Embrace The Job You're Given

Hey there, welcome back to the BlazeBlog.

I would've written something sooner, but I've been hard at work. Tonight, however,  it's Friday night, and we don't have a home game, birthday, bar mitzvah, or Ice-Capades show to go to, so I could knock this out for your reading pleasure. Or for you to used as an "enhanced interrogation technique". Whichever you want.

Recently, I've been struck with massive mood swings. Some days, I'm happy, content, and loving my life. Other days start well, but by the time I get home I'm in full on "I hate teaching" mode. Some Most days I don't want to get out of bed (I would note that this has nothing to do with my mood, and everything to do with the obscenity of the hour, and the effectiveness of my wife as a bed-warmer.)

My wonderful wife has taken the brunt of my anger and frustration, which is unfair to her. Wednesday night, after I had something which approached a melt-down about state testing (another post for another day, but lets just say educational experts are falling all over each other about the recent SAT scores to once again decry the culture of testing), she basically told me to embrace the things that I was worried about and to just teach. 

When you think about it, that's the best advice I think any teacher could get. Sure, we live in a high-stakes testing world. Sure, classes are getting bigger every day, and the money is getting smaller for school. Sure, there is an expectation that every single kid will be engaged and learning at every moment of every day. Sure is easy to look at all of that and think that teaching has lost it's luster, that it just isn't worth it. 

Sure, I have 4 sections of 38 freshmen each. Sure, I don't have a single class that is special, like an AP or elective course. Sure, I don't have a room, or a desk that I don't share with a dorm fridge, or a staff ID. Sure, I still don't know where everything is. Sure would be easy to just stop going in, to throw in the towel, to decry the work as too hard.

Sure, you have the world's worst schedule. Sure, you have a principal (or Decider) who is a bombastic fool. Sure your district is headed to hell, and sold the handbasket. Sure is easy to see all that negative and forget all the positive. 

The solution isn't to give in to the negative, it isn't to quit. The solution is to go back to work. 

I don't mean stroll in and do what you've done before. I don't mean break out last year's lesson plans and do the same things that you did on this day last year. I mean work like it's your first year again. And yes, young grasshopper, I know that I'm asking you to do something hard (which is the same thing Mrs. BlazeBlog asked me to do).

I think you'll do it, if you're not already. You'll do it because you never believed that this would be easy when you signed on the dotted line. You knew what you were in for. I know that it's harder than it's been in a long time, and getting harder, and the reward seems like even less than it was yesterday. 

But the wife knows what she's talking about. You just need to look at the challenge, find a way to solve your problem (I have some great stories about her solving other people's problems), and get to work. You won't think it's fun (I know I didn't), but by facing the problem head on, you will make your teaching better, and that's fun. 

Sure, I don't have fun in the ways I used to (and you don't either). I'm working harder than I have in a long time. But the flip side is that I see kids starting to think, which is something the testing has drummed out of them. And if you've forgotten, seeing a kid actually think is pretty freaking awesome.

Yeah, you have to fight the exhaustion, fight the powers that be, fight the status quote. However,  you have to embrace the situation you're in, because until we reach a tipping point of ignorance, legislatures full of fools will continue to force us to comply with policies that do not help students learn. 

You, dear public school teacher, are the last line of defense. Sure, you could give up, you could drill-and-kill, you could embrace the vocab worksheet, you could go back to the old days of rote memorization. But you're not going to. You care too much. You might be jaded. You might be bitter, but you haven't bolted to sell insurance (or public relations services) yet, which means you want to make a difference (no matter how deeply you've hidden that fact away. 

Embrace the fight. Embrace the job you've been given.

Because a wise man from a famous center of learning, er, Bon Jovi says:  you live for the fight when it's all that you've got.

I'll let you make the jokes about printing tests on "the fight" since it's all that you've got....

Putting things back in perspective

Recently, I've been a big 'ol bag of complaining. (further proof here and here)(oh, and also, my facebook news feed. That's been pretty brutal recently). I haven't been happy to give up my department chairmanship, to learn a new curriculum, or to not have my own classroom. Though I've tried to see the positive, especially in a county where unemployment hovers near 16%, I have been struggling. 

In a situation like mine, it is too easy to fall into the pit of negativity. Those of you who know me know that I tend to be a *ahem* realist *ahem*. That said, my realism often drifts into negativity. 

So, as you've read, the negativity spirals and feeds itself. Though I tried to find the positive, and often did, my long hours, and nearly constant thought about school conspired to wear me down. I was in a rut, and wasn't enjoying teaching.

And then the unthinkable happened. It is something that happens everyday. It is something that schools are simultaneously prepared for, and utterly unprepared for. 

A student was killed in a car crash.

