Playing Poker in Lima

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

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.

Race to the Top (I'm sending this to the Lima News)

Faust. Robert Johnson. Paganini. There’s a common theme linking those characters: they all made deals with the devil. They all wanted something so badly that they signed on the dotted line without worrying about the ramifications of their commitment. They believed their needs would be met if they just did one little thing, confident that they would find a loophole or work out something later.

Should the Lima City teachers have added their name to the list of characters that would sell all without regards to the details?

The Lima Education Association did refuse to sign a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) that would have allowed the city school district to apply for a grant called “Race to the Top.” Potentially, the grant could have brought a million dollars to the district. If that is the headline, the teachers’ refusal to sign is inexplicable. In a financially-strapped school system, turning down significant grants seems unforgivable. However, the Devil is in the details. Past the headline, there is a lot of fine print.

The L.E.A leadership read reams of government explanation about the requirements for receiving the money. The L.E.A sent the information to its members, soliciting advice and engaging in discussion about the “Race to the Top.” This decision was not made quickly or lightly. The information is available online, but it is dense with educational jargon and slippery qualifications, especially the further you read.

Simply, the people who are part of “Race to the Top” agree to do whatever the Department of Education requires to get the money. At this point, there are very few specific requirements; the main one is that no state laws or union contracts get in the way of whatever the Department of Education says they should do. There are many “potential” and “possible” guidelines, with the assurance that it is an evolving process and will be more clearly explained after they have firm commitments, but at that point, the teachers and the district have signed that they will do whatever it takes. Although publicly it says schools may pull out, the teleconference the district had with the Ohio Department of Education specified that consultants would be sent here to help us comply—it would not be a simple “thanks but no thanks” break up.

In the last few years, the Lima City Schools has seen tremendous improvement in their state report cards. We are on the right path, and we have been involved in many state-sponsored grants and programs to help us get there. Without exception, a large part of that improvement has involved teacher-leadership, site-based management and letting everyone involved in the process have a voice—not just a voice to moan and complain, but to impact positive change.

“Race to the Top” completely demolishes that. It is set up as old-style top-down management, and treats the teachers—the bottom of the educational food chain—as the cause of all the system’s ills. We have made significant improvement by having teachers partner with the district and the state in fundamental ways. Signing away our progress for whatever is behind the closed door goes counter to everything we have learned and experienced the last six years.

And these objections exist without even raising the point that the money we would get is severely limited in what it can do. We would have more consultants and nebulously-defined positions. Many people still question what building coaches and literacy coaches do; imagine a whole new layer of positions like that, which is assured under “Race to the Top.” Teachers would have more trainings and meetings, which means more substitute teachers covering while teachers are fulfilling “Race to the Top” requirements. Based on comments from the public, the parents, and the teachers, the union believed that our district will be able to make more progress by continuing and perfecting the path we are currently on, not by signing the pact that would lead to total redefining of how we go about educating children.

The Lima City Schools is not perfect. There are teachers who need to improve, and there are situations that must change. That’s clear—and that’s true in any district. Even without “Race to the Top,” the administration has the ability to make substantive changes, and the union has a history of supporting initiatives that do radically challenge us to improve. But if the L.E.A had signed the MOU, they would have gotten money with strings attached. Big strings, that are unnamed and unknown right now—and they would have signed way their voice in the process, agreeing to do whatever was needed to meet the terms. Until the details are in writing, with clear expectations and guidelines, the L.E.A would have been right there with Faust, Robert Johnson, and Paganini in learning the hard way the devil is in the details.

Everyday Rites

When I was young--even through college, but starting from late elementary--the rhythm of my life was set in large part by the ritual of concert and performance schedules. I miss that, the daily practice and rehearse, the pressure as the deadline loomed, the night of the concert--supper on the go, dressing up (argghgh--the white flowing dresses the orchestra girls wore my jr and sr year! I just remembered! Arghghgh.). Milling around backstage, tuning--then performing. If everything went right, the band, orchestra or choir was at their peak that night.

Being in plays is a similar dynamic, but not quite the same. And I miss that, too--but as I sat at Beth's concert tonight I realized that performances shaped the ebb and flow of my life far more than quarters or semesters or any other kind of season.

