Tag: teacher problems

8 Lessons For White Teachers In “Urban” Schools

~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

Yo Yo PaI wrote recently about some of the challenges of being an old white guy from a non-descript middle-class background teaching in a high-poverty, majority-minority school. My goal was to be honest about some of the difficulties without veering into whining or – worse – appearing to criticize my kids. Whatever my struggles, they pale (if you’ll pardon the expression) compared to many of theirs.

It’s in that same spirit that I’d like to share some end-of-the-year thoughts for anyone who might find themselves in a similar situation at some point, either as a newbie teacher or as an experienced educator moving into an unfamiliar district. I offer no data, no documentation, and no guarantees – merely hard-won insights based on my subjective experiences.

Still, let’s be honest – I’m much, MUCH wiser than most of those “real” experts, so let’s just assume this list is canon until proven otherwise.

(1) You Don’t Actually “Get It”

My first year here, a veteran teacher (also white) took me aside and told me to read the books and go to the workshops and do everything I could to understand my kids, but to recognize that we’ll NEVER be as “woke” as they are. “You and I will never quite understand what it’s like to be in their worlds, and if you pretend you do, they’ll see right through you.”

This was (and is) good advice, whatever your demographic details. Do the reading. Pay attention to the conversations. Understand the research. But don’t presume you “get it” unless their world was your world first.

(2) Own Your Biases & Assumptions

Repeat this to yourself out loud at least once each day before you head to work: “I may not think so, but I have biases. I make assumptions and form generalities which are sometimes incorrect. This is a natural, human thing to do and doesn’t make me a bad person – but it can hinder my efforts to be a good teacher unless I’m careful. What should I be questioning about my own thoughts or feelings today?”

Here’s an easy example: many of my students like rap and hip-hop (are those even different things these days?) A significant minority, however, prefer K-Pop, 90’s-era grunge, or some other genre not normally associated with “those kids.” If I simply assume they all like rap and hip-hop, it builds unnecessary barriers from something I’d hoped would build connections. Something with a bit more bite: for years, I’ve called students by their last names – “Mr. ___” or “Miss ___” as a sign of respect and an attempt to elevate expectations. Here, this produces outraged reactions and verbal hostility beyond what I ever could have imagined. This is not hyperbole – it’s a very consistent reaction among 90% of my students when I slip up and forget. Whatever my intentions, it simply doesn’t mean to them what I think it should mean – so I adjust. 

It’s actually not that difficult to avoid egregiously offensive stereotyping (assuming you’re not clueless or a complete tool). It’s the little things that catch you off guard and trip you up. Even if you don’t offend or horrify anyone, you’ll feel silly and it won’t do much for that whole “rapport” thing you’re going for.

(3) You Need Thick Skin.

This is true of teaching in general, but (as I wrote about a few weeks ago) broken kids tend to radiate anger and hurt and fear and other emotional concoctions I can’t even properly identify.

It’s fairly rare in my building for a kid to lash out at a teacher directly. I’ll get “attitude” or the occasional snub when attempting to speak to someone (usually from kids I don’t actually have in class, and thus with whom I have little or no relationship). From time to time a student will unexpectedly dig in on something small and escalate the situation past what seems reasonable, but these are separate events to be managed – not an ubiquitous feature of the environment.

In my experience, it’s the sheer volume and intensity of the unspoken emotions which can be crippling. I don’t want to sound overly mystic or touchy-feely, but the real challenge isn’t usually specific kids with specific attitudes, expressions, or behaviors I can identify – it’s the intangible waves of doubt and anger and injustice and posturing and uneasiness.

(4) Be Consistent (Within Reason)

This is a biggie in almost any classroom situation, but I’d argue it’s exponentially more important with kids from broken backgrounds and disenfranchised demographics. If you’re strict about the rules, be the same level of strict every day, with every student, as best you can without obvious harm. If you’re lax about late work, be the same amount lax throughout the year whenever feasible. Perhaps most importantly, leave your personal emotions in the car and be the person they need you to be no matter how you really feel that day.

Teenagers in general have an exaggerated sense of injustice – and my kids take this to whole new levels. They also tend to take things far more personally than other groups. Let a teacher be absent for a few days without providing a good reason (in the eyes of their kids) and even the students who don’t like them begin wrestling with abandonment issues. Speak more harshly than you intend or overlook a question in the middle of a chaotic moment and you might as well have slapped them right in the id.

This doesn’t mean you can’t hold kids accountable or that you should never adjust based on circumstances. Just remain aware of anything which might be perceived as “unfair” and be prepared to justify it to yourself, your kids, and anyone up the chain.

(5) Don’t Expect Consistency In Return.

