What Happens to "The Good Kids"?

What happens when your children are the well-behaved ones, the ones teachers cite as "nearly perfect"?

Well, I'm beginning to realize those kids pay a price.

I know because they are my children. Am I bragging? No. I can't. Because to be good, my kids keep a lot inside. They wrestle with the possibility that if they let their guard down for one moment, they may be at the receiving end of yelling, sarcasm, or punishment.

And, while I'm glad they want to be good, I am no longer flattered when told they are doing so. Not necessarily.

Let's face it: Our classrooms are crowded. Even in the northern New Jersey community where I live, and pay hefty taxes, there are upwards of 25 kids in each class. Thankfully, those taxes fund assistants to help the teacher. But, still. That's a lot of kids to keep under control.

And that's often what it comes down to: control.

I know this because my son, the original perfect student, is fearful of losing privileges (e.g. recess) or merely being yelled at by one teacher* who tells me, "Your son is great. He doesn't have to worry. Tell him to worry about himself."

(So much for raising a caring child.)

Furthermore, it's his learning environment. It surrounds him. How can it not affect him?

This teacher tells me, "It's the other children I have to worry about."

Ohhhhhhh!

You mean those kids I've known for four years, the ones whose parents are doctors, lawyers, teachers, and artists, the ones always volunteering, donating, participating? You mean, the ones with the different learning styles and needs and quirks, the kind that don't necessarily benefit from traditional instruction? You mean those squirmy eight-year-old boys who tip their chairs back sometimes, or the group of girls who like to chatter? (God forbid we should talk excitedly while learning! Or use kids' natural exuberance to help them teach others!)

So, you want a good kid?

You got him. A good kid who knows how to play the game (not because he's had any hand in making the rules of that game or that curriculum or anything else important about his educational experience, in fact), but who also knows exactly what will happen if he steps over that foul line by even an inch.

A sensitive child about whom this teacher, so full of her congratulations about his goodness, declares, when told of his worries, "He's too sensitive."





* Not his classroom teacher.

A Missing Piece in Teacher Prep

Two people last week actually asked why I haven't posted in a couple of weeks. They said they missed me!!! Aw, shucks.

Anyway...

There was a pretty good op-ed on teacher preparation in the NYTimes a coupla days ago.

I wrote a letter right back at them. (I do this occasionally, and, occasionally, they publish one.*)

In my letter, I pointed out that in order for teachers to "know children," as the writer suggests, they must know their families. They must know how to deal with varieties of parents--the anxious ones, the hostile ones, the ones who take their religions very seriously. They must understand what makes such parents tick/get ticked off. They must have practice communicating with parents. They must understand why parents are very important customers. (NOT more important than kids, but almost as...**) Especially if a teacher isn't a parent, they must be sensitized. What is it like to give up your heart's desire for six or more hours every day? To entrust this (little innocent darling/gangly hypertexting avatar) to someone you do not know? Teachers don't have to be parents, of course, but they have to get this, I think.

New teachers, or almost-teachers, must decide if they like this aspect of the job, the parent whispering. I didn't. Mostly I didn't because I had to be self-taught in this department. (Teachers College is as great as Arne Duncan says, but, at least back then, there wasn't much offered in this particular department.) Eventually, I got it figured out, and then my teaching blossomed. Once parents bought in, my road was a lot smoother. But it should not have been such a hit-or-miss proposal.

* Alas, not this time.

** And if I haven't already, I just want to point out that kids are the #1 customers. They just don't know it. But if they ever figured it out...