Suddenly my not having a classroom, the copy codes not working, having a bad were all trivial. A family was without a son and brother. A team was without a member. Classrooms would have an unexpectedly empty seat.  Suddenly there were, as I told my history classes, bigger things to deal with.

This is one of the hardest things any teacher ever has to deal with. How can we possibly be prepared to return to a school which is in grieving? How do we address this in class? Very few (if any) of us have formal training in counseling or grief management. Sure, the school brought in the crisis response team, and the counselors and chaplains did a great job, but this is a situation that can quickly overwhelm that crisis team. Even if it doesn't, young people are apt to struggle with the reality long after the professionals are called to another tragedy. 

In 10 years I've been in schools where this has happened twice. In both of those cases, I didn't know the student. This time it was worse than either of those cases, because the victim was in my 4th hour U.S. History class. No amount of classes can prepare you as a teacher to have a class 20 hours after one of it's members has been unexpectedly and tragically killed. The school psychologist was there for class, sitting in his seat. She let me open class, and then she led a brief discussion about the feelings we were experiencing. We talked. I talked. Tears flowed. No U.S. History was covered. Again, we had more important things to do. 

When I came home Wednesday night, after perhaps the longest teaching day of my career, I felt oddly relieved. This feeling should not have happened. I examined why I felt the way I felt ( a dangerous examination, to be sure) and decided that it was because I had been a teacher. I've been struggling with this. The new classes, the state testing, the discomfort; all of it has been keeping me from being comfortable as a teacher. 

This tragedy gave me an opportunity to not worry about any of that. It gave me an opportunity to teach. The teaching wasn't content, though, it was life. As I told the class towards the end of our discussion, we were learning something that a book couldn't teach. We were learning to mourn. 

And this is, yet again, something that the data/run-schools-like-businesses movement can't understand. What I did last week was far more important than anything in the state standards for U.S. History. Schools don't exist to just teach content. They are places where adults help young people learn how to function in society. Schools teach things that no standardized test can ever measure. That is why kids don't just come to school for rote memorization. That is why we have behavior modification plans. It is why we have tardy policies, and dress codes, and hundreds of other things that are largely not related to content. 

Those that would champion online, or home, or any other number of schools that focus largely on results almost always miss this. The argument should not be primarily about how well every single child learns every single specific fact that the state wants them to learn (although learning is of course an important factor in schools), but rather about how the whole person is made better by the schools. 

If we use that matrix to evaluate schools, classes would get smaller, students would memorize less and learn more, and (I think) American schools would turn out better citizens. They'd score worse on those international tests, but that would be ok, because scoring well on a test isn't an important part of being a successful human.

Learning how to deal with the loss of someone you knew and loved is. And that's what we've been working on this week.

I can't get no.....

As I settle into my new job, I'm struck with a realization I was also struck with when I moved to Colorado Springs lo those many years ago. That realization is that most teachers, no matter where they are, are a lot like Mick Jagger. Before you spazz out, I'm not saying that we're all rock stars, or coked out of our brains, or sleeping with supermodels.

My reason for comparing myself and my coworkers to rock royalty is that we have the same problem: crowds of screaming women follow us everywhere we can't get no satisfaction.

I know what you're thinking. You're about to click away to another blog because you think this is going to be a rant about pay. It isn't. Ok, it'll be about the satisfaction that would come from beating a student. Nope. Adequate facilities? Not this time. Administrators who care about the same things we care about? Some other time.

Nope. We're never satisfied with our students. We always want them to do better. Hell, it's why we teach. We're never happy with the work they do. We always want more from them. I've never been in a meeting yet where teachers think that kids come to them prepared. The place I work now, every single freshman can and does take good Cornell-style notes. At my previous two schools this would have been a miracle. Here? Teachers are worried that the students don't know how to use those notes.

I'm thrilled by this revelation. It proves to me what I've been saying all along. Good teachers teach not for money, or prestige, or higher test scores. They teach to push kids. They teach to expand minds. They teach so that those kids can make a positive impact on the world.

However, there is a dark side to this lack of satisfaction. The more subjects are standardized tested, and the more weight is put on those scores, the more the lack of satisfaction is about reaching higher scores. This would be great if the tests measured learning, but too often they do not. Too often they measure how effective the teacher has been at test prep. Or, in reformer Michelle Rhee's case, how effective they are at cheating. 

That's sad. But until the testing goes away, or the tests get better, I fear it's the direction we're headed. 

And I, for one, am not satisfied with that.

On the value of work

I've been thinking a lot about work recently. I think there are several reasons for this. Firstly, I'm looking for work in my field, education. Secondly, a former colleague and current friend started blogging, and the second thing he wrote was about the value of physical labor, at least in part. Thirdly, I work a summer job which is totally different from my chosen profession.