This, too, can be a “teenager” thing no matter what their demographics. It seems far more volatile with my current kids, however, than with groups I’ve had in the past, not just in terms of attendance, behavior, or academics, but emotionally as well. It’s like they’re controlled by dozens of internal game show wheels constantly being re-spun to see what comes out next.

I have a young lady who rarely (if ever) makes the slightest attempt to participate in anything educational. She’s not always disruptive, but neither will she go through the motions with us just to be cooperative. When I make an effort to speak to her during more relaxed moments (just as I do with most kids from time to time) she’s often resentful, bordering on rude. On the other hand, when I leave her alone for more than a day, she asks me why I’m “ignoring” her and sounds genuinely offended.

Today after school, a young man I don’t remember ever seeing or speaking to saw me in the hall, called my name, then gave me a quick combination fist-bump-bro-hug-finger-snap-something that caught me completely off guard. I think I hid my surprise pretty well, but I still don’t know what I did to earn the exchange.

(6) Be Kind (Not Soft)

Some groups respond well to sarcasm and abuse as a love language. I was brutal to my suburban freshmen (of all colors), but no matter how cruel I managed to be, they ate it up and decided it made us “tight.” My current kids can be quite ugly with one another without seeming to take it badly, but I know instinctively (and without any doubt) that it would be a terrible idea for me to join the dozens. I can be a good teacher and develop productive relationships with my kids without sharing the dynamics they have with our security team (all of whom are Black) or some of the other staff. It’s not about me proving anything or earning “wokeness” bonus points; it’s about what’s best for the kids in front of me. 

I’ve raised my voice to a full class a few times throughout the year when necessary to get their attention, but it’s my conviction that there are few – if any – situations in which an old white man yelling at individual students of color will lead to better outcomes. Maybe it’s the mamby-pamby liberal in me, but I just can’t stomach it. Plus, I’m not sure anger or hostility (no matter how strategic) is particularly effective with any demographics, at least these days. Maybe they never were.

Be firm. Follow through on consequences. Expect the best. But recognize that the sort of posturing or emotional responses which might be excusable (if not ideal) in other circumstances may do irredeemable damage to your relationship with those already marginalized – and possibly to the kids themselves.

(7) Don’t Patronize

Under no circumstances should you try to be cooler or hipper or more “down with the kids” than you truly are. If you actually play that video game, love that album, or eat that food, then bond away when situationally appropriate. But dear god, PLEASE don’t try to use slang you don’t fully understand or emulate speech patterns which are not your own. I’m not suggesting you have to maintain a commitment to the Queen’s English or refuse to learn their language in order to improve communication; I’m merely pointing out what a bad idea it is to be disingenuous – however noble your intentions.

They’ll eventually explain to you anything you’re not understanding about their slang or their approach. Enjoy those moments, but don’t think they free you up to make a fool of yourself.

(8) It’s Not Personal.

As with much on this list, this is a good thing to keep in mind with any students in any situation, but it’s particularly apt with underserved kids. Some days, you’ll feel like you’re making progress and developing some good communication; the next day, they want nothing to do with you or your (seemingly) pointless lessons. If you rely on positive interactions to sustain you, you’ll find yourself deflated by negative feedback or disengaged days. There’s a messy balance between “reading the room” enough to adjust what you’re doing for maximum effectiveness and the need to simply push ahead with what you know to be right even when they’re giving you nothing to draw on.

Keep talking to your peers (the good ones, anyway). It’s OK to vent as long as you soon come back around to the things in your control and your professional and ethical commitments to figuring out what’s best for the young folks in your care – whether they love it or not. Don’t be afraid of asking for help with uncomfortable issues, but neither should you assume that every awkward moment or frustrating interaction is about race, or poverty, or culture, or whatever. Sometimes teaching is just weird and people are just complicated.

Especially teenagers.

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A Leap of Well-Intentioned Delusion

~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

Indiana Jones Leap Of FaithThere are so many things about teaching that are difficult to explain to those outside the field. (That may be true of other professions as well, but this is the one I know best.) Even within the world of public education, it’s tricky to balance honesty with optimism, or transparency with teamwork. Too much venting can feed on itself and become entrenched cynicism. An excess of chipper determination, on the other hand, risks building endless castles on the sands of delusion.

Plus, it’s really annoying. Dial it back, Pedagogy-Anna.

For any of us to spend seven or eight hours a day surrounded by teenagers participating against their will and presume to inspire them to learn things about which they don’t generally care requires a degree of moxie most adults could never manage. It’s just as well we fill baby teachers with lofty ideals about changing lives and shaping futures before turning them loose in their own classrooms; they’d never survive long enough to develop thick skins and workable management techniques otherwise.

At the same time, I don’t trust anyone too consistently negative about their kids or their experiences during the day. It’s not that I don’t believe them. It’s just that – to paraphrase George Carlin – anyone more enthused about school than I am is dangerously delusional while anyone less enthused is an embittered cynic who needs a new career.

