Things I Heard This Week

September 26, 2021June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

I teach in a district that’s had some struggles in recent years. We’re majority-minority and 100% of my kids are “free and reduced lunch” (mostly “free”). Add in eighteen months of not having real school and the fact that most of the schools feeding into mine are already under state “control” (an ironic term by any measure), and it’s easy to grow discouraged. There aren’t always those “breakthrough” moments you count on to stay motivated – personally or academically.

All the more reason to build a few monuments to the encouraging or amusing episodes which do occur from time to time. Here are three from this past week.

Episode #1:

My 4th hour is not my largest class, but it does tend to be my most challenging. I consider myself fairly reasonable in terms of basic expectations, and yet I’ve somehow ejected more students for egregious violations during that period this year than all my other hours combined.

Two of my most challenging girls in that class are Anaiyah and Tamara. They are spirited young ladies of color and often have difficulty with impulse control (which, to be fair, is true of most freshmen). Anaiyah has a very low reading level but isn’t “slow” by any meaningful measure, while Tamara is the quintessential “so much potential if she ever chooses to use her powers for good and not evil,” dressed in more style and sass than I could manage on my best day at any age.

4th period is 15 minutes longer to accommodate multiple lunch periods. (That’s part of what makes it such a challenge.) We had some time left over one day and Anaiyah asked if she could work on her math homework, which of course was fine. A few minutes later she asked if I knew how to do one of the problems. It looked easy enough – one of those “solve for X” types that starts off as 8x – 19 = 3x + 6 or whatever and the goal is to isolate the X on one side of the equal sign.

I mean, that’s doable, right? But… it’s been a few years, and I messed it up.

That’s when Tamara came up and asked if she could use the legal pad on which I’d butchered basic algebra. She proceeded to take us both through the proper steps while presumably echoing her math teacher, all without a trace of impatience or sarcasm:

“The first thing we gotta do is get rid of one a’ them extra numbers. If we add 19 over here, we gotta add it over there too so they still equal, right? That leaves us with… (*does some figuring*) 8x = 3x + 25. That already look better, don’t it? Now we gotta figure out how to simplify the – I forget what they called – the numbers with ‘X’ in ‘em. We can do that by…”

For those of you playing along at home, x = 5 in this case. The sad thing was, I knew that from the beginning and still couldn’t remember how to get things there. But Tamara could, and did. It was an excellent two-minute lesson, and when it was through, Anaiyah was able to do the next few by herself using the same steps.

It was beautiful – not because the math was super complicated, but because the presentation was so gracious and confident. I talk a good game about what many of my kids are capable of, but it’s nice when it jumps out and kicks me in the face like that.

Episode #2:

I was walking towards the teachers’ lounge to heat up my lunch when I passed a group of girls at their lockers talking loudly. One was saying – “so she keeps grabbing my balls and I’m like, get your hands OFF my balls!”

I don’t get too worked up by vulgarity when it’s not directed at another person in anger, but I still paused – “Language, ladies – language!” – before walking on. I didn’t expect trembling or humbly begging for forgiveness, but I was slightly surprised at how they all three just kinda stopped and stared at me, confused, for a moment. Still, I only have 30 minutes for lunch, and I figured I’d done my part to shape the destinies of the young with my wisdom and guidance in that brief chiding.

Behind me, I heard the same girl pick up where she’d left off: “So then, I get THREE STRIKES IN A ROW! And I’m like, Hah! Top that!”

They were talking about bowling.

Episode #3

We don’t take our books home here (they don’t tend to ever make it back) so I have shelves in my room for kids to stack their materials. Several extend in front of the windows along that wall.

A young lady today tossed her book on the shelf a bit too carelessly and out of nowhere a large window screen fell across the back of the small bookshelf there. She jumped back and began apologizing, certain she was in trouble.

She wasn’t. She hadn’t flung her book from across the room or anything. But what really confused me – and eventually the rest of the class – is that there are no screens on the insides of my windows. They don’t open, even a little. Not that it would matter – there are no screens on the outside either.

So… where did it come from?

We kinda joked about it as a class for a moment – something it doesn’t seem we have much chance to do these days. At one point I suggested perhaps it had come from another dimension, like the squids that rain down from the sky periodically in Watchmen (an obscure reference for my kids, I know, but in my defense, none of this was planned).