When you put these three things together, you get a guy with a college degree and nine years of teaching experience thinking about work. Most of what I'm thinking isn't world shaking or soul shattering, but one of the points of this blog, I said way back at the beginning, was catharsis, and this is going to be a cathartic experience for me.

You see, I think we as a culture have made a grave error in our devaluation of labor within society. We value the person who makes more money, and in general we do so at a loss to our overall well being. We have lifted up the idea that Greed is Good . I understand why this has happened, as I'm sure most of you do. This happens because we live in a society built on self-interest. It seems to be in our self interest to obtain more things, more money, more status. And so, in our quest for more, we look to those with more, and those tend to be people who make lots of money in clever ways.

But Those People very rarely do anything good for society. Sure, there are exceptions to this claim. They aren't hard to find. Bill Gates is rich, and his cheap, easy to use, and innovative PC operating system changed the world. However, if you look at the others in the Top Ten richest Americans, there's only one other person on the list who makes things, and that person only made so much money making things because of Gates. The other 8 made their money through being born lucky to a hard-working five and dime owner or in investing and banking. What does an investor or banker make? Money? While there is value in money (econ pun there, for those of you paying attention), money's value to society in being made by manipulating markets is, I think, pretty scant.

Sure, Warren Buffet is going to give lots of his money away, but that doesn't mean there is value in the way he made most of it. It means that he's a good person who wants to better other people's lives. What I'm trying to get at here is the question of what value there is in his life's work.

You see, he didn't really contribute to society, and yet we will venerate him because he is wealthy. More and more I am coming to believe that we should also venerate the men and women who actually make things in this country. As my former colleague and current friend pointed out, if everybody got a college degree, what would all of those college graduates drive around in and on? Who would make the cars and the roads to drive them on? 

This nation needs a laboring class, and that class needs to be the middle class. People like Michael Moore would be quick to point out that a laboring class protected by strong unions became the middle class between 1930 and 1970. They would also point out that union busting largely destroyed that middle class. They would, of course, gloss over the extravagance and largess of the unions. However, that's a post for a different day. Let's get back to the topic at hand, shall we?

I think what I'm trying to get at is the idea that society must learn not to look down on the doers of things. We must recognize that the guy who builds a bridge, grows corn or hogs, lays Internet cable, or roofs our homes and businesses is just as important to society as the stock broker, insurance seller, or sales manager (if not more important). We must stop believing that to have value in this nation you must have a college degree. Mike Rowe tries to highlight these people on Dirty Jobs. Tom Hanks has a movie coming out about the struggles of a man going back to college after he was fired for not being a college graduate. Sure, the world needs college graduates, but we also need laborers, and I'm not sure that the laborer should make less money just because he works with his hands more than his mind (in many cases)

(Since I know former students read this blog, let me talk directly to you for a minute, if I could. I think we've done you a disservice by making college seem like the best option so much of the time. Listen, there's no shame in roofing, building, paving, or service. Our society needs people in those jobs. Find a passion and follow it. Don't think that your teachers will be ashamed. One of the brightest students I ever had enlisted in the Army and became a medic. I admire his willingness to serve his nation in that way. Don't go to college because you think you should, or because your parents want you to. Go to college to learn about something that you love.)

But there is more to labor than the material reward. (although I'm sure those of you that work in labor would argue that you could use a little more material reward). Ask anyone who works for a living (and I mean that they do work, not that they go to a place of employment and move money from one account to another), and they will tell you that there is an mental reward to doing physical labor. When the job is done, you can see that you have accomplished something. Teaching isn't like that (see, this post will relate to teaching, if only tangentially). Teachers might not ever know the reward of their labor. Their best students will probably walk forward to success without ever looking back. 

When you work in labor (like I always have during the summer), you can see the fruit of your labor right away. When I mounted tires, there was a pile of tires, and some of them had my initials on them. Now, when I fix something, or chainsaw a trail open, or plunge a toilet, I can see that I have done something. That is immensely rewarding. You feel the effort you put in in your muscles, but your eyes will show you what you have accomplished.

Think about the hobbies taken up by men in the business world. Often they're into cars, or woodworking. Why? Because these are tasks which allow them to feel the satisfaction of creating something. I think that many people want to create things. Perhaps it's the way they were raised. Perhaps it's ingrained into their psyche. I don't know for sure why those are the things they take up, but I suspect it has something to do with the need to do things, not just crunch numbers.