Nevertheless, I’d like to share something I’ve been wrestling with recently. Some of you may have experienced similar thoughts or feelings, in which case I’m once again sparking difficult-but-necessary discussions about an issue central to our profession. It’s also possible that the problem is just me, in which case the red flags are about 25 years too late.

Oh well.

I was fortunate for many years to teach in a suburban district with solid leadership and reasonable resources. While I had my share of disagreements with various authority figures over the years, I knew most of them had the same overall goals and priorities I did. I trusted their intentions and their expertise more often than not. My students were a fairly diverse bunch racially and culturally (if not always economically), and over the years I discovered that if I put enough time, thought, and creativity into my lessons, many of them would engage in actual learning, whether they wanted to or not.

At least most days.

I didn’t need to chart student growth based on standardized tests; I could watch it unfolding over the course of each year. Some of them talked to me about their lives, concerns, and victories, while others simply rolled in each day, did their thing, and moved on. Either way, I felt good about what I did most of the time. It wasn’t always easy, but there was never any real doubt that it mattered. I wasn’t perfect, but I did a decent job overall of pushing both my students and myself to be the best we could be.

Cue inspirational music.

About five years ago, we moved. I took a position teaching similar kids in what I thought was similar district – but very much wasn’t. Things went south and I ended up leaving under unpleasant circumstances. I considered leaving the profession altogether but settled for new surroundings and a new subject area. I ended up teaching English in a high poverty, majority-minority district.

The first semester completely kicked my @$$. I realized within about two weeks that nothing I’d done before would work here. I had to rethink everything I knew about teaching and learning, not to mention classroom management and student engagement. Keep in mind I’d just come out of a horrible experience with my previous gig and wasn’t exactly feeling indestructible. It was all quite humbling.

I’d just starting to build a little positive momentum when the pandemic hit and we all went home. “Distance learning” offered few challenges, mostly because only about four students logged in or attempted anything for the rest of the year. Halfway through last year we implemented a “hybrid” model in which small groups began attending in person a few days a week, meaning in reality that only the kids who really wanted to be there were physically present. That was amazing. (Sorry, but it was.) This year, we’ve largely been back to the “traditional” way of doing things (albeit with masks until recently), making this the first school year in which I’ve had my students, in person, the entire time. 

Now, please understand – I love my kids. I like most of my co-workers. I’m not fundamentally unhappy with the place, the people, or the circumstances. But it’s a very different world, and a radically different teaching experience than anything I’ve done before.

And it’s exhausting.

A high percentage of my students deal with or have dealt with some sort of trauma. I don’t always know the details, but I’ve seen more sweatshirts and pendants memorializing lost brothers, sisters, friends, or other loved ones in the past few years than in the rest of my life combined. Substance abuse is difficult to assess accurately, but seems largely confined to the light stuff – marijuana and vaping. (“Percs” come up in conversations from time to time when they think I’m not paying attention.) I’ve picked up enough to realize that family dysfunctions and sexual abuse are in the mix for many of them as well. There are missing or incarcerated parents and family members with all sorts of medical, mental, or emotional issues. Even strong academic students have difficulty backing down from conflict or confrontation, although thanks to an amazing (and unflappable) security team, fights within the building are rare.Then there’s the poverty itself, which comes with its own complications and does its own special damage. 

Add to this the fact that teenagers are teenagers. They often choose to be difficult, or lazy, or melodramatic. They find TikTok more entertaining than close reading strategies and texting more engaging than revising their rough drafts. Hormones and emotions and personalities and conflicting senses of self are flying in all directions, all day every day. Somewhere in the mix are the shortcomings of the district and its leadership, the political demands of a state legislature dominated by the monstrosity masquerading as the modern Republican Party, and whatever personal failures I bring to the table despite my best intentions.

It’s thus impossible to fully untangle the various factors which lead to the dynamics around me each day. What comes across as defiance or resentment might be a symptom of neglect, brokenness, or other trauma… or it might just mean that J.P. would rather be somewhere else goofing off so he’s making things difficult. What manifests as lack of focus or difficulty reading might be developmental, emotional, situational, or simply immature or lazy. Even the positive stuff can be difficult to figure out. Has my eternal optimism and encouragement finally begun to pay off, or is L.A. simply in a good mood because she has a new boyfriend?

In short, I can no longer rely on any of the cues which once let me know how things were going or how I was doing. Student engagement is a struggle for even the most celebrated veteran educators here, and student performance (at least as measured by the endless barrage of standardized tests we give) is rocky across the board. I’m not suggesting it’s impossible, merely that none of the things I’ve grown to rely on over the years work the same, and it’s disorienting. And discouraging. And exhausting.