One of my students suggested perhaps demons had sent the screen to us as a warning, which struck me as an amusing – if bizarre – concept. Before I had time to consider that option, another kid spoke up:

“My granddaddy’s a preacher and he says that people who go to Hell will spend eternity surrounded by the screens of the damned.”

*pause*

I laughed. Beyond that, I honestly had no idea where to go from there. The entire exchange was so far removed from what I’ve come to expect in this particular setting that I was genuinely at a loss. Fortunately, we were close enough to the end of class that we could simply let the moment ride until the bell brought us back to our new normal.

I never did figure out where the screen came from. For the record, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t demons.

RELATED POST: You Get Up

RELATED POST: I’m A Cow

Teacher Mentoring (I Have A Crazy Idea…)

July 18, 2021June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

It’s Time

As I continue growing much older and a tiny bit wiser, I keep returning to an idea that’s been nipping at my risk-averse consciousness for some time.

One of the most glaring shortcomings of far too many school districts across the country is the lack of meaningful mentoring / coaching / reflective listening for teachers – particularly new teachers or those recently thrown into new situations.

There are no doubt many reasons for this, but funding must surely top the list. With class sizes perpetually problematic, ever-expanding demands made on educators without commensurate support, and the ongoing onslaught of criticism over every dollar not spent teaching patriotism and math, schools simply lack the resources to properly invest in their teachers. Instead, administrators understandably tell themselves that department heads will fill that role (you know, in their spare time) or that colleagues can be assigned to answer questions and provide “support.” They may even throw in a small stipend for their trouble.

None of this is meant to be critical of districts or administrators making tough decisions with limited options. But it’s a very real problem – if not universal, at least ubiquitous. I can’t solve it for any significant number of individual educators, but I can offer my humble efforts to a few. Numerous inspirational short stories, at least one parable, and several pop songs from the 1960s and 1970s suggest that’s enough to justify taking the leap.

Credentials

I’m old and have seen much over the years, both directly and through the eyes of the literally thousands of other teachers with whom I’ve worked. I’ve been through official teacher mentor / coaching training in several iterations despite the eventual decision by the folks paying for all that training deciding not to invest in long-term formal implementation. Perhaps most significantly, I’ve mentored / coached teachers in person for years and years and years – sometimes even for that small stipend I mentioned.

If you decide after reading the rest of this post that you’re potentially interested, I’ll gladly share a more detailed resume / pedigree with you. For now, those are the basics.

I’m not magical or a genius or better than every other educator out there. (I mean, I’m better than a lot of them… but that’s really not the point.) What I am is available and willing, with a decent track record and a belief in most teachers’ potential vs. the realities beating them down week after week. It’s something I’d like to spend more time and energy on, in fact.

So here’s what I’m offering – for those of you still kinda interested, or at least still reading.

Let’s Get Personal

I’m looking for 4 – 5 individuals who could use a little extra support and encouragement as they enter the upcoming school year. We’d meet virtually for about 30 minutes every other week to talk about how things are going for you in class, with students, peers, or administration, or anything else related to your role as an educator.

This is judgement-free assistance. It’s completely confidential (no calls to your principal asking them to do something about your weirdo grading policies) and based on your specific needs.

It’s a time to process your thoughts and feelings in the interest of a better professional experience. To help you figure out how to use class time more effectively. To develop strategies for dealing with difficult students (or colleagues). To manage classroom dynamics. Maybe even to {insert professional concerns here}. It’s largely up to you, combined with my pithy insights and don’t you think it’s time we talk about WHAT’S REALLY GOING ON?!?

It’s all the stuff your education professors have already told you matters and to which your district has hopefully paid at least some lip service. (Presumably if you’re in one of the handful of districts which provides this kind of extended support, you’re still reading only out of pity for the poor souls in other districts.)

Logistics & Specifics

If you think you might be interested, we can get a bit more technical about mutual expectations and the logistical stuff. There are different schools of thought on what constitutes effective “coaching” and how it’s distinct from “mentoring” and why neither should be conflated with “counseling,” etc. Experience suggests it’s worth making sure we’re on the same general page before anyone says “I DO.” That’s best done not-on-the-blog.