Further, laborers rarely work alone. I know that in the manual jobs I have worked at, there was a camaraderie that is often missing in white collar work. Sure, that comradeship is often a little more vulgar, more sarcastic, meaner (on the surface); but it is also deeper than a professional relationship. (I should note here that I value professional relationships as well, but those tend not to be as deep and binding as my "shop" relationships.) The shared suffering of manual labor forms deep bonds. Also, I think the world of manual labor is one of the few remaining places where new guys are forced to become part of the team, and where that transition isn't made all that easy.

You see, in the professional world, people want the company to make money, and new employees generally are transitioned smoothly into the office. However, in a shop, that dynamic isn't always there. Members of a shop are generally territorial. They force new members to become part of the team. There are things you must do to gain acceptance. It is not always easy, and there is no mentoring program or checklist. However, once those tests are passed, and you become a part of that team, you are a genuine member.

One of the highest compliments I've ever received came when I was a part of one of these teams. As I mentioned, these groups of laborers tend to be a little more vulgar than your average lunch at the insurance agency, so please excuse the off-colorness of the language. We were sitting at lunch at the end of my second summer mounting tires for Goodyear Racing Tires. We were in an "office" on the shop floor. I was sitting on a steel stool, eating jelly beans while people whom I had worked with told stories about what they thought about me when I started. (I had the job because my father-in-law ran the company) They were talking about thinking I would spy on them, that I would "Casper" (shop-speak for disappearing when there was work to do), that I would never last a whole season. That was when a guy who was on his way to becoming a lifer paid me a significant back-handed compliment. He said, "This guy's alright. I mean, 9 months a year he's a pencil pushing, pencil-necked f*ggot. But then he comes out here and busts his hump. I can respect that." 

Coming from a co-teacher, this would have been, at best, laughable. However, coming from someone who works 10 hours a day, who does things, who respects hard-work above all else, it was a badge of honor, which is why I'm still talking about it 4 years later. 

That, I think, is probably a greater reward than being rich, but I wouldn't mind trying out being Bill Gates rich for a while. (just a little while).

note: if you'd like to read further on the idea that maybe labor is more rewarding than making money, I suggest you check out Shop Class as Soulcraft by Mathew Crawford. I've read chunks of it, and I think that he has even better insights than I do.

We don't eulogize the living

Outside of some really interesting speech classes, the title of this post is true. We don't eulogize the living. I understand why we don't, but I think it's a shame nonetheless. You see, this is my last week at my current job, and the week when my wife, who's been living in Central California (which is a nice way to say "Fresno"), comes home to help me pack up the recently sold house. 

You may be wondering what those two things have in common, or what they have in common with eulogizing the living. You're right to wonder; on the surface they have nothing in common (with each other or with eulogies). In order to make the connections, let me explain.

My wife spent 5 years as a teacher here in Colorado Springs. She worked at a smallish charter school. I don't think I'm overstating when I call her legendary or titanic there. Her impact was so large, her opinion so valued, that her former principal called her and asked for advice solving a schedule problem in the fall. I have friends at church whose older kids had her, and they're still more than a little bitter that she left the year before their youngest would have been in her class.

I bring this up because the missus went to visit her former school today. She won't say so directly, but the response was overwhelming. Parents stopping her in the hall, telling her they had just been talking about her. The aforementioned principal calling her into the office to sit in on another scheduling meeting. Kids who never had her calling her name. In short, the school poured out its love for her onto her. 

I, on the other hand, did not go back to my former school, because it's not my former school until Sunday. However, I did receive high praise from my co-workers and former students. They presented me with a signed photograph of me leading an assembly. The messages they've scrawled all around it are enough to move a rusty old cynic like me to the verge of tears. They presented the framed picture to me at graduation practice, and (for me at least) it got pretty dusty in our unfinished auditorium. 

So how do these two stories relate to eulogies? (I have now smashed the previous record for use of the word "eulogy" in a crappily written education blog) Because if I wasn't leaving, and if my wife hadn't left, then these laurels would not have been presented to us. Not to brag (which of course is what I'm going to do), but most people would have said really nice things about us, because we're good at our jobs. However, societal norms would have prevented most of them from saying those things to us. It takes a person leaving for them to hear that people appreciated them.

This is obviously the proof of the old truism that "you never know what you've got 'til it's gone". We, as a society, don't praise those who are good at what they do often enough. We spend our time and energy trying to improve, instead of taking a moment to appreciate the things and people that we have in our lives that are already working.

I would encourage you to say a heart-felt thank you to someone in your life who does a nice job at what they do. Let your child's teacher now that you appreciate the work they've put in this year. Tell the janitor that you appreciate the job they do. Tell your pastor/rabbi/priest that you appreciate the way they go about their business. Leave them a note. Send them a card in the mail. Organize a card shower. 

But don't buy them things.