And I will happily argue that in concret, real terms, committing to excel in a musical group is akin to joining a highly disciplined, competitive sports team--and possibly with longer lasting effects. But I'm tired and need to chase Beth to bed, so that will wait for another night. Tootles!

Hop in the DeLorean

Years ago, in a galaxy far, far away, an innocent, enthusiastic girl was offered the choice of 3 different futures. One, at Grosse Pointe, teaching bored young rich kids--a John Hughes-vision of "real life." Two, at Shawnee, teaching faux-rich kids; Third, reincarnating Dorothy Day and bringing culture home to her alma mater.

If Doc Brown dangled the keys of the DeLorean and whispered, "floor it to 88 mph," I think I'd rev the engine. I KNOW that's what I should tell my younger colleagues.

I've sat in too many buzz-word laden meetings, listened to too many sincere people look at data for subgroups and discuss how we could support disabled students to raise test scores, or reconfigure middle schools to increase delivery and retention of information. I've had too many discussions about what it would take to motivate students who don't care. And I'm very sure that at Shawnee and Grosse Point, I wouldn't overhear discussions about whether someone's socks or belt violate dress code.

And, when the president starts planning merit pay for successful teachers, I bet I'd have more confidence that my colleagues and I wouldn't get financially screwed--again--just because we were willing enough, or shortsighted enough, or desperate enough, to take a job with in a school system that's a petrie dish for just about every social ill the Great Society was supposed to cure.

Uniform Update

Tuesday, the entire campus will begin following a zero tolerance policy regarding dress code. Anyone not in total compliance gets sent home for the rest of the day. That means sagging pants, wrong color t-shirt underneath, untucked shirt--that's what I was told Friday. They called all the kids into the auditorium by grade level, and read a statement telling them that beginning Tuesday, strict compliance was being enforced.

I'm debating between spending the day hiding in my office, or standing in the hall as a citizen journalist. I spent Friday--when they told the teachers and kids the plan--alternately mad, disgusted, or on the verge of tears.

We used to believe in relationships. We used to try to work with the kids to overcome all the obstacles that keep them in failing neighborhoods, menial and service sector jobs--I spent 17 years of my career being the representative of the system that was holding the students down, mired in the teachers vs. students mentality. A few years of Camelot, then....I see where this heads.

So far this year, we've been forced to watch video of Columbine, including the suicides, and been indoctrinated into fearing the kids, now we get to be the Maxwell's Silver Hammer of Fashion. The concept that relationships matter is gone, despite all the happy talk. Actions speak louder--and the kids believe actions a whole lot faster than they believe words.

And words--yea, like the teachers are using as they "discuss" the new policy in the workroom. My new diet plan is to sit in the workroom and try to eat as teachers talk about the "campus wear" policy.

The only real question is this: do I send the protest email to the superintendent before seeing how things go Tuesday, or do I wait until the debacle unfolds? The clock is ticking, and I'm not staying silent this time.

No, I haven't been posting as often I as intended. Mea culpa

Maybe I'll get back on track with this post. My topic is simple: school uniforms--or campus wear, for the politically precise in my audience. As they are currently defined and implemented in my district, I don't believe in them. This year, because my position changed, I can conveniently not deal with the massive percentage of non-complying students. And is that the coward's way out? Maybe. But I am going on record as saying that uniforms are the worst thing to have happened to my school since it started. No contest, in fact.

There are two major areas that I see as the basis of the problem. First, the policy is flawed from inception to implementation. Secondly, the enforcement issues are divisive and disruptive to school culture--which we claim is a priority to us.

How is the policy flawed? The issues are long and byzantine. Here's the short list, in no particular order:

• The process for deciding to go have a uniform policy had a long list of problems. The meetings were supposedly open to the public, but hand-picked people were the nucleus of the committee. The "open" meetings were held at odd times, and after the first couple, the times and places of the meetings were not communicated very well--for instance, MI's teachers were not aware that anything more than an exploratory survey was being done, then suddenly, the proposal for the policy was presented to the public and the board.
• The aforementioned surveys were completely disregarded. High school students, parents and teachers were massively opposed; middle school opposed, but not as strongly; elementary about even, but more against than for uniforms. However, discussion ended and the policy was devised. The surveys were non-binding, of course--a school is not a democracy. But why survey as if input is wanted when the results were completely disregarded with no discussion?
  