I believe there’s still plenty of room for flexibility based on individual style and circumstances within the accepted boundaries which define “doing it right.” For now, I’ll limit myself to a few essential clarifications before inviting you to email me if your interest has been even mildly piqued.

There’s no money involved in this arrangement (in either direction). Yes, it’s possible that a few years from now I might consider something more formally structured and fiscally remunerative. No, I’m not working towards selling you a service or a product or a subscription or whatever. I’ve been blessed by those around me for so many years and genuinely believe in this sort of thing as one way to “pay it forward.” Right now, that’s all there is to it.

As a practical matter, I’m limiting this coming year to 4 – 5 participants. If I have to turn anyone away, it’s not personal. If I have to choose, I’ll prioritize those I believe I can help most effectively and with an eye towards participant diversity.

I’m asking for a bi-weekly commitment of around 30 minutes and making that commitment to you in return. It’s not dogmatic and shouldn’t be taken as “one more thing on your plate” or as something at which you might “fail.” We’d work out a starting point around the beginning of your school year and conclude somewhere near the end. If something changes and you need to alter your commitment level, we’re good. (I can’t serve your mental and emotional health by adding stress and obligation to your life. That would be silly.)

Periodically throughout the year, I may ask you for some brief, specific feedback about elements of the experience. Again, it’s not a major task for you to undertake – it’s a “check-in” to see how it’s going, what you’re finding effective or otherwise useful, and what you’re not.

10… 9… 8… 7…

That’s it. Pretty straightforward. If you’re not interested, feel free to pass this along to someone who might be. If you’re feeling that nervous little tingly feeling like maybe you should absolutely do this but you’re worried about, I dunno… whatever you’re worried about, take a breath. Shoot me that email. You’re not committing to anything. Let’s talk (or email) and see if those initial interactions make you feel better or worse – and go from there.

If you find yourself interested in the possibilities but unsure whether or not you should reach out, it may help to frame the issue in terms of “doing me a favor.” Obviously the primary intent is for the time to be useful for you, but if it matters, it will be genuinely helpful for me as well, if perhaps in a slightly different fashion.

I look forward to hearing from you. [email protected].

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)

The Importance Of Being Delusional

May 17, 2021June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

You may remember the old Roadrunner cartoons where Wile E. Coyote, distracted by his mad pursuit of his prey, runs right off the edge of a cliff before pausing in mid-air. Oddly, he’s fine as long as he doesn’t look down and notice the reality of his situation. If he’d just kept running, he might have made it to the other side of the gap (where his nemesis had already paused to “Beep! Beep!” at him before speeding away).

Eventually, however, he does look down. He takes a moment to emote defeat or despair, sometimes even waving to us or holding up a cute little sign offering concise commentary on his plight. Then… he plummets to the ground far below, reappearing after the commercial to begin his next futile effort to catch that $#%&* bird.

Imagine, however, if Wile simply accepted the reality of his situation before running off the cliff. What if he looked at his track record, and that of the Road Runner, and realized that statistically he was probably never going to catch the thing and that his time would be better spent doing something else. Would that be… victory? Would that mean he’s growing, learning, and adjusting to circumstances? Or would such a shift in thinking mean he’d lost something valuable in the pursuit?

We mock him, but who do we relate to more in those cartoons – the antagonistic bird or the eternally determined coyote?

Education certainly isn’t the only field in which we sometimes have to keep running and ignore the fact that we long ago left the cliff. Many professions contain some element of blind faith and a daily decision to embrace the long-term possibilities, whatever today may hold. There are times we catch glimpses of the harvest – students who evolve so dramatically over time, notes received from those impacted in the past, or conversations in which light bulbs pop up over the most unexpected heads. Sometimes we catch the Roadrunner, if only for a moment. Make note of those moments – file them away in tangible form so you can prove to yourself they happened when you need to.

Seriously, you’d be surprised.

Altar-ing Course

If you’re a Sunday-Go-To-Meetin’ person, you may recall that in the Old Testament, it was common after the Lord God did something noteworthy for those impacted to build an alter commemorating the moment. It probably seemed a bit odd to some. Were they really worried they’d “forget” that time Jehovah destroyed thousands of their enemies with fire, disease, or sporks? Was there genuine danger after El-Shaddai wrestled with you all night, changed your name, and altered the course of your descendants for a thousand generations that it might slip your mind down the road unless you left a pile of rocks nearby?

