Keeping, Culling, and Forgetting

June 22, 2021June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

I had an embarrassing moment a little over a month ago.

I’ve been fortunate over the past two years to teach next door to a lady who (a) is generally as cynical as I am about most things, (b) has been in public education for long enough to have seen and heard it all, and (c) is supernaturally gracious when it comes to my shortcomings as an English teacher.

Several years ago, I reached a point at which I needed to either get out of public education altogether or find myself a dramatic new change of scenery, focus, and attitude. I ended up doing the latter. I became certified in English Language Arts (ELA) and I jumped to a district completely unlike anywhere I’d ever taught before.

Time to put your daily grind where your big talk is, Blue.

Of course, certification is one thing; being able to actually teach ELA effectively is something else entirely. I could read and write well enough, and I considered myself respectable enough when it came to analyzing literature or composing a coherent argument. But a real English teacher? Hardly.

I worried I’d show up to my first department meeting and we’d all be taking turns reading from The Dubliners in the original Greek and discussing how James Joyce Carol Oates used it as inspiration for his adaptation of Undercover Brother, Where Art Thou?

I needn’t have been concerned. We haven’t had a department meeting in the entire two years I’ve been there, so the danger seems fairly minor at this point.

I made it through a little over a semester before the pandemic hit and everything got weird(er). We were entirely virtual in the fall of last year, but by second semester we had at least some in-person learning. While there were few positives in the entire mess, I at least had plenty of time to brush up on the ELA curriculum and reacquaint myself with things like gerunds, antecedents, and passive tense. There were times I almost felt minimally competent!

Until this past May, dammit – which brings me back to that embarrassing moment I mentioned.

There were only a few weeks left until semester exams, which matter more in my district than they probably should. I was flipping through the official curriculum when I came across something I suspected I should have covered at some point, pandemic or no pandemic. Somehow, I’d overlooked it.

I walked next door to my trusted mentor-slash-colleague and shared my thoughts relatively unfiltered, as was our wont. “I wonder if we should have done ‘elements of a story’ – plot, setting, types of conflict, and all that. Seems like maybe that should have come up before now.”

She started laughing, which confused me for a moment until I realized she assumed I was kidding. It was as if I’d walked in and suggested maybe I should have worn pants today since I had a meeting with my evaluating administrator. Not particularly sophisticated humor, but enough to share a chuckle in the workplace.

I suppose the look on my face tipped her off that she’d misread the situation and her smile quickly faded. “Wait, you’re serious?”

If this were a sit-com, I’d have quickly covered my snafu by heartily joining in with uncomfortable laughter at my own expense. Instead, I had a rare moment of embarrassed silence.

She quickly shifted gears and assured me that this past year had been so weird anyway that the best any of us could do was to reboot and start fresh in the fall. She shared a few approaches she’d used to teaching elements of a story – you know, way back earlier in the year – and was generally encouraging and supportive while never quite losing that look of bewildered pity for the well-intentioned fool next door. Then again, I was the best they could hold onto in this particular place, so… that’s what you get.

The whole experience got me thinking about other stuff in the official curriculum which I’d never actually gotten around to in class. So far, these omissions have largely been externally-driven – casualties of modified schedules and ever-changing circumstances. In a few months, I’ll have live students, many of whom haven’t been in school in any way, shape, or form for nearly eighteen months.

I’ll need to make semi-informed decisions about what matters and what doesn’t with these darlings. Of course, we’re supposed to cover all of it, passionately and thoroughly. But… between you and me? That’s delusional in the best of circumstances and it’s just not going to happen. I was hired to teach a specific curriculum, but part of that obligation is using my professional judgement to determine what’s most effective with the kids in front of me.

Plowing through all of it one way or the other isn’t what’s most effective in this case. So what do I, in my pompous wisdom, prioritize? And what legit ELA undertakings do I discard as less worthy of our limited time? Like any subject, it’s all interesting and potentially important if given unlimited time by the system and unwavering commitment from each and every student. Lacking that, however, I have no ethical problem cutting some “required” matter loose in order to improve the odds the rest meaningfully sticks – at least a little.