I’m not alone in this wilderness. I have some wonderful co-workers, but many of us share that sense that all we’re doing is throwing lit matches into the swamp. We’ve been around long enough to reject simplistic explanations. Our kids aren’t unteachable, or evil; they come from unpleasant circumstances. At the same time, they have free will; they’re not helpless victims tossed about on waves of happenstance.

That’s when the teacher guilt kicks in. Maybe we’re, you know… doing it wrong. Maybe we’re simply not good enough at this. Or maybe their resistance, their brokenness, their circumstances, are so much bigger than our abilities and our ideals that it’s meaningless for us to keep trying.

You can see where this undercuts the whole “missionary zeal” element of the gig. All that personal fulfillment that’s supposed to offset all the other nonsense pretty much falls away after a few months.

Before you begin contacting my loved ones to organize an intervention, please understand that I’m just trying to be transparent here. I’m perplexed, but not in despair (at least not perpetually). I know intellectually that we must press on. That it matters. At the very least, I don’t have any better ideas.

But I’m also aware that such faith – just like the bigger, spiritual kind – is purely self-designed and existential. It’s a leap of well-intentioned delusion. Without reliable evidence either way, there’s no reason to believe anything I’m doing has value or a positive impact. I could just as easily be making things worse while ignoring the signs so I’ll feel better about myself. People do.

That would be… unfortunate.

So, I force myself to interact with trusted colleagues. To have difficult conversations. To encourage them, and in so doing, to encourage myself. I do my best to go back to the basics, to chart what growth I can, and to be vigilant about my attitude and my interactions. Most of all, I keep looking for ways to adjust, and to celebrate it when anything positive – even the smallest things – occurs as a result. I hope I’m pressing on faithfully, not clinging stubbornly to a series of bad decisions and inept efforts, but I’d hold off on the tear-jerking montage because I’m not entirely sure. At the moment, however, there’s no queue of highly qualified, more energetic alternatives lining up outside, vying for my job… so it’s on me to do the best with it that I can. 

If that requires creating a little of my own reality to make it happen, I’ll take that chance.

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‘D’ Is For ‘Dilemma’

~ Blue Cereal

House Glove‘D’ Is For ‘Dilemma’

I remember sitting down to my very first teacher certification test a quarter-century ago. I’d reported to some obscure little “testing center” hidden in an office complex I’d passed a hundred times without noticing and brought along all the right paperwork. I was armed with a reasonable knowledge of history and plenty of pedagogical theory, with a side of buzzwords and popular edu-trends of the time.

The first section of the exam was multiple choice. I read the first question and marked ‘D’. The second question I felt confident of as well; it also happened to be ‘D’. So was question three. And four. And five. 

I stopped after the tenth question and scrolled back through my answers so far. They were all ‘D’. 

I was fresh out of teacher school and had completed “Tests and Measurements” only the summer before. I knew darn well that no legitimate exam creation process would play those sorts of games with the answers – ten ‘D’s in a row. It was also considered poor form to do anything to undermine the test-taker’s confidence right out of the gate. Ideally, for example, exams should begin with relatively straightforward questions and only gradually increase in difficulty. “Trick questions” were discouraged in any context, but certainly shouldn’t be thrown in right at the beginning. 

I must have been missing something.

I went back through all ten again but still felt fairly certain of my responses. There were one or two that MIGHT have been one of the other options, but ‘D’ still made more sense in each case. So… I kept them and moved on. 

The rest of my responses were more or less varied in the usual way – plenty of ‘A’s, ‘B’s, and ‘C’s, along with a few more ‘D’s. I must have done OK; my overall score on that section was well above the necessary cut-off and seemed impressive enough at the time.

Apparently, the first ten answers were all ‘D’, no matter what good pedagogy or standard educational practices said.

Next Slide, Please 

It’s almost a cliche by now to note how often professional educators are required to endure some well-intentioned drone (usually from “downtown”) reading – word for word – a PowerPoint presentation of 60 – 70 slides. If you’re lucky, they even include a few single-panel comics… which they read and explain as well. Often they’ll hand out the entire presentation on paper so you can read along – as if THAT somehow makes it better. 

On at least two occasions, I sat through ninety minutes of this specifically on the topic of making our classrooms more interactive and engaging. We were scolded in classic Ferris Bueller style (minus even the token efforts at interaction – “Anyone? Anyone?”) about how bad it was to rely on direct instruction. Kids apparently don’t have the attention span for such things – it’s boring and bad pedagogy. The person droning on about this even offered to come help us develop more engaging lessons if we wished. 

There was absolutely NO sense of irony indicated. 