Yes. Yes, there was. That’s why it was useful to build a display commemorating the moment and maybe even write down what happened. That’s why so many major events began with leaders recounting everything important that had happened up until that point before announcing plans going forward. We are a shallow, short-term people – and not just spiritually. Circumstances change. It may not seem like it while you’re on the mountain, but you’ll at some point likely hit a valley or two. (Things seem even less changeable when you’re in the valleys, but chances are good you’ll eventually glimpse sunlight again.) And guess what makes all of this easier to remember?

Obviously it doesn’t have to be a literal altar. A folder or storage bin under the bed will do just as well. The point is, sometimes you have to look back and remember when things were better in order to help you believe they won’t always be like they feel now.

The rest you have to fill in with a little healthy self-delusion.

The Challenges Of Selective Reality

We’ve seen some pretty extreme reminders in the past year of what happens when people aggressively deny fundamental reality and replace it with their own fan-favorite nonsense. Educators can’t ethically afford to completely ignore the signs that something’s not working. I’m positive any teacher reading this could easily list a half-dozen things they’d change if they had the power which would dramatically improve both students’ experiences and overall academic performance. It’s harder to be truly reflective and think critically about what you could be doing differently, however – especially if you’re in a situation where you feel so little support to begin with.

It’s an irony I suspect occurs in other professions as well. When you’re supported, listened to, and valued, it’s easier to question what you’re doing and challenge yourself to get better. When you’re constantly belittled and discouraged, there’s little room for that sort of risk. You hunker down and do your best to just “get through.” Check the boxes. Do the minimum. No one cares anyway. It’s not like the students are going to notice or get all worked up that you’re not “challenging them” enough. Just do the paperwork. Log in to the training, turn off your camera, and watch Netflix on your phone. Keep grades current, update Canvas regularly, and beyond that, to hell with it.

That’s when you most need some positive self-delusion. That’s when you should absolutely sacrifice a little reality for some belief. Stop looking down. I don’t care how far it is. Look forward and focus on the raspberry that bird is blowing at you as we speak. Then run.

Choosing Your Delusions

Yes, we have to keep slapping ourselves a bit to make sure we’re not becoming “that” teacher. We have to find ways to think critically and professionally about what is and isn’t working. We have to distinguish their hoops from our hopes (I can’t believe I just said that). If you’re not getting better, you’re usually getting bitter (dear golly, that’s two in a row).

That said, I respectfully suggest our self-evaluation should be focused on reaching the cliff on the other side of the gap – NOT on looking down to think too much about where we are right this moment. I hesitate to come right out and say it, but I think sometimes surviving in the world of education requires a sort of selective self-delusion. We gotta try to be honest with ourselves about ourselves, but I’m not sure I want to look too closely at the realities around me. I’m not sure I want to know what the chances are that anything I’m doing will make a noticeable difference for most of the kids in front of me. I’m not sure I want to think too much about the relative impact I’m likely to have compared to peer groups, cultural pressures, social media, poverty, and race. I’m positive I don’t want to get bogged down in my shortcomings and failures over this bizarro pandemic teaching clusterfunk – all the things I’d try differently if we could go back and try again.

Not that I’d ever willingly go back and do this again.

How can we tell the difference between our “delusions” and those of right-wing ideologues, demagogues, conspiracy theorists and propaganda machines? I think it comes down to something cheesy. Something I’m almost embarrassed to type, but can’t express any other way.

I choose the kinds of delusions that make me more hopeful. I choose the delusions that give me more faith in my kids than they’re sometimes justify in the short-term with their choices. I choose the delusion that the opposing cliff is closer than it seems and that it’s more possible than it looks to make a positive difference in the lives of those in my care. These delusions may not have the natural traction of “those who oppose me draw their power from the plasma of sex-trafficked children and Pizza Hut is their mosque” or “Jesus wants me to stand up for my rights and stop being forced to consider the health and welfare of other people,” but I’d argue the tone is noticeably different.

I distinguish between delusions based on the attitude and goal driving them. That may not make one type truer than the other, but it certainly makes some more palatable than others – and that’s what I’m choosing to go with.

