same trap as the movie-teacher recipe: we will leave. Teachers who leave the profession due to burn out are of no use to their students, and continue to reinforce unreachable expectations placed on the profession.
Then we have Michelle Pfeiffer’s character, Louanne Johnson, from Dangerous Minds (1995). Fictitious yes, but still following the teacher-as-martyr formula. Fresh out of the Marine Corps, Ms. Johnson has to conquer America’s battleground: the inner-city classroom. Gangbanger, parolees, teenage parents, galore! Johnson’s classroom is a walking stereotype of the inner-city classroom, but have no fear! She arrives. The kids could care less! But have no fear, Johnson reads every single book on teaching and classroom management ever written. But, alas! It still does not work. Until, she connects to her students through music, of course. And then, at the end of the year after many ups and downs, she leaves. What is the moral of the story? Can we only be great teachers for one year and then we need to leave?
What good are teachers who leave the profession after only a few years? Are we meant only to serve as martyrs? Now that my first class is graduating, I suppose it is time for me to leave the teaching profession, too. Time to make room for a new martyr.
This perception of teaching is absolutely ridiculous, and the mentality can be seen in the many charter schools that work their teachers to the bone and have incredibly high turn-over rates. They are not working to mold wonderful teachers for the future of tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow. They are just working to create martyrs. They wring every last drop of energy from these people, and then they leave the teaching profession forever. The same can be seen with Teach for America. The majority of their Corps members leave the profession after their contracted two years.
The teacher is not a martyr. That is not our job, and it never should be. If the teacher is meant to be a martyr, we will fall into the same trap as the movie-teacher recipe: we will leave. Teachers who leave the profession due to burn out are of no use to their students, and continue to reinforce unreachable expectations placed on the profession.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Oye vey
I was teaching Elie Wiesel’s autobiography, Night, to my students. We were discussing the idea of being dehumanized, as the Nazis had done to their prisoners. My students were coming up with the most fabulous examples of dehumanization: slavery, forced labor, starvation, loss of name. And then: plastic surgery. Wha?
In the back of my mind I thought maybe I knew where he was coming from, but I was also scared that I knew where he was coming from. So, I wanted to know if he knew where he was coming from. I asked him to elaborate.
“You know, when people get plastic surgery and they don’t look like a person anymore. They’re dehumanized.”
Mmmm. No. “Not quite.”
We moved on. My students kept coming up with the most amazing examples. They were making me so proud (mind you, this is the poopy class, so the fact that they were coming up with these examples was making me SO PROUD!).
We seemed to be winding down with ideas. I asked if anyone had anything else. And he raises his hand. “Yes?”
“I just want to go back to plastic surgery…”
And then, my class came to the rescue. “No!”
Deep breath. Thank you, kids, thank you.
In the back of my mind I thought maybe I knew where he was coming from, but I was also scared that I knew where he was coming from. So, I wanted to know if he knew where he was coming from. I asked him to elaborate.
“You know, when people get plastic surgery and they don’t look like a person anymore. They’re dehumanized.”
Mmmm. No. “Not quite.”
We moved on. My students kept coming up with the most amazing examples. They were making me so proud (mind you, this is the poopy class, so the fact that they were coming up with these examples was making me SO PROUD!).
We seemed to be winding down with ideas. I asked if anyone had anything else. And he raises his hand. “Yes?”
“I just want to go back to plastic surgery…”
And then, my class came to the rescue. “No!”
Deep breath. Thank you, kids, thank you.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Toto...
I knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore when a student approached me to make small talk. He was grabbing a tissue from his teacher’s desk, where I happened to be sitting.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
“I’m Joe.” (I honestly can’t remember his name, so he can have the standard Joe) “Are you a teacher?”
“Yes.”
“Here?”
“No, at another high school.”
“Oh. Niiiiice necklace! Is it Vera Wang? It looks like it’s from her latest collection. So nice.”
My first thought, “Vera Wang?! Child, I’m a teacher! I can’t afford Vera F’ing WANG!”
I don’t know if my students even know who Vera Wang is, let alone what her latest collection looks like. I relayed this story to a coworker, and she said when she’s asked where she got her clothes stores like JCPenny and Forever 21 pop up.
But I smiled, recognizing his attempt to connect with me through a comment, and said no. And then I said to myself, Toto, we definitely ain’t in Kansas anymore.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
“I’m Joe.” (I honestly can’t remember his name, so he can have the standard Joe) “Are you a teacher?”
“Yes.”
“Here?”
“No, at another high school.”
“Oh. Niiiiice necklace! Is it Vera Wang? It looks like it’s from her latest collection. So nice.”