Hence my “Keeping & Culling” list, initial rough draft.

We’re going to keep setting aside time to read in class several times each week whether it’s officially part of the “curriculum” or not. I’m too sold on the power of that time modeled and practiced regularly in class, by myself and any other adult in the room along with my kids. And yes, we’ll definitely look at the most common elements of stories and the so-called “hero’s journey.”

I’m culling analysis of imagery and theme, at least as discrete topics. Oh, and gerunds. We won’t be quizzing over gerunds.

We’re going to keep writing. I love an approach I borrowed from a real English teacher years ago. Every writing assignment receives two grades. If students submit work which meets the general requirements, they receive full credit – a completion grade. No matter how good or bad a piece is, I promise them three comments or suggestions. They consider these, revise, and resubmit a final version, which is then graded on improvement. Did they demonstrate thought and effort and find ways to make it better than it was?

I’m culling anything resembling a research paper or formal argumentative essay with footnotes and citations. This one hurts my soul a little; I believe these are valuable undertakings in other situations. My kids are capable of many great things, but they’re not academically at a point which makes this a good use of our limited time and energy.

We’re keeping short stories. My students will complain that I assign to many short stories – sometimes a new one every week! They whine that I require more reading than anyone else in any subject at any level EVER. (I do not believe this is factually true.) We’ll work on objective summaries and a few close reading strategies.

I’m culling several of the recommended stories from district guidelines. With all due respect to Poe and Hawthorne, some of their writing is simply too thick for my freshmen. Yes, students should be challenged. Yes, there’s value in stretching them academically. But that’s different than pushing them off a cliff while yelling at them to flap harder. For now, I’ll be focusing on stories with interesting wrinkles but which are quite readable for almost anyone with minimal willingness.

We’ll keep the discussing, recognizing, and using similes, metaphors, alliteration, onomatopoeia, allusion, implication/inference, repetition, and personification. Many other elements, however, are culled for now.

I was trapped in a training last month during which – I kid you not – we spent the better part of 90 minutes on strategies for teaching appositives. (For those of you with a life, an appositive is a “noun phrase” that restates with new information or clarification the noun which precedes it. “Blue Cereal, pith-laden blogger, is seriously underappreciated in his own time.” “Pith-laden blogger” is an appositive.)

Now, appositives are important enough in their own way, but are they essential for my specific students to make meaningful progress this year? I’m going to risk the ire of English teachers everywhere (not to mention anyone from my district who happens to be reading) and say no. Other terms on shaky ground despite their inclusion on official lists include anaphoric, cataphoric, modal auxiliary verbs, participial adjectives, and the aforementioned gerunds.

I’m nowhere near vain enough to suggest anyone should adapt my druthers about what parts of the curriculum are essential and which can be saved for another time. I suppose I’m partly just writing it all down to help clarify my own thinking, and to suggest that maybe as we return to whatever “normal” looks like this fall, we all take a deep breath before we do anything else.

Empty talking heads will keep pushing their weird “students are all behind now!” narratives. Districts will scramble to increase scores on whatever big magical tests control your state. A few eager colleagues troubled by last year’s shortcomings will try to make up for it by doubling down this fall. Politicians will continue being politicians and find ways to blame you for everything that’s ever happened – and probably several things that haven’t.

I respectfully suggest that while yes, you should pay attention to whatever specifics you were hired to teach, no, you don’t have to plow through them all no matter what, whether your kids keep up or not.

2021-2022 will no doubt get off to a rocky (and weird) start in many places. Go in positive, go in prepared, and go in with high hopes and high expectations. But if giving your students what they need most means you jettison some non-essentials along the way… you have my permission. If that’s what’s best for your kids, do it.

If anyone complains, just show them this post.