I know this seems counter intuitive. I know that you think that getting them something will show your appreciation. I promise you that they'll appreciate the gift card. They won't throw it away. But I'll promise you this as well: they'll treasure something personal that you took the time to do for them. I know this is true. I see teachers that post thank you cards from my Student Council kids on their walls. No one is printing out a thank you email. I know how I feel today with a gift that was genuine and personal from my co-workers. 

Sure, they could have gotten together and purchased a nice gift card so that the wife and I could go to a fancy dinner. We would have enjoyed it. But it would not have had the same impact as their personal notes did. Here's why: the gift card is corporate. It feels like an easy thing to do. The gifts I got, and the words of praise and genuine smiles my wife received actually feel like individuals appreciating us individually. 

So take some time. Think about that person in your life who makes a difference for you through their actions, and then do something to make them feel appreciated. Show through more than a routine "thanks, here's coffee on me" gesture that they are special to you. Take a moment to impact them on a personal level by showing that you appreciate them.

You'll feel good about it, and so will they. Little by little, we can make the world better. This is a really easy way to start. 

I'll even provide you with an example:

I want to say thank you to Anne Driscoll, Audrey Monke, Alison Moeschberger, Carolyn Graham, and Steve Dimit for encouraging me to write. Without the BlazeBlog, I think I would have been a ship without a rudder this year, and you all helped me build the boat. Thanks.

A reminder that we get it right sometimes

Last night I received an enormous honor.

No, it wasn't an Oscar, or a Tony. No one nominated me for a Grammy or Emmy, either (Someday, I will EGOT, someday.....). I didn't get a pay raise, a crystal apple, or a "teacher of the year" plaque.

Nope, last night, I was invited to dinner. Well, not dinner so much as dessert.

You're probably thinking that getting invited to dessert isn't that big of an honor. I'll go ahead and say that what you're thinking is, in this case at least, wrong. Admittedly, dinner dessert probably isn't that big of a deal. However, in this case it was a special dinner.

You're thinking that this was a dinner for excellence in education blogging. Nope. Perhaps a city-wide night honoring contributions to online non-sense? Still wrong. In fact, it was an honor to get invited to dinner because the dinner wasn't designed to honor me at all.

The dinner in question is presented every year by our local "education foundation", which is a non-profit designed to support students and teachers. Every year for the last decade, they've sponsored a "3.75 dinner" for those seniors who have maintained a cumulative 3.75 GPA throughout high school (cleverly named, no?). These kids are academically the best and the brightest we have to offer to the world.

As part of the dinner, each student is asked to bring one special guest who has impacted their lives and educations. The student and their special guest both receive a nice embossed certificate. I was asked to be a special guest. That is the honor I received last night, and I count it among the most prestigious in my career. A student who I have had in class for four years stood in front of her parents and peers, and told them that I made her a better student and a better person.

I watched her peers do the same for their parents and my education colleagues. I've been to this dinner before, but never for kids who've I known as long as this bunch. This dinner was powerful stuff. Kids had wonderful things to say about their honored guests. One honored her younger brother and scores honored their parents. They spoke frankly about people who pushed and encouraged them to go beyond what they thought they could do.

This kind of event is rare for a teacher. We spend so much of our time dealing with the other end of the spectrum. Angry parents, paperwork, failing students; they fill our days (and depending on how vividly we dream, our nights as well). But on an evening like the 3.75 dinner, we get to see the fruit of our labors. These were bright, kind, amazing young people, and they were willing to say that we had a hand in making that.

They were a reminder that we're not so bad at this education thing after all. They were a reminder that teachers who care and work hard exist everywhere. They were a reminder that those hours and hours of grading and planning worked out, and produced wonderful young people. They were a reminder that for every Michelle Rhee screaming for reform, there is a room with 10% of a senior class somewhere, honoring their teachers. And that, my friends, is better that a trophy any day.

An ode to the snow day

Today I want to begin with a little poetry. In tribute to some summer camp fun, I present the Snow Day Poetry Corner. 


A Pair of  "Sno-Kus"


Snow Day, I love you
White, Cold, full of happiness
Please come more often


We don't work today
Some Big-wig says roads are bad
I stay home and nap


What could inspire such insipid "poetry"? The greatest of national holidays: The Snow Day

I have, for my entire life, lived in places where it snows. Sometimes, it snows there a lot. So, as both a student and a teacher, I have spent most of my life yearning for that special something that brings joy to boys and girls and only comes in the winter. No, not him. Not even Old St. Nick. 

No, I have waited, with baited breath, anticipating the Snow Day.