Strap On Your ACME Helmet

If there are things you could do better next year, by all means – dig in and fix them. If there are lessons you’ve learned from this past year (or four), then get serious about learning them and make the necessary adjustments so you don’t have to learn them again.

But don’t look too closely at the short-term results or the apparent reality of your situation – not if you want to keep going until you reach the other side (at least temporarily). Don’t count the number of times the Road Runner has escaped or discount your latest rocket-shoes, catapult, or magic hole-on-a-wall before you’ve tried them with full conviction. You’re probably not going to accomplish all you hoped when you took on this gig. You’re probably not going to have movies made about you or books written about your impact. I wouldn’t even bet on a “Mr. Holland’s Opus” moment now or in the future.

That doesn’t mean you’re not doing a good job. It doesn’t prove your worst fears and adds zero credibility to the accusations of your detractors. All it means is that sometimes you can’t see it and probably shouldn’t think too hard about it. Not this time. Maybe eventually, but not right now. For now, having the right sort of delusions is enough.

Can You Teach Us?

May 14, 2021June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

Public education has been overlooking – or worse, neglecting – a golden opportunity to improve. It’s not only been right in front of us all along, it’s been kicking us and taking our lunch money! And yet, somehow, where we should have recognized an opportunity, all we’ve seen is a competitor. In some cases, maybe even a threat.

It’s like we don’t actually WANT to teach gooder. I assume this is largely due to the various teachers’ unions and Hillary Clinton’s personal email server.

We’ve been told for several decades now that “school choice,” vouchers, educational “savings” accounts, etc., are essential for students to have access to a truly quality education, and that a little healthy competition will make us all better. I, for one, have been guilty of pushing back against this rhetoric. I’ve even been so cynical as to suggest ulterior motives by many of those involved (for which I assure you I now have all sorts of lingering guilt). But as Indiana dramatically expands their various “choice” initiatives and other red states do the same, I believe it’s time to change our approach.

It’s time to seek the guidance of the masters. It’s time to admit our own shortcomings and failures and learn from those who’ve accomplished so much. It’s not selling out, kids – it’s buying in. Besides, there’s nothing for me here now. I want to learn the ways of the Choice and become highly qualified like you. There’s still good in me. Surely you can sense it.

Teach us.

Learning The Ways Of The Choice

The primary argument for “school choice” is that the quality of the education is just plain better. The teachers are better. The administration is better. The system is organized more efficiently. The curriculum is more coherent and whole. The atmosphere simply reeks of excellence.

It’s easy to lose sight of this because those of us on the pro-“destroying the future” side of things have been too long distracted by this crazy idea that private schools achieve their goals primarily by picking and choosing which students they want on their rosters and turning away the rest. We’ve quibbled over many institutions’ focus on religious dogma, questionable science, distorted or overly selective history, and a tendency to blame everything from poverty to skin tone on some combination of personal failure and the sins of Cain. We’ve let ourselves become overly focused on the relative lack of improvement demonstrated year after year in “educational outputs” instead of zeroing in on the handful of truly impressive outliers here and there who get cited in all the brochures.

In short, we’ve been too cynical. Let’s try assuming the best about our cohorts in the world of private religious schooling, shall we?

I’m Here To Rescue You

If it’s about better teaching, then please – come train us. Show us your ways. It has to be better than most of the “professional development” to which we’re usually subjected. I’ll even pay attention and do the activities – I promise!

If it’s about better school administration, then come run a building or two for us. The pay has to be better, and if there’s such a thing as “doing the Lord’s work,” then surely this qualifies. Come show us how to reduce waste and establish that culture of excellence or whatever. We even promise not to pull the “union won’t let you” card out for the first year or two.

If it’s about better policies, then that’s easy. Just email us a PDF and we’ll gladly give it a go. Anything conflicting with state requirements should be simple enough to fix. If all of these legislators are as committed to educational excellence as they keep insisting (particularly when it involves more “freedom” and greater “choice”), surely they’d be willing to waive a statute or two. Or 3,497.

If it’s about curriculum, we’ll gladly pay for a copy. We’re apparently flush with wasted cash here in the world of public education. It would no doubt be an improvement, I assure you. Our administration buys some weird stuff already and your standards can’t be any worse than “Teach Like A Mongol Barbarian” or “Writing Through Excellence In Compassionate Modal Communication Across The Curriculum For Everyone!”