RELATED POST: Lessons From Pandemic Teaching

RELATED POST: The Importance Of Being Delusional

RELATED POST: Teacher Evaluations (Hammers & Nails)

Lessons From Pandemic Teaching

December 7, 2020June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

We’ll soon hit a full year of trying to figure out how public education works (or doesn’t) during a pandemic. Some of the experience gained may be specific to 2020 – the social and political dynamics of which have not been even remotely encouraging (see what I did there?). I’d respectfully suggest, however, that many of the “lessons” learned along the way apply to most forms of remote, virtual, or online “education,” whatever the surrounding climate.

I’ve numbered them in order to make my observations seem more carefully weighed and thoughtfully considered. Seriously, doesn’t even the illusion of someone having a coherent plan and consistent ideology seem insanely comforting these days?

#5: States and Some Districts Are REALLY Committed to Testing and Pointless Paperwork

One of the most crippling aspects of long-distance learning is what it does to our ability to “connect” with students, individually or en masse. The thing most of us signed on for – that idealistic, touch-lives-and-help-kids stuff – has been reduced to the point of near-extinction. What remains strong, however, is the bureaucracy and nonsense we’d mostly learned to tolerate. It’s always been annoying, but it’s traditionally been overshadowed by the meaningful bits.

Not this year.

Many districts are plowing ahead with “virtual PD” and hoping that if they simply require enough documentation of, well… everything they can think of, engagement will somehow soar and distance learning will no longer be a disaster. Kids being at home will be just like them being at school, and we can think happy thoughts and click our heels together until AYP is met!

The centerpiece of this delusion is the conviction that THE TESTING MUST GO ON. Standardized state assessments, sketchy endeavors in the best of times, have long claimed their primary function is to “assess student learning and growth.” Supposedly the resulting numbers help direct instruction; as a bonus they can be twisted like balloon animals into some sort of marker of teacher ineffectiveness as well. (Why did you not learn them harder?!)

Standardized testing has never done much to account for culture, poverty, circumstances, or anything else – but its complete disregard of reality has truly reached new heights this year. WE MUST MEASURE THE GROWTH of students who are no longer coming to school, many of whom don’t have internet, others of whom lack self-discipline, stay-at-home moms, or sufficient protein, all so we can… know what, exactly? What are we even pretending to measure right now?

It’s the most cynical sort of sophistry. We might as well have them take the tests while strapped to various amusement park rides or with Tiny Tim at dangerous volumes on infinite repeat. The validity of such “testing conditions” would be far more defensible than pushing ahead this year.

#4 Bipolar Teacher Disorder

Personally, I’ve always had a soft spot for the semi-dysfunctional, over-committed educator. Sure, they’re repeatedly taken advantage of, and they often operate out of insecurity or guilt at being unable to save every last child – but they’re so sincere and adorable while they’re doing it!

Even relatively stable, well-adjusted teachers, however, are beginning to manifest what I think of as “bipolar teacher disorder.” It’s a natural result of the pendulum of thoughts and emotions inherent in trying to reach disengaged populations long-distance. The internal dialogue often goes something like this:

“I’ve got to do more to engage and challenge these kids! They deserve a quality edu—“
“CAN THEY SERIOUSLY NOT LOG IN FOR 10 MINUTES AND AT LEAST USE THE BUILT-IN MIC?!? I FEEL LIKE A DANCING BEAR REPEATEDLY PAUSING FOR THEM TO TYPE ONE-WORD RESP—“
“My poor babies. It’s not their fault this is happening. Most would rather be here! School really is the most structure and approval they’re likely to get most days, not to mention—“
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T OPEN IT ON YOUR PHONE? THE SCHOOL ISSUES YOU A CHROMEBOOK! THEY’LL PICK IT UP AND FIX OR REPLACE IT FOR FREE, REPEATEDLY! I MADE 27 TRAINING VIDEOS TALKING YOU THROUGH HOW TO DO THIS! YOU WANT ME TO COME TYPE IT FOR Y—“
“My God everyone on Twitter is rocking virtual education and doing all of these cool projects and discussions and – they’re using breakout rooms? And it’s working? Yeah, I suck. I’ve failed my students when they need me most. I might as well start handing out vouchers personally…”
“YOU WANT ME TO EXPLAIN THE ASSIGNMENT TO YOU? IN AN EMAIL? WHAT AM I GOING TO SAY THAT’S NOT IN THE SLIDESHOW I POSTED, AND IN THE VIDEOS OF ME EMBEDDED IN EACH SLIDE TALKING THROUGH IT, AND IN THE EXAMPLE I DID FOR YOU TO—“

You get the idea. The ping-ponging between guilt/inadequacy and frustration/discouragement may actually produce real-life concussions.