Everyone has their own routine. My wife, when she taught, spent her time poring over the internet, watching local and national weather, consulting radar maps. She made an educated decision, and then a prediction. Some children (and adults) do snow dances, or flush ice cubes down the toilet. I personally believe in the jinx. I won't talk about a Snow Day, and if snow is forecast, and we don't get a day, I blame those who did speak openly about it.

Why? Because the Snow Day is a mystical beast. And, oh yes, I will capitalize "Snow Day". Why? Because the Snow Day deserves to be recognized as a holiday. 

Now, I think we all understand why students love the Snow Day. It is a day free from responsibilities. A day to relax. That's actually also why teachers love it so much. 

You may wonder why a Snow Day is better than taking a day off. I'll try to explain the glory that is the Snow Day:

1. The Snow Day is unexpected. Surprise paid days off are always good.

2. You don't have to plan and grade on a Snow Day. Since you thought you were coming into work, you didn't bring home piles of grading! Win.

3. You get to act like a real adult. Last night, instead of a hobby, you were grading. Sunday, before the big game, you were planning the week. Yesterday, you got to pee during your 5 minute passing period. Today? Well you can watch morning TV, write on your blog, maybe even take a nap. Since you already had today prepped at school, you can even do it guilt free. If the roads are bad for 16 year old drivers and buses, but OK for you, you can even go out for lunch.

The Snow Day is also the chance for those of us who suffer through the cold and dark of winter, being taunted by our friends from warmer climes about their temperate lives, pictures of them in T-shirts and shorts in February, to have the last laugh. Suckers who live in warm places have to go to work every scheduled day. Not us. Sometimes, we just stay home.
 
So, as you sit in your office, reading the internet, know that somewhere people are wishing, and hoping, and praying for that 4 a.m. phone call.  

On the role of schools in modern America.

There is a classic truism among educators in America. It is said that teachers in elementary schools and middle schools get into teaching to teach kids, and that high school teachers get into teaching to teach information. 

I, being a high school teacher, tend to believe that this is true. I got into teaching because I love history. I wanted to get paid to talk all day, every day, about history. However, like most high school teachers, I soon discovered that the history got boring. The kids, on the other hand, were never boring. They always bring new insights, jokes, and great answers (see: boat, U). This revelation, that I actually liked being around high school kids, literally changed my life. 

It meant that going to work was fun. It meant that I could build relationships with kids. It meant that kids would ask me for advice, and not just about that Frederick Douglass paper. It meant, in short, that I could change kids' lives. It meant that I began to see that all students were individuals, and that many of them were facing hardships at 15 that I would struggle to overcome at 30. In the long run, it made me much more compassionate to my fellow human being.

And this dichotomy, between teaching information and teaching people, is at the center of the debate on school choice. Critics of public school, and there are many, often decry public schools as places where children don't learn; or don't learn enough. To make this claim, they rely on test data. Data is the holy grail of education today. Data can get you to the promised land of Annual Yearly Progress. But there is no data that can measure the impact a teacher has on their pupils, especially impact outside of the realm of tested information.

Critics don't like to address this, because they want to live in a world of black and white. They want schools to run like businesses, with a balance sheet, and an easily measured outcome. Schools don't, indeed can't, run like that. Schools shouldn't be about creating automatons who know all of the answers on the state or national test. Schools should create young, independent people, capable of making socially responsible decisions. They should create people who can think. 

If you want schools to create students who have all of the answers on the state and national tests, I think we can do this. Just fire the teachers. Hire a bunch of people to babysit, and show videos. Kids will learn if you repeat the information enough times. Sure, they'll be sociopaths, but they'll make AYP. 

BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT WE WANT

So, what is the solution?

I think several things are needed. Since this is a blog, I'm going to list those things, because it makes me feel like I'm important if you read these things.

1. There must be a clear mandate from the upper levels of state and national government as to the role of schools. No more of this "make AYP, have certain scores on certain tests, get graded "Excellent"". No; schools should be told what we already know; that our job is to train young people to reason, think, and interact in society as contributors, not just consumers of knowledge. I don't mind some accountability given to the level of knowledge our students have, but that should not be our mission. Our mission should be to teach them to use that knowledge.

2. Reformers, especially of the cost-cutting type, must recognize that students are taught by more than just classroom personnel. They must understand that students are shaped by their environment, and that means that a custodial staff which is a part of the building community is vital. When custodians feel like part of the team, they maintain the building better. When the building is clean and well maintained, both teachers and students feel valued. When those people feel valued, they perform better. The same goes for food-service and secretarial staffs. Too often, in the name of saving money, these vital services are outsourced to companies like Sodexo, and the people they put in the buildings are not a part of the educational team. 