Some of you may remember when “Prezi” first became a thing. The folks from “downtown” were so excited! I remember vividly the first Prezi presentation I watched and all the many features it included. They started with a page of text… then zoomed way, WAY in on different text, then it swooped over in a circle to some new text before zooming back out to a different part of the original text – all while reading each word to us slowly and methodically. They even described what was happening: “we can now zoom in on this ‘T’ and it says…”

Let’s Go To The Rubric 

One of the most bewildering moments in the world of teacher enlightenment came when we were assigned to create rubrics for several different types of assignment. (For any of you unfamiliar with the term in this context, a rubric is an effort to bring clarity and standardization to grading subjective work – art, writing, projects, etc. It allows teachers to bring clarity to their expectations – or at least reduce everything to the same sorts of numbers we use when grading multiple choice quizzes.) The administrator in question wanted more “unified” expectations across the curriculum, starting with a rubric we could all theoretically use to grade student writing. 

The problem, of course, is that there are many different types of writing, and what English is looking for in a creative narrative may not be the same as what AP U.S. History demands from a historical argument. Such distinctions were lost on the powers-that-be, however, who insisted that surely there must be some shared priorities – like spelling and grammar, for example. He was correct that we were in agreement on this issue. While we all cared about clarity in student writing, none of us prioritized spelling or grammar over content or overall organization. 

I’m pretty sure he was convinced at that point that we were being difficult on purpose. 

Eventually we moved on to a different sort of assignment – say, a multiple choice exam. What sort of rubric could we create to promote more unified grading of multiple choice quizzes and tests?

We weren’t sure how to even respond to that one. The very idea demonstrated such a gross lack of understanding of rubrics and what they do that we were genuinely speechless. What’s the professionally appropriate way to tell a superior that you’re not sure how to do what they’re requesting because it’s inane?

Cross My Heart

Such issues become even more maddening when they involve classroom management or discipline. Ask any teacher and you’ll no doubt find a wide and troubling range of examples for the good, the bad, and the ugly when it comes to administrative responses when students are referred to them for various violations. There are districts for whom “restorative justice” simply means sitting around sharing feelings anytime a student commits a serious violation, then sending them back to class presumably fully redeemed. Other times, administration confuses “zero tolerance” for “consistent expectations,” refusing to let reality or context interfere with their approach towards students OR faculty.

Anyone who’s been in education for more than a few years has encountered their share of bizarre district mandates untethered by reality. I’m currently tasked with raising students who rarely if ever attend school by multiple reading levels by the years’ end – as if sheer determination and some creative lesson plans could transform a fifth grade reading level to that of the average ninth grader in even the best of circumstances. I don’t worry about it, however, because it’s inane. It’s so undoable as to be meaningless. Like my students, I may not always buy into even the legit stuff – but I’ll definitely ignore the impossible.

What’s Your Point?

I generally avoid expressing frustration with school boards or administration. (Not that I haven’t periodically vented a bit when I thought there were larger points to be made.)

We have too many common oppressors from outside the system to turn on one another, at least publicly. And besides, many of the folks working in those positions are sensible, well-intentioned professionals. Just like teachers in general, it’s unfair to demonize them based on the idiocy of a handful of their peers.

I bring up these few examples of nonsense I’ve encountered over the years to make a point many have made before and which I hope others will continue repeating as often as possible going forward: it doesn’t matter what you demand until you can demonstrate that you have some idea what you’re talking about. 

This is just as true with teachers as it is with students. My expertise in a subject area may not always secure enthusiastic cooperation from teenagers, but my ignorance pretty much guarantees problems. I may have an entire arsenal of policies and expectations intended to coerce them into doing what I say, but unless I manage to build some degree of rapport, I’ll have to rely on the authority of others to handle my problems (of which there will be many). 

The number one thing districts or administrators can do to secure more support and cooperation from their teachers is the same as what we’re told to do with students – build some credibility. Spend some time listening more than talking. Don’t pretend to know more than you do. Assume we can tell the difference between genuine interest in our perceptions and expertise and yet another survey about building climate or district priorities. Stop basing so many of your decisions on petty disputes with individuals or what looks best on your resume. Most of all, be genuine. You don’t have to sacrifice professional boundaries to not be full of $#!+. 

Just like in the classroom, you don’t have to be perfect, but you do have to be sincere. Until you’ve built up a positive track record with all involved, job title alone is insufficient for securing buy in.  

You may get token compliance, but genuine cooperation? Not so much. 

Teachers aren’t always easy people to deal with, but then again, neither are students. That’s the gig. If you can’t be genuine about it, or you lack the necessary skills and knowledge to do more than fake it, maybe it’s not for you. There are many professions where you can rely on misdirection and obfuscation without doing any real damage, but this isn’t one of them. In short, whether you’re a superintendent, a department manager, a curriculum director, or a building principal, please take a moment and ask yourself what you’re really doing, and why. 

Then ask the folks working “under” you how you could be doing it better. And mean it this time.