#3 Every Teacher Is Different. Every Classroom Is Different.

This has always been true. There are strategies, lessons, and mindsets that are often far more useful or successful than others. There are things that are almost always a bad idea, no matter what the specifics. Generally speaking, however, it’s important to distinguish between “here are some things that have worked for me in such-and-such situation” and “here’s what good teachers do if they want to be effective (or at least more effective than you).”

This reality has been dramatically magnified by virtual (or blended) learning. Kudos to those of you working wonders on the small screen. Many of you had to overcome repeated struggles and frustrations to get there. That doesn’t mean those still mired in pointlessness are lazy or lack talent. It’s more likely they have different kids, different circumstances, or different strengths.

Keep sharing what’s working. Celebrate others’ successes or breakthroughs. But let’s not forget that this whole situation is stupid and not at all what we signed up for. It’s not a moral failure when we can’t make the magic happen.

#2 The “Problems” With Public Education Are Huge Advantages

We all know the litany of failures attributed to the standard 20th century public education model. Students are run through a “factory system.” There’s not enough differentiation. The rooms are too square, the schedules too rigid, and the instruction too direct. Online, self-paced, n0-walls education was supposed to free our poor, victimized children from this outdated torture.

For a handful of kids, it absolutely has. I have several students I’ve never met who are knocking this year out of the park. They love the flexibility and hate the chaos and inconvenience of in-person school. These outliers spend a few hours in the morning knocking out work and touching base with their teachers, then read or play or watch documentaries about food in other countries the rest of the afternoon. More power to them.

But most kids need that face-to-face time to flourish. You know things are bad when all the same politicians and talking heads who’ve been working diligently for years to get kids out of our rooms and in front of someone’s software eight hours a day are suddenly lamenting kids being out of our rooms and in front of the screen for eight hours a day. If we’ve learned nothing else this year, hopefully we’ve rediscovered the value of teacher interaction for actual learning to consistently occur. We’ve sorely missed proper small group discussions and kids having to learn how to deal with one another like we all live in the same world together or something.

Parents have been confronted daily with the shocking reality that their children are not naturally hungry for knowledge or motivated by where they may or may not be accepted to college in a few years. Some kids care for intrinsic reasons, and some desperately want to please their parents or compete with their friends. But many many many of our darlings learn because we woo them. We cajole them. We trick them. We engage them. We entertain them, scare them, love them, push them. It’s an art as much as it is a science. Every educator knows this.

None of us were really surprised that it’s just not the same when kids are at home working “at their own pace” and the best we can do is video in from time to time. That didn’t make it less discouraging.

#1 It’s All About Resources

In districts with lots of technology and support, the twists and turns have generally gone better than in districts without. In districts where kids already had reliable internet at home and parents with basic online communication skills (the bulk of the email goes in the BODY, not the SUBJECT LINE), etc., things have been a little easier than in districts where half the kids don’t have heat – let alone reliable wi-fi.

Sure, there are always a handful of plucky souls who overcome, and they’re absolutely worth celebrating. But there are always a handful of football players who make the NFL and a handful of musicians who win Grammys. Pointing to Patrick Mahomes or Billie Eilish as proof that “anyone willing to put out a little effort can do it” is either delusional or deceitful. Pointing to districts whose teachers and students are finding all sorts of creative ways to make it work is absolutely appropriate in terms of celebrating their success and learning from their efforts. They make poor guides for critiquing districts with whom they have little in common, however.