• We can teach our students that sometimes, you have to follow the rules just because they are the rules. I understand that. Other times, we have to teach our students to ask questions, to consider paradigms and situations. If we can't defend the rule against their questions and concerns, is it a good rule? Can we explain what the purpose of uniforms is and why we believe they are a good and necessary part of our plan to improve student's education?
• The point of uniforms has not been clearly explained to the students. Many students believe that the uniforms are punishment for not being a "good" school. They point out that the suburban schools never even discuss uniforms; they don't need to punish their students for not being smart or for behavior issues. When students went to the committee last year and asked that question, it was not answered. The committee couldn't believe the students were questioning why the policy existed, according to the students who were there and an adult in attendance. IF the students understood the purpose and were convinced it was valid, there would be a lot less non-compliance.
• Go to local stores and try to buy plus size pants, sweaters and shirts that fit the criteria. Even the official place--Andersons--is very limited sizewise, and it only takes a moment to realize how many plus size students we have. I know students who have a very difficult time getting uniform pieces that comfortably fit.
• Students must learn to dress appropriately for school and work. Of course. Does the uniform teach them that? When I consider the types of jobs that define "uniform" so specifically, the jobs are pretty low on the totem pole. The kind of jobs we say we want to prepare our students for--the types requiring college--have a different standard for "appropriate" dress. Does fussing about the correct shade of blue or what sweater is according to code really help students develop a style sense for appropriate clothes? I don't think so. I'm afraid that it prepares them to accept rules without question; to be worker bees instead of policy-makers.
• Last, their parents are worker bees, not policy-makers. Could this have happened in a suburban school? Possibly. But many of the issues we're dealing with would have disappeared when the first parent said, "I called my lawyer and..." Our parents do not expect to have a voice in decision-making, either; the upside of that is simply that we don't have to concern ourselves with organized squeaky wheels--just with the occasional shouting, angry parent who is an anomaly.
  

There are probably more reasons for this category. If I need to, I'll revise later. For now, that's enough. The part that concerns me almost more is simpler to explain: The uniform policy is divisive and destructive to my school.

My school worked hard to create relationships within the teaching staff and with the students. That's been a priority. We've taken 30 some different people, different histories and experiences, and formed a damn good staff--a group I'm proud to be associated with. Through all the forming and storming and norming, we learned to work together. That meant learning what each other's strengths were, what their challenges were, and how together we could forge bonds to make us all stronger. Sometimes that meant compromise; sometimes that meant agreeing to disagree, trusting that whatever was done was done with the good of the school in mind--assume positive intent was the mantra.

That's not possible with the uniform policy. There's no way to compromise on enforcement. If it's enforced strictly in some rooms, loosely in others, then some people are always the "bad guy" for not dealing with obvious infractions. And the point has been made that we are in charge of enforcing the rules. If the rules need changed, work within the system to change them--but enforce them in the meantime.

I understand that I have colleagues who sincerely believe that. I believe equally as strongly that the system is flawed for the reasons listed above, and I have a responsibility to the students to teach them what really matters--and that's not how to remember to tuck in a 3 button polo shirt.

See the problem? There's not an easy middle ground, especially when there are genuine issues with enforcement and definition (for instance, describe a polo shirt in detail. Now, is that the ONLY allowable style? Trickier than you may think....). So, after several years of team building, we now have a clear but currently silent divide between three philosophies: the rule followers (who correctly point out that they are just doing their job), the semi-compliers (they don't want to get in trouble for not doing their job, so they at least make a token attempt whether they believe in the policy or not) and the refuse-niks (who seem to view their room as sanctuary--political prisoners can seek asylum there!). In fairness, I know refuse-niks who remind kids to tuck in, etc, as they leave the room, so they are not inciting rioting in the hallways. But in practice, I understand that it's still giving the kids mixed messages about the policy, thus undermining it.

Furthermore, we'd worked hard to be the masters of our own fate, the ones with our hand on the helm. Of course the district has the power to make a policy like this, but the constant chipping away of our automony is a perpetual concern. IF we could have helped make the policy, IF students could wear shirts with our logo, IF the school could adopt jeans day policy, we could have been part owners of the process. Isn't that what small schools was about? This policy has weakened us. How can I roll over and accept that which harms us? Hyperbole, maybe--but with an underlying Truth.