My first thought, “Vera Wang?! Child, I’m a teacher! I can’t afford Vera F’ing WANG!”
I don’t know if my students even know who Vera Wang is, let alone what her latest collection looks like. I relayed this story to a coworker, and she said when she’s asked where she got her clothes stores like JCPenny and Forever 21 pop up.
But I smiled, recognizing his attempt to connect with me through a comment, and said no. And then I said to myself, Toto, we definitely ain’t in Kansas anymore.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Apples to oranges
Since I started working in education there has been a general tone in the media and the government that the “problems” with public education are due to teachers who do not do their job well. Well today, America, I prove you wrong.
I’m going to give you a quick breakdown of both the school I work at, and the high school I attended. Just so that we really understand what we are comparing (apples to oranges, if you ask me), the API score for California schools in 2010 was 767.
I work at a school that has an Academic Performance Index (API) score of 649. Our school is 99%* Hispanic/Latino, and is Title I which means that we receive extra funding due to our large number of free and price-reduced lunches (72% of students). Twenty-six percent of our students our English-language learners, and the graduation rate was 82.9% (for the year of 2007-08). In 2010, 66% of students shared their most educated parent’s educational level with the state of California. Of this 66%, 40% of our students’ parents did not graduate from high school, and 34% graduated from high school. As for the California High School Exit Exam (CAHSEE), 59.6% of our tenth graders pass CAHSEE.
Today, I went to observe at my alma mater which has an API of 838. It is a much more diverse school than where I work, although 66% of students are white. Fourteen percent of students are Asian, 4% Black, 5% Hispanic/Latino, and the remainder claim more than one race. Only 4% of their student body receives free or price-reduced lunches, 6% of the students are English language learners, and the graduation rate was 96.8% (for the year off 2007-08). In 2010, 95% of students shared their most educated parent’s educational level with the state of California. Of this 95%, 44% of students’ parents graduated from college, and 32% attended graduate school. I could not locate the CAHSEE pass rate; however, I was informed by a teacher that it was over 90% for tenth graders.
So, I visited a former teacher today. What did I see? I saw very standard, good teaching. I saw the exact same type of teaching I see from my colleagues (who I have gone to observe as well). No difference in pedagogy there. I did see a huge difference, however, everywhere else!
First of all, we have had major cutbacks. I now take out the garbage in my room (I just toss it in the giant garbage cans outside), and I try to sweep my classroom floor at least once a week (and I know it needs to be more than swept—it needs to be cleaned). The classrooms at my alma mater, however, were spotless. Gorgeous. There is not one student who seemed hesitant to put their backpack on the floor (I’m lucky if I get five). I have forty students enrolled in my core English classes. I counted the students I observed today, and there were 30 or fewer who were present in each class. It felt so intimate compared to my classroom!
And I know what life is like at my alma mater. When I was not successful in my physics class, my parents hired a tutor. When it was time to prepare for the SATs (tests were my downfall), my parents hired a tutor. When my students are not successful in their physics class, well, figure it out. When it comes time to prepare for the SAT, a handful of students check a prep book from the library, or borrow one from a teacher, or, maybe, they purchase one.
And so, media and government, get it together! You cannot compare apples to oranges. They are not the same color, texture, flavor. They are completely different! To standardize a test and assume that apples are being compared to apples is absolutely ridiculous. Can my students achieve at higher levels? Yes. Do they deserve it? Definitely. Is it a level playing field simply because they take the same test as kids at another school? Definitely not.
As I’ve said before, back off, people! Calm down with your tests and measurements. Calm down with your mandated curriculum and ridiculous standards. Let me get in there to do the job that my students deserve.
*Data is from 2009-10 school year unless otherwise noted; almost all of the data was gathered from the California Department of Education (graduation and CAHSEE pass rates excluded).
I’m going to give you a quick breakdown of both the school I work at, and the high school I attended. Just so that we really understand what we are comparing (apples to oranges, if you ask me), the API score for California schools in 2010 was 767.
I work at a school that has an Academic Performance Index (API) score of 649. Our school is 99%* Hispanic/Latino, and is Title I which means that we receive extra funding due to our large number of free and price-reduced lunches (72% of students). Twenty-six percent of our students our English-language learners, and the graduation rate was 82.9% (for the year of 2007-08). In 2010, 66% of students shared their most educated parent’s educational level with the state of California. Of this 66%, 40% of our students’ parents did not graduate from high school, and 34% graduated from high school. As for the California High School Exit Exam (CAHSEE), 59.6% of our tenth graders pass CAHSEE.