Your Ticket-Out-The-Blog

So, what did I leave out? What did I get wrong? More importantly, of all my wit and pith and insight, which parts made you love me the most?

Comment below and let me know what you think. If you like, you can document it and count it towards your virtual professional development.

RELATED POST: Teacher Tired

Make Me (Lessons from the Classroom in a Time of Corona)

April 14, 2020June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

As I write this, the nation is getting restless with all of this Covid-19 “shelter in place” stuff. The daily body count is a constant feature on any 24/7 news channel, and there are some real concerns about how we survive economically even if most of us eventually get through it medically. I’m not going to argue the science, the economics, or even the politics of the thing at the moment. I can’t help noticing, however, several features of the current crisis which aren’t entirely unfamiliar to educators. Since many of us have a bit more time on our hands than we’d like, I figure there’s nothing lost in pondering a few of them here.

First: The Overwhelmed Medical Profession

Teachers aren’t doctors. We may save lives in some sense, but nothing like what many of them do quite literally every day. Nevertheless, there’s something familiar about the current dynamic in which medical professionals are being asked to handle an ongoing disaster which was largely preventable, using insufficient resources largely selected and distributed based on politics rather than in consultation with those who are actually experts in the field. To those in scrubs: we feel you, friend.

Just to antagonize them further, many of the same voices which are offering token praise of their efforts and personal sacrifices are in the same breath undercutting the entire ideology within which they operate. This isn’t a medical issue to be addressed with science! It’s a plot! A subversion of our way of life based on political skullduggery! “Social distancing”? More like Social-ISM! Again, yep. Been there. Still are, actually.

Second: A Federalism of Convenience

The relationship between local, state, and federal government is usually at its tightest when disaster strikes, but not so this time. I feel for mayors and governors who are attempting to manage a situation which by its very nature spills over borders freely and which they lack the power to fully contain. If they had complete control of those in their districts over an extended period of time, they could no doubt make great strides in turning this baby around, but instead people come and go and they lack the power to prevent it.

Even worse, they’re dealing with a federal government claiming to want to help them but often making things more difficult. Resources which could be going to their neediest citizens are redirected by powers in Washington, D.C., based on their own political priorities and pet projects. Any effort to make their own rules is met with resistance; any effort to coordinate solutions is shrugged off as “not a federal responsibility.” I’m not suggesting the immediate consequences are quite as severe, but this dynamic does sound vaguely familiar to those of us in public education.

Third: The “Make Me” Problem

Let’s assume for the moment that the majority of mayors and governors ordering businesses closed or that people stay inside have good intentions and want to save lives and so on. I’m not challenging anyone’s motivation. There’s a tricky distinction, however, between authority and control. More than anything else happening on the national stage at the moment, THIS is something QUITE familiar to educators of any subject at any grade level.

In theory, I’m in charge of my class. There are guidelines within which I’m expected to work – I can’t hit the kids, cuss at them, take their personal stuff, etc. There are rules limiting what I can and cannot do. Within those rules, however, I have some leeway how I manage my classroom. In theory, if I insist there be no talking during silent reading, then there should be no talking. If I decree a seating chart, students should sit where the chart says they sit. Because those are the rules. While they may be inconvenient for the individual, they’re good for the class as a whole – or at least that’s the ideal.

In practice, however, every line drawn is a calculated risk. If I tell a class that there’s to be no talking the rest of the hour, I’d better know exactly what I’m willing to do about it if they talk anyway. As any parent knows, once you’ve repeated your expectations without getting the desired results a few times, you’d better have something else in your arsenal or you’ve just announced to the 12-year old that from here on out, they’re in charge. Since most of us can’t spank our students or send them to their rooms without supper, we’re left with less direct alternatives.

Generally speaking, teachers use a concoction of authority, relationship, and reason to prompt student cooperation. The mix won’t look the same from teacher to teacher or even from class to class throughout the day, but most effective teachers have all three in there somewhere.