This seems like a small deal, but it isn't. The classified staff in a building are more than just their hourly wages and job duties. They are adults who interact, in meaningful ways, with students. Many students confide in security guards, secretaries, and lunch ladies things they would never tell other adults (like teachers).

3. We must, as a nation, find some consensus on the role of schools (and yes, I know this is like point one, but I was raised in a church where the sermon ALWAYS had three points, it's all I know). Are schools supposed to change children to fit into society, or should we change the way we teach, and our expectations, to ensure students learn the material? Is it more important that a student know all of the state mandated information about the Great Depression, and therefore be allowed to turn in late work, to use their phone on a quiz, to not do the homework, and only the assessment; or  is it better that the student not learn the details, but be held to a standard that future employers will hold them to in regards to punctuality and attentiveness?

This is a question bigger than this humble blogger. I don't know. But I do know that the educational system cannot much longer survive without these issues being addressed. If schools are simply to put facts into young peoples' brains, that can be done, but schools need to be massively restructured, and many teachers will leave education. 

If, on the other hand, schools are still expected to teach all students how to be productive members of society, then schools need to be evaluated on the intangible things which they do. I don't know how you measure "lives changed" but I'm willing to bet that most students can tell you at least one teacher who changed their life. 

In the end, maybe putting those testimonials on the "school grade cards" would be a better measure of success than AYP. But what do I know, that's just what I've spent the last 9 years trying to do.

And now, as a reward for reading all the way to the bottom, a Soviet poster equivalent to that "don't stand on chairs to hang things" poster from your work. Remember, when using a pitchfork, don't stab your coworker!

Inquiry Based Learning and the Inquisition.

I've been in public education long enough to know that everything old will be new again. Once you've been in public schools for about 5 years, you've seen and heard about pretty much every educational innovation as long as you've managed to stay awake during inservices.

In the last inservice that my school hosted, we talked about inquiry based learning. To be honest, I didn't go, because I was recovering from riding on a bus with a marching band for 10 hours. If you're not familiar with Inquiry Based Learning, here's a brief synopsis.

For those of you too lazy to read through that fine website from some company who wants to sell you some thing, I'll summarize:

Advocates of Inquiry Based Learning say that by letting students investigate topics which are somewhat open, on their own. The theory goes that students investigating topics they like, and drawing their own conclusions are more engaged and are building more durable knowledge.

I don't disagree

I think that Inquiry Based Learning, or IBL as Dr. Dick Johncock would declare it, does all of those things. I even think that those things are important. I believe that a student who can't think critically in society is a far bigger failure than a student who can't pass a crummy standardized test.

So, why am I here, on my soapbox, ready to talk about IBL? Am I going to sing it's praises? Will this be the first positive post in the history of the BlazeBlog? In short; no. I'm on the BlazeBox because I think that IBL is dangerous.

Dangerous? Why?

It's dangerous for the same reason that people going to conferences are dangerous, because some people think that it will be a cure all. It won't be. And if schools force teachers to spend more and more time developing and teaching IBL strategies, teachers will spend less time on traditional learning strategies. And that would be fine, if the entire goal of schools was to "teach students to learn".

But that's not why schools exist. Indeed, schools exist for several historical reasons. Now, since I'm a history teacher, I feel qualified to explain those reasons to you.

Originally, public schools were financed in the Northwest Ordinance of 1785. This was because, in a fledgling democracy, the founders were very aware that schools were needed, because an uneducated populous would never work in the world's first modern democracy. If "the people" were to have a serious voice in government, "the people" needed at least to have basic skills so that they could make decisions on their own. So, the government financed some of the first truly "public" schools in the world. At this point, I'm tempted to rail against charter schools again, but that's a post for another day. Instead, I'll jump forward in history about 75 years to the second reason that public schools teach more than "how to learn"

In the mid 19th Century, as waves of immigrants moved into the crowded metropolises of the fledgling United States, the established citizens realized that those immigrants needed to be assimilated into the nation. It became clear that the easiest way to do this would be through their children. So, their children were taught hygiene, and the language, and a common U.S. History. This gave them, and by extension their parents, a common, shared history. This is why History stands still today as a core subject in the state standards of all 50 states. (in fact, U.S. History was the first set of national standards, which set off a fire-storm of controversy at the time)

History and English are taught because it is important that students have a common base of knowledge, so that all citizens are "singing from the same hymnbook," as it were. If we become to married to IBL, and letting students pick their own courses of study, instead of simply presenting some knowledge as non-negotiable, we produce students who are very good at reasoning their way out of a problem. However, they will often be arguing with false facts, and drawing conclusions which are false. Their arguments will make sense, unless you have knowledge of what they're saying; in which case you'll think of them as well-reasoned baboons. 

In short, they'll all be FoxNews anchors.