Of Assumptions and Performative Wokeness

~ Blue Cereal

Q JudgeFor more years than I can count, I found it odd that for all the amazing things special effects could do, snow in movies and TV shows looked so fake. Maybe it was one of those things like making gunshots sound richer and fuller than they often do in real life or allowing actresses to wake up in the morning with perfect hair and makeup. Maybe it served some purpose I didn’t fully grasp, and was intentional. It’s not like I spent a great deal of time thinking about it or writing angry letters to Steven Spielberg and Ron Howard – it was just something that bugged me… even when I wasn’t consciously aware of it.

Then my wife and I moved to Northern Indiana and I experienced a whole new flavor of winter. It turns out that filmmakers do a perfectly wonderful job of imitating fluffy, flakey stuff (or at least some forms of it). You’re probably familiar with the urban legend about Eskimos having dozens of different words for “snow.” It’s not true (at least, not in the way it’s usually told), but winters here have given me a whole new appreciation for the sticking power of this particular myth. There are ALL KINDS OF SNOW here – often, different varieties throughout the same day. 

My assumptions were wrong. In retrospect, they were ridiculous. Whatever else you can say about Oklahoma, it’s rarely cited as a reliable example of “the norm” for ANYTHING, least of all weather. I had absolutely no reason to believe my limited experiences were typical of others. That a handful of proper winters in and around Tulsa proved dozens of renowned filmmakers incompetent was a presumption beyond excuse. 

European audiences at rock concerts tend to clap along on all four beats, or on the one and the three. This is terribly awkward to the American ear, where good sense and musical ethics demand we clap on the two and the four, like Jesus would have. 

I’ve heard various explanations for this, but the most reasonable hypothesis is that it stems from the blues and gospel music which spawned modern rock’n’roll right here in the U.S. of A. Europeans may like rock and pop now, but their cultural roots are, I dunno… marches and polkas or whatever.

You know, stuff where you clap wrong. 

And yet, there’s no ethical component to clapping, and no harm done by clapping on the one and three, the one-two-three-four, or completely missing the beat altogether and just sort of randomly smacking your hands together in blissful cluelessness. It’s just percussion. But we’ve done it that way for so long, and it feels so natural, that it’s not something most of us would ever think to question. Anyone clapping differently is, at the very least, not as musically gifted as ourselves. It’s kinda sad, really.  

History is replete with overturned paradigms. Doctors eventually gave in to the idea of washing their hands between delivering babies. The earth turned out NOT to be the center of the universe. People don’t always make financial or political decisions in their own best interests. Professional wrestling became more popular once we stopped pretending it was “real.” 

Most educators know by now the dangers of making assumptions about students or their behavior without doing our best to consider cultural, economic, or other factors. We may not always be successful at recognizing our biases (some are no doubt in much deeper denial than others), but it’s not for a lack of training, workshops, book clubs, and other discussions. 

We at least know it’s a thing. Er… right?

What we don’t always recognize are the assumptions or biases we’re not even sufficiently aware of to question. What are the personal and pedagogical equivalents to fake movie snow and clapping on the wrong beats? The ones that haven’t specifically come up in workshops or enlightened reading assignments?

What am I missing?

At the same time, while we continue the struggle to bring more of our colleagues into the twenty-first century, some of those who got an early start on the process are crashing right through the bumpers in the opposite direction. In our quest to challenge Anglo-centric, cisgender, middle-class Protestant norms, it’s easy to veer into an obsessive sort of performative “wokeness.” Full of good intentions and thirsting for social justice, it’s tempting to categorize every student foible, every act of disruption or defiance, every shortcoming or struggle, as ongoing fallout from centuries of mistreatment and ignorance. Rather than address the problem, we celebrate our own enlightened descriptions and understanding – an ironically elitist and detached new twist on “other-izing.”

Don’t misunderstand me –  these are important conversations to have. We MUST get (and remain) more comfortable with challenges to our own ways of thinking or doing. I was speaking this week to a (White) colleague of mine who’d run into some difficulties with a group of girls (who happened to all be Black). He’d been trying the “let’s talk this out” approach rather than treating their behaviors and attitudes as a purely disciplinary matter. In sharing his perceptions of the issue with them, he said something to the effect of “it just seems like you guys feel the need to challenge every little thing I try to–”

One of the girls jumped in. “You guys?! You mean, the Black kids?” As you might imagine, this didn’t have the calming, kumbaya effect he’d been hoping for. There was now a new fire to put out and the original point was lost. 

He spent the rest of the day probing at the possibility that he’d been justly called out for unconscious bias or some other inappropriate attitude or thinking on his part. Even if the motivation of the girl calling him out was suspect (like many teenagers, she’s an expert at derailing those sorts of conversations), he wanted to make sure there was nothing in it he’d overlooked. Was “you guys” a form of “you people”? Was referring to the girls in the collective a subtle offense he hadn’t properly recognized? Could there have been something in his tone or body language that–?