Authority comes from the position. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll call your mom. I’ll write you up. I’ll give you detention. Authority by itself is a blunt instrument, but one you have to be willing to use for it to mean anything. Ideally, however, you rely on it as little as possible after the first month or so. Authority lets you win battles, but it does little to promote excellence or creativity or taking productive risks.

One things governors and mayors have had to do recently that we don’t see very often is use their authority to tell citizens what they can and can’t do. Not everyone was even sure how it worked – when was the last time you had to worry that the Mayor might find out that you REALLY went to Wal-Mart for a picture frame and only bought canned goods so you wouldn’t look guilty?

Relationships are far more subtle. Many non-educators assume teachers get to know our kids because we’re all touchy-feely little snowflake-builders who just want everyone to feel loved. Sure, most of us care what happens to our kids, but that’s not the underlying reason relationships are essential. Without relationships, the only thing I’ve got to motivate them to cooperate are rules and reason. I don’t know if you’ve met an American teenager lately, but they’re not all fond of rules, and as a culture we’re not so great with “reason.”

It’s not about being their “friend” – it’s about wooing, cajoling, inspiring, badgering, or otherwise figuring out what motivates each kid to come to the damned water and DRINK! We’re being measured by little Johnny’s reading scores, however, so one way or the other we’re going to try to figure out what makes him refuse to tick – even if that means we have to get to know him.

Finally, there’s the issue of “buy-in.” Do the rules make sense to those expected to follow them? I can tell my kids to quiet down and most probably will, but it’s not simply because I have authority, although that helps. It matters that I’ve invested in getting to know them – they don’t all love me, but we have mostly positive relationships. What clinches the deal is that most of them accept on a fundamental level that a quiet environment is sometimes reasonable and normal in class. They may not always cooperate, but few would argue with conviction that moving around and more random outbursts would really help them focus on their reading.

With enough relationship and/or authority, I can sometimes get “buy-in” on things they don’t yet understand or see the value of. OK, Mr. Cereal – we’re not sure what you’re up to here, but you’ve mostly been OK up until now, so we’ll go along with it for a bit and see how it plays out.” It’s actually deceptively easy to stumble deep into the pedagogical woods before you turn around and realize no one’s coming with you. You can play the “authority” card all you like at that point, and the best you’ll get is external compliance minus all real learning or enthusiasm. Often, you won’t even get that – especially if they start to notice that others among them feel the same.

It can turn. Quickly. Ask any teacher.

This is the part presenting the biggest challenge to local authorities at the moment as they try to figure out how long to keep some things closed, or – like the poor Governor of Michigan – how to let you go to Wal-Mart for car parts and milk but make sure you don’t grab a few $5 DVDs while you’re there because those aren’t “essential.”

Sure, there are folks at each extreme – some insist the virus is no big deal because people die of other stuff all the time, while others bleach their mail before opening it. Most, however, are somewhere in between. They’re willing to mostly stay at home, and practice a certain amount of “social distancing,” and wait this out for a few more days. Maybe even weeks. They may not like it, and may not always follow the rules, but they subscribe the basic concept – we don’t want people to get sick and die.

Just like my students, however, we’re starting to see the backlash when authority lacks relationship or people no longer buy the reasoning. Why can’t we just…? What about…? And surely you can’t tell me not to…? It’s not a failure of mayors or governors, it’s human nature when it comes to unfamiliar rules and people you may not know or like much telling you what to do. I’m not sure mayors or governors are used to being in the position of having to win folks over once they’ve taken office, particularly not when it comes to matters of public health or emergency measures. They have my sympathy – even the ones I usually disagree with.

I suggest taking a breath and starting fresh tomorrow. Be ready to bust out the authority, if you have it and are willing to use it, and try to listen to representatives from the disaffected. If that’s not enough, however, they’ll need to do a much better job persuading the majority that their reasons and policies make sense for everyone – that they have a plan and it will pay off, if only we’ll play along. If not, you should consider calling everyone’s moms. You’d be surprised how often that works.