(See what I did with the last line and the title? I thought it was clever.) 

The Most Ridiculous Thing I Have Been Asked to do as a Teacher

In my 9 years in the classroom, I have been asked to do many ridiculous things. I have been asked to change a grade for a student, because the principal had promised the parent that the child wouldn't fail. (nevermind that the student couldn't read). I have been asked to show up at 5:45 AM for parent meetings, to stay until 9pm for parent meetings.

I have been asked to make the College Board exam "more fair". I have been begged to take late work. I have been cried at, screamed at, pouted at, and had trash-cans thrown at me. (ok, technically I've only ever had one trash can thrown at me, but that's a story for another day). I've had principals I like get fired, and ones I hated kept around.


Long story short(ish); this job is full of humiliation, and so, for me to title something The Most Ridiculous Thing I have ever been asked to do as a Teacher, it must be pretty bad.


You won't think that it is. You'll think that I'm over-reacting. You'll say, "that seems like a decent idea" or "why are you wasting the valuable real-estate of the internets with this drivel?".


So what if I am? This is a decision, made by some joker who makes 3 times my salary, who has probably never worked in a classroom, let alone taught in one. So naturally, the district has put him in charge of school security. And he has instituted an epically stupid idea. Epic like Gone with the Wind, not epic like The Odyessy.


And frankly, my reader, I give a damn.


Here's what I'm so upset about

I know this seems like an innocous little magent. Here's how the "security guy" thinks I should use the magnet:


1. Lock my door at all times

2. Put the magnet over the latch on the door


3. Now, the door is locked, but people can enter and exit as though the door were unlocked.


4. In case of emergency, as you can see on the magnet, remove the magnet, and the door can re-shut and be locked, no keys needed!


Let me address the problems one by one:


1. But what if I don't want my door locked? Or better yet, what if I do? With the magnet in place, I can't actually shut my door and have it locked.


2. When the magnet is over the latch, my door doesn't stay shut. Neither does my next door neighbor's, or her neighbor's. This would be great, if all classrooms were silent little cloisters. They aren't. So now, it's like the world's rudest movie theater, all of the time. That seems like a good plan


3. Since the door doesn't latch, people enter and exit as though the door were unlocked. Even people I don't want entering, since my door is constantly open.

4. In case of emergency, I now have to open my door, take the magnet off and then reclose the door. Do you know what I did before the magnet? I locked the door from the inside. Now, I open the door, to the place where all of that danger is, remove the magnet, and shut the door. I think I just got less safe by writing about it.


I'm not even going to talk about how ridiculous it is that these things are prime material for stealing, how they don't work on science, art, band or choir doors. I'm not going to talk about how they're district branded, or how there was no room for negotiation when any of these things were pointed out.


I'm just going to say that being told to use this magnet, and being told to do it without question, is The Most Ridiculous thing I have been asked to do as a Teacher.

31

Before I delve into our tale of public education for the day, a quick word about this blog and its author:


I am a public school teacher, with 9 years of experience. I taught in the poorest per capita school in Indiana for 3 years, at a school in Colorado that had 1000 too many kids in it for 3 years, and am in my 3rd year teaching in what seems to be an ideal suburban school. I obviously have had many experiences, many of which are hilarious, and I intend to share them here, on the interwebs.


That being said, I also have exceptionally strong opinions about public education. I abhor movements which evaluate teachers with any real weight put on state tests. I like the idea of charter schools, but think that they should have to play by the same rules as public schools if they're going to tout their results.


I'm going to try and keep myself and the place where I work semi-anonymous (we'll see how well that goes).


On to the story for the day....
Today, in a quest to get a picture of the most ridiculous thing I have been asked to do as a teacher, I stopped into our school's journalism lab. The students were writing fictional obituaries of their lives. One of them, in a quest for inspiration, turned to the most inspiring person in the room. When he didn't have anything to say, she asked me a series of questions, ending with, "What age do you want to retire at?"


Without thinking, I replied "31".


You're thinking 1 of 2 things at this point. 1. This blog sucks or 2. So what, you want to retire at an unreasonably young age.


Here's the thing: I'm 30 right now. And I don't really want to retire at 31, but it sure feels like it some days.


Now, those of you in education know what I'm talking about, I suspect many of you in "real" jobs do as well. But you probably think that I, as a teacher, want to retire because the kids make me crazy.


Its not the kids.


Its never the kids. They're dumb. I knew that going in. That's what the taxpayers pay me to fix. Its the people at the top. That's where the problem is. Because they can't be fixed. And I suppose, in the grand scheme, that's what this blog is about. Its about the problems that most people don't know are out there. The problems that can't be fixed.


It might not make for great reading, but it'll be cathartic for me.