You get the idea.

At the risk of repeating myself, these are good discussions to have. He was right to ask those questions. What’s problematic is our human tendency to begin valuing our own “insight” and “wokeness” over honesty and doing whatever it takes to help kids learn, or when we reduce these challenges into handouts or animated videos explaining the causes and best responses for every possible iteration of human behavior. 

Here’s a simple truth which often gets lost in the rhetoric: teenagers are complicated. So is teaching. (I’m sure it’s true of many other professions and situations as well.) My personality, mood, and experiences meet their messy mix of issues and abilities inside an ever-shifting context of culture, politics, economics, and educational dynamics. I’m not saying it’s the most difficult job in the world, but it’s certainly in the running for “most platitudes and expert opinions from people who wouldn’t last a week if they tried actually doing this for a living.”

I’d love to offer my own enlightened guidelines for when to bend policies or adjust expectations based on students’ backgrounds, experiences, circumstances, or whatever, but I’m not sure I have any. I’d like to wax poetic about restorative justice (pro or con), classroom management, high standards, compassion before academics, or even the “soft bigotry of low expectations.” Honestly, though, I can no longer maintain that level of conviction. 

The longer I teach, write, and observe, the less comfortable I am taking a hard stand about what anyone else should handle pretty much any issue related to grades, discipline, curriculum, etc. I certainly have my own ideas about what usually works better than other stuff, and a few convictions about decisions and attitudes which are pretty much always a terrible idea.

Then again, I had similar certainties several years ago when I changed districts and discovered some of the stuff that sounded horrible to me in other contexts made perfect sense here and has proven good for teachers and students alike. 

My assumptions turned out to be mistaken – even some of the ones I didn’t quite realize I had. 

We must continue to challenge outdated mindsets and harmful policies. We should absolutely strive to educate ourselves about racism, homophobia, poverty, learning issues, emotional challenges, or whatever else complicates the lives of our kids. I’m not suggesting some sort of ethical or pedagogical ambivalence or that anything goes professionally. I just think we’d all benefit from a little less certainty about our own perceptions, and a little less security in our high-ground “solutions.” I think we need to do a better job questioning our assumptions, and accepting that some people clap on the one and the three and it works out quite well for everyone involved. Sometimes that IS what snow looks like. Maybe it just doesn’t look like that where I live right now. 

I don’t mean to get all “swelling-music” and “podium-banging” on you. I’m speaking to myself more than anyone else. I suppose I’m just sick and tired of overly-simplified, self-righteous proclamations (including my own) of how things should or shouldn’t be in someone else’s classroom, someone else’s district, or even someone else’s grade book. Of course we can and should challenge questionable policies or decision-making. Of course we can and should keep fighting for what’s best for students. Of course we can and should continue to insist on better from ourselves and our peers.

Let’s just do so with a little less confidence that we, more than they, know what’s best in every situation, or that our absolutes are somehow better than all those outdated absolutes we had to reject to get as far as we have today. Maybe – just maybe – it’s more complicated than that.

Relationships (Repost)

~ Blue Cereal

Distance LearningGood morning. Welcome to our first back-to-school faculty meeting. We have several important items on the agenda today, then we’re going to fill the afternoon with pointless activities we found online because the district says we have to professionally develop until at least 3:00 whether we need it or not.

As some of you know, we had a bit of unpleasantness last spring which we’d like to avoid happening again this coming year. A teacher who is no longer with us crossed a few boundaries and before you knew it, we were leading off the local evening news – and unfortunately it wasn’t for our horrible test scores this time.

With that in mind, I’d like to draw your attention to the pink handout in front of you. These are some of this year’s revised guidelines for teacher-student interactions. I won’t read it all to you (it’s not PowerPoint), but I would like to point out a few highlights.

First and foremost, no touching. If you need to get a student’s attention, use your words. If you wish to encourage them… well, it’s best if you avoid that altogether. Some of you have fallen into a very bad habit of putting a hand on a shoulder or patting a student on the back as you walk by. You may intend this as an innocent gesture or believe that young people need some sort of positive physical contact in their lives, but the risk is simply too great.

This also applies to handshakes as they walk in the door, whether you’re in clear view of dozens of other faculty members or not. Also, several of you have asked about student-initiated contact. Sometimes when a student sees a favorite teacher from last year, particularly if they were an important presence in their world and they haven’t always had that sort of attention or concern from the adults who should be paying attention to them, that student will come up and try to side-hug or even fully embrace that teacher.

After the situation with Mr. Barnaby last year, I’m afraid this is absolutely unacceptable and may lead to dismissal. What’s that? Oh, the “alleged” situation. I don’t know why we have to call it that. Parents were angry on social media – what more proof of actual wrongdoing do we need?