So why did I write this? Anyone who knows me probably knows my position on this. But I haven't laid out my argument point by point, and I do feel the need to do that--and since I'm in my office, easily ignoring the myriad infractions, I had to make sure no one took that for caving in, I guess. "Do not go gentle into that good night, but rage, rage against the dying light"--of course!

Speech I Gave at MI Honors Banquet, April 2008

I feel honored to be chosen as the representative from the MI staff to get the privilege of addressing the students, parents, and guests here tonight. I’ve written about five totally different speeches for this, mainly because as I’d begin writing, I’d realize that there was something even more important I wanted to share. It would be appropriate to pat the students on the back, say some congratulatory things, then sit down. And all the MI teachers do want everyone to know how proud we are of the students sitting here tonight. Their hard work and dedication is evident, and it’s wonderful to celebrate that.

While I was mentally meandering, though, I found myself in a couple of different conversations that all tied together in a weird synchronicity, and I realized what I wanted to say. It's simple, and obvious: we must believe the things we teach our children. That’s how Woodrow Wilson said it, and I couldn't think of any better wording. We must believe the things we teach our children. Of course. Furthermore, if we’ve done our jobs well, you’ll know what we believe about education, why we value it, and—hopefully—you will have considered how those beliefs apply to you.

So what do believe—and what does MI believe? Since this is the school of multiple intelligences, I could take the easy way out (insert first line of Whitney Houston I believe that children are out future). I could do that—but I’m not going to. That's not really what I think needs said, so instead I want tell you what I hope these students are really learning from my colleagues and myself.

Here’s the a priori, the baseline, belief: The world you will live most of your life in is not here yet, and it will be different than the world now. We need to teach you how to think and how to learn so you’re ready for the world we can’t imagine at this point. The changes in my lifetime have been amazing; we can’t begin to guess what skills and information you’re going to need to thrive in the world 40 years from now. But we believe that people who can read and write, who can think critically and continually learn will succeed in that brave new world; that’s why MI is committed to focusing on literacy and critical thinking skills.

A related belief is this: curiosity is crucial. The ability to ask questions, to look at the world in wonder and awe---you need that. Little kids are curious about everything, asking a question a minute. Somehow, school kills curiosity. We get so busy meeting objectives and testing standards that students don’t learn to ask the questions they need to ask; they are too busy answering questions we choose for them. The reading and thinking skills we are working to teach you are meaningless if you don’t have curiosity to motivate you and direct you to use those skills.

Another quote I like encapsulates my third essential belief about learning: “You must do the thing you think you cannot do." That’s from Eleanor Roosevelt, who knew a few things about taking risks. If you always play it safe, if you always do the things you know you can do, there’s no learning curve. You’re in a rut, floundering in the doldrums. Trying something different may be scary, you may fail—but at least once in a while, you have to try. Consider the accomplishments you’re most proud of—did they come easily? Or did you struggle, out of your comfort zone, standing on the edge? I know that my most proud moments have also been my most nerve-wracking. It’s not a challenge if you know you can do it easily.

The last belief is possibly the most fundamental one of all: the most important lessons you need to learn and tasks you need to accomplish don’t include tests or grades. In real life, life after you finish your formal education, grades aren’t given. There is no honor roll for being a good parent, or for doing the laundry on time. Mr. McClellan won’t show up at your door with a trophy for getting up at 2 a.m. to feed a baby. Grades are a convenient yardstick for teachers and students to measure knowledge—but after you finish your schooling, there won’t be honors banquets and yearly applause for doing what you should do. Kids love to tell me they are grown—some of you in this room have insisted that, in fact—but until you can do what needs done without any fuss or fanfare, without the fear of a failing grade motivating you, you’re not an adult.

Grades are a by-product of learning, not a goal. Hopefully, you are here tonight because you’ve read interesting things, taken on challenging problems, asked hard questions and didn’t let go till you had some answers. Hopefully, we’ve taught you to value the process of learning, not the by-product of it—the grade. We’re proud of your accomplishments, and happy to celebrate your success. We want you to continue earning good grades—but we cross our fingers and wish on stars that once you’ve left our hallowed halls, the lessons you’ve learned from all your teachers here will transcend mere facts and figures. So congratulations—but you’ve only just begun.