If it’s about facilities, well… I guess that depends on what we’re missing. Apparently we waste all kinds of resources on overstaffing and glossy copy paper and what not – maybe cutting back a little on the bad stuff would free up some funds. If not, there’s always another fundraiser pushing overpriced M&Ms on kids. Or Kickstarter.

In short, we’re ready. Come show us how to teach our students as effectively as you teach yours. Come show us how to be more committed, less wasteful, and become overall better people both personally and professionally. You win. We’re mediocre and whiney. You’re talented and full of passion. Help us, Obi-Wan Kenobi – you’re our only hope.

The Terminally Exhausted Part

There is one tiny little downside to this plan: it will never happen. And even if it did, it would never work.

Maybe that’s two tiny little downsides.

The problem isn’t that private school teachers aren’t any good at what they do. Many of them are amazing. The problem is that so are many public school educators. Despite rhetoric to the contrary, that’s not really the issue. Nor is it about curriculum or facilities or administration.

When private schools have superior outcomes, you’ll generally find they started with very different students than the public school they’re supposed to be “inspiring” down the road. That’s not even necessarily a bad thing. The best and brightest need good teachers just like everyone else. They’re not always easier to teach or intrinsically motivated to learn. As any teacher of advanced students (public or private) can assure you, “top” kids are just as much work as “bottom” kids – just in different ways.

But let’s stop pretending it’s an accomplishment to inherit upper middle class white kids from two-parent families whose lives have been full of travel and books and engaging conversation and art and expectations and consistency. Let’s stop pretending that’s somehow not one of the biggest draws of private schooling – the chance to have your elite little darling surrounded by and shaped by other folks’ elite darlings. We see it in AP or IB classes in public schools. We see it in neighborhoods in different parts of town. We see it in the churches we choose to attend and the stores in which we choose to shop. We can debate whether it’s ethically “right” or “wrong,” but only if we start by being honest about this very human tendency we’re indulging.

Let’s stop pretending that “choice” is about improving “educational outcomes” for everyone. Sure, that fits a certain school of capitalistic thought – but after decades of spouting the admittedly catchy rhetoric that goes along with it, it turns out it simply doesn’t work in any sort of predictable or consistent way. The vast majority of the time, “school choice” is about getting US away from THEM, whether the distinction is racial, economic, or religious. (That’s also why it’s usually the schools that have their choice of students; not students who have a true choice of schools.) Personally, I think it undercuts one of the primary functions of public education if we allow large segments of the community to pull their children into little enclaves and teach them stuff that runs against the goals and success of the larger society. But we can’t even have that argument unless we start being honest with each other (and ourselves) about what we want and why we make the choices we do.

The X-Files Problem

One of the most frustrating premises of the classic “X-Files” series was that not only was the truth “out there,” but there were numerous individuals fully aware of it who simply wouldn’t tell the rest of us. Scully and Muldar were working not only against aliens, freaks, and the elusive nature of reality – they were being taunted by their own government who could have saved all sorts of time and money if they’d simply sent them a few PDF summaries of how things really worked.

It’s foolish to pretend that the secret to education is out there – the unified learning theory that reaches all students in all situations and imparts all the knowledge and skills we’d like if only we were willing to push the “GO” button. There are good ideas and bad, stuff that works in many situations with many different types of kids and stuff that’s pretty stupid no matter where it’s tried. There are teachers working wonders in impossible situations and entire districts coasting along mired in mediocrity and bureaucracy. And yes, there are private schools doing a much better job with challenging populations than their public counterpart down the street.

There are legit arguments to be had about “school choice” when it comes to private schools willing to teach a largely secular curriculum to students very much like those attending the local public schools and take responsibility for both the results and how they treat their students in order to make it happen. We pretend we’re having them all the time.

Usually we’re not.

If “school choice” is of genuine benefit to all students, it should be easy to both document and replicate – neither of which seems to be happening much. If it’s not, the conversation should be about whether or not there are other good reasons to keep doing it. We can’t have that discussion, however, until all parties are willing to get a little more honest with themselves about what they’re actually doing and why they’re doing it.

RELATED POST: 5 Bad Assumptions Behind Education Reform

RELATED POST: Welcome To Atheist School!

RELATED POST: To Sleep, Perchance To Sue…