Anyway, back to the pink handout, just below the cute cartoon with the teacher in the dungeon. What should you do if you recognize that a student is approaching you for a possible handshake or hug? Well, you have several options. One is to make eye contact, extend your palm forward, and firmly pronounce, “No! No No No!” If this doesn’t work, we recommend moving away at whatever pace necessary to avoid physical contact.

Question? Yes – breaking into a full run at the approach of any affectionate student is not only permitted, but ideal as long as you avoid contacting others in your effort to flee.

Don’t forget to keep shouting “No!” We’re teachers; we want them to learn from every situation. With that in mind we’ve also placed small, conveniently-sized mace sprayer-thingies in your mailboxes, although these should only be used if other efforts to avoid human connection are unsuccessful. They are NOT to be used as a “team-building” activity during your monthly PLC meetings, as occurred in one department last year. I’m pretty sure Mr. Barnaby was involved in that episode as well, come to think of it. 

Bubble WomanThe second thing I’d like to point out are the communication guidelines we’ve instituted. Teachers should absolutely avoid connecting with students on social media in any form. We’d prefer you not communicate with the world around you at all – at least not about anything of substance. You may post recipes or pictures of student activities with all names and faces blurred out, but nothing personal, political, social, or humorous. No matter how benign, there’s a chance someone in the community will find it and erupt in faux outrage, convinced that if you’re sharing it on Facebook with a small group of select friends, you’re probably brainwashing minors with it all day, every day, because that’s what liberals do.

If you wish to have political opinions, prefer one sports team over another, promote American values, or like your grandbaby more than someone else’s grandbaby, maybe you should have thought of that before you became an educator. We’re not here to connect what we teach with real life or present ourselves as involved citizens. This is school.

New this year are the guidelines governing interactions within the school day. It’s come to our attention that a number of students have been approaching their teachers with issues not directly related to the curriculum. Sometimes these conversations seem benign enough – “Have you seen this movie?” or “Did you hear what happened to that celebrity, so-and-so?” Other times, though, they involve their personal lives, their hopes, fears, families, friends, relationships, goals, strengths, weaknesses, or other completely inappropriate topics for school.

If a firm stare and verbal warning doesn’t dissuade these inappropriate interpersonal interactions, you should immediately refer them to their school counselor, who will give them a career survey to complete until they forget what they were wanting to talk about. As with the “touching” issue above, feel free to run away screaming “No! No! No!” until the student is sufficiently re-engaged with that day’s assignment.

I suggest explaining to them how that day’s lesson correlates to state standards and maybe remind of them of how much better their life could potentially be in 10 – 20 years if they succeed in your class today. Whatever their personal issues, that should pretty much address them. Who doesn’t want to be successful a decade or two from now?

For anything more serious than movies, books, or music, call the 800-number we had carved into each of your desks over the summer. This will connect you with an overworked federal agency tasked with getting you out of these conversations. While technically this number is intended to be used for reporting suspicions of abuse or concerns about violence or suicidal behavior, we recommend using it every time a teenager brings up a recent breakup with their boyfriend, sounds worried about their ability to do well in school, expresses sadness or confusion related to difficult circumstances at home, or exhibits any other emotion not directly related to that day’s assignment.

State law mandates the agency investigate, which in turn automatically alerts local police, the fire department, child services, local media, the PTSA’s Facebook Group, the federal housing authority, and at least one associate producer working for Maury. Until they arrive, it is essential that you refuse to respond to or otherwise discuss with this student anything on their mind or hampering their ability to focus on school. You are NOT a trained counselor. It’s not as if simply listening and showing you care is going to do anything. I’m sure you mean well, but the risk is simply too great. (Remember Mr. Barnaby.)

The Wall StudentsThe final section I’d like to discuss on your pink handout involves lesson planning. We’re going to start asking you to submit written lesson plans for approval at least one week in advance each week. It’s come to our attention that some of you – and I’ll confess that the English and Social Studies departments are particularly culpable here – have been making explicit or implied connections between subjects you cover in class and events going on in the community, the U.S., or the world today. This is simply unacceptable.

We are not here to manipulate students into thinking or feeling the same way we do about current events, and the only way to safely circumvent any gray area on this is to avoid doing anything intended to make them think or feel at all. Our legal counsel has suggested we leave thinking and feeling up to their parents, clergy, or therapists in order to shield the district from potential culpability. It’s best they not connect with you, that you don’t connect with them, and that nothing you say or do in class – however well-intentioned – connect with anything happening in their lives outside of school or the real world around them.

It’s simply not our place.

Alright, that’s it for the pink handout. Any questions?

Good. Let’s take a short break and when we come back, we’ll be looking at the green handout – “The Importance of Relationship in Learning.” They don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care, amiright?

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