Today, I went to observe at my alma mater which has an API of 838. It is a much more diverse school than where I work, although 66% of students are white. Fourteen percent of students are Asian, 4% Black, 5% Hispanic/Latino, and the remainder claim more than one race. Only 4% of their student body receives free or price-reduced lunches, 6% of the students are English language learners, and the graduation rate was 96.8% (for the year off 2007-08). In 2010, 95% of students shared their most educated parent’s educational level with the state of California. Of this 95%, 44% of students’ parents graduated from college, and 32% attended graduate school. I could not locate the CAHSEE pass rate; however, I was informed by a teacher that it was over 90% for tenth graders.
So, I visited a former teacher today. What did I see? I saw very standard, good teaching. I saw the exact same type of teaching I see from my colleagues (who I have gone to observe as well). No difference in pedagogy there. I did see a huge difference, however, everywhere else!
First of all, we have had major cutbacks. I now take out the garbage in my room (I just toss it in the giant garbage cans outside), and I try to sweep my classroom floor at least once a week (and I know it needs to be more than swept—it needs to be cleaned). The classrooms at my alma mater, however, were spotless. Gorgeous. There is not one student who seemed hesitant to put their backpack on the floor (I’m lucky if I get five). I have forty students enrolled in my core English classes. I counted the students I observed today, and there were 30 or fewer who were present in each class. It felt so intimate compared to my classroom!
And I know what life is like at my alma mater. When I was not successful in my physics class, my parents hired a tutor. When it was time to prepare for the SATs (tests were my downfall), my parents hired a tutor. When my students are not successful in their physics class, well, figure it out. When it comes time to prepare for the SAT, a handful of students check a prep book from the library, or borrow one from a teacher, or, maybe, they purchase one.
And so, media and government, get it together! You cannot compare apples to oranges. They are not the same color, texture, flavor. They are completely different! To standardize a test and assume that apples are being compared to apples is absolutely ridiculous. Can my students achieve at higher levels? Yes. Do they deserve it? Definitely. Is it a level playing field simply because they take the same test as kids at another school? Definitely not.
As I’ve said before, back off, people! Calm down with your tests and measurements. Calm down with your mandated curriculum and ridiculous standards. Let me get in there to do the job that my students deserve.
*Data is from 2009-10 school year unless otherwise noted; almost all of the data was gathered from the California Department of Education (graduation and CAHSEE pass rates excluded).
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Classroom visitations
I am so excited! In two days I will be visiting my alma mater to observe English classes.
My motivation is twofold. First of all, I believe it’s incredibly important to keep developing as a professional, and I believe that part of that is observing other teachers, no matter what grade level or subject matter. I’ve observed teachers in my department at the school that I work at, and now I’m going to observe teachers at a school that is almost the complete opposite of where I work. Secondly, I want to see what a “non failing” school looks like. I have the sneaking suspicion that I’m not going to see anything “amazing” happening. Not to say that I will not see great teaching, I’m sure I will, just that I will not see as big a difference in the teachers or the teaching styles as I will see in the students sitting and learning.
I think the disparities in public education in this country stem from the socioeconomic status of our students, in addition to the bureaucracy that keeps butting their noses in. There are few other occupations where the government feels the need not only to tell you what you should be doing in your job, but exactly how you should be doing it. People who have not set foot in the classroom for years, and people who have not set foot in a classroom since they were a student are continually telling us how we should run our curriculum.
So, my hypothesis: the teaching will look like what we all know good teaching to look like, and the students will be an entirely different group from what I’m used to.
My motivation is twofold. First of all, I believe it’s incredibly important to keep developing as a professional, and I believe that part of that is observing other teachers, no matter what grade level or subject matter. I’ve observed teachers in my department at the school that I work at, and now I’m going to observe teachers at a school that is almost the complete opposite of where I work. Secondly, I want to see what a “non failing” school looks like. I have the sneaking suspicion that I’m not going to see anything “amazing” happening. Not to say that I will not see great teaching, I’m sure I will, just that I will not see as big a difference in the teachers or the teaching styles as I will see in the students sitting and learning.
I think the disparities in public education in this country stem from the socioeconomic status of our students, in addition to the bureaucracy that keeps butting their noses in. There are few other occupations where the government feels the need not only to tell you what you should be doing in your job, but exactly how you should be doing it. People who have not set foot in the classroom for years, and people who have not set foot in a classroom since they were a student are continually telling us how we should run our curriculum.
So, my hypothesis: the teaching will look like what we all know good teaching to look like, and the students will be an entirely different group from what I’m used to.
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