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...

Power Assessorizing

O.k.

So, I'm doing what I do: Teaching future teachers.  

They are lovely.  Fresh-faced.  Eager to please.  Full of good ideas and hopes and really really substantial criticisms of the education system.   I love them!

However, I am struggling.

See, I teach something called Assessment of Learning.  Well, MSU calls it this.  I call it Assessment FOR Learning.  Which is what assessment is ultimately meant to be: FOR learning.  Not for funds. Not for awards. Not for merit pay.  FOR LEARNING.

Like, if a student can't tell you that four + four is eight, then you say to yourself, "Well, I must go back and reteach it."  Or, at another point, you say, "Well, I've been over that a hundred times!  What's going on here?"  And there are all kinds of cool, easy ways to figure out who's learning what and how that can inform what you do in the classroom.

But now the professor becomes the assessor.  I've graded the first rounds of essays, responses students write to the articles we read in class.  We have a rubric, which is can be a great self- assessment tool, pulling apart all the aspects of completing a task and describing how students can attain a certain grade. For instance, what is a good reflective essay?  Well, for one thing,  it "...is logically organized" and vocabulary used to write it is "...subject-relevant."  It also delineates between a "content" grade and one for "conventions of writing" (punctuation, mechanics, etc.)

In my class, I have a generous revision policy.  After all, I am a writer, and I never get anything down the first time.  Never.  (See that little typo, above, which I intentionally kept so I could make this point.)

I also weight this requirement of the class;  essay grades account for 40% of the total grade for the course.  The rest?  Participation and in-class activities, as well as the final project.  

But the writing part is important.  Writing is thinking.  Thinking is writing.  And I hate this aspect of my class--the grading of this thinking.   Even with our nice little rubric, with our revision policy, with all the feedback and help I give on these things, I recognize that assigning a grade means making a judgment.  I'm not saying that's wrong, but it's hard.  

I have lovely, smart students who struggle to get a sentence on paper.  Sometimes, I can't even be sure they read the article or watched the video on Edutopia or listened to the podcast.  And I find myself getting annoyed. Indignant.  Frustrated.

Other times, when a student is really saying something important through their writing, when they've really GOTTEN it down, I want to make smiley faces and exclamation marks all over the paper, then I want to write them an email saying, "Thank you, student!  You are the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to  me!  I love you!"

And that is equally disturbing.  

Because in both instances, there is the slightest notion of subjectivity here.  Especially with something like writing.  

For instance, I'm a "professional" writer.  And I'm old.  How good ARE my students meant to be at this point in their lives at what is an evolving skill?  I want to be part of that evolution, but to do so, I have to start at some baseline.  To do so, I have to acknowledge that work needs to be done.  And that critical aspect of evaluating someone can be hurtful, no matter how carefully it's broached.  

That hurt, I think, can also build walls that influence the way students think about us, our values, and our intentions.  Every day, I ask myself, "Is this about power?  What do you want here?  What do they need? Is this fair?"  And it can be harrowing, finding these answers.  

I hope by asking them of myself, I am a better teacher.   But who knows.

Do Schools Wound? Part 2.

Book recommendation:  Wounded By School: Recapturing the Joy in School and Standing Up to Old School Culture.

For ten years, the author, Kirsten Olson,  followed and interviewed one hundred students, teachers, and parents to discover their common school experiences.  Why were so many kids disengaged with the school experience?  Why did so many gifted teachers leave the field within three years?  Why did students experience themselves not as learners in an active process of becoming more literate, but as losers, failures, and/or outcasts?  Why did parents give up, (at best) ultimately encouraging their children to tow the line and get through the process?

I wrote a bit about this last summer.  Hope you'll read the book.

sdntroversial new book says that the way we educate millions of American children alienates students from a fundamental pleasure in learning, and that pleasure in learning is essential to real engagement, creativity, intellectual entrepreneurship, and a well lived life.

Based on almost a decade of intensive autobiographical interviews with over 100 "ordinary" students, teachers, and parents, Wounded By School describes some of the dilemmas of those in school now. Students talk about intensive boredom and daily disengagement, while knowing that school "matters" more than ever.  Students and teachers describe a grinding lack of meaning in their work, combined with intensive labeling, tracking and shrink-wrapping of learners based on cursory tests and poor understanding of many kinds of minds.

Wounded By School identifies seven kinds of common school wounds, and tells the stories of those who have experienced them.

This controversial new book says that the way we educate millions of American children alienates students from a fundamental pleasure in learning, and that pleasure in learning is essential to real engagement, creativity, intellectual entrepreneurship, and a well lived life.

Based on almost a decade of intensive autobiographical interviews with over 100 "ordinary" students, teachers, and parents, Wounded By School describes some of the dilemmas of those in school now. Students talk about intensive boredom and daily disengagement, while knowing that school "matters" more than ever.  Students and teachers describe a grinding lack of meaning in their work, combined with intensive labeling, tracking and shrink-wrapping of learners based on cursory tests and poor understanding of many kinds of minds.

This controversial new book says that the way we educate millions of American children alienates students from a fundamental pleasure in learning, and that pleasure in learning is essential to real engagement, creativity, intellectual entrepreneurship, and a well lived life.

Based on almost a decade of intensive autobiographical interviews with over 100 "ordinary" students, teachers, and parents, Wounded By School describes some of the dilemmas of those in school now. Students talk about intensive boredom and daily disengagement, while knowing that school "matters" more than ever.  Students and teachers describe a grinding lack of meaning in their work, combined with intensive labeling, tracking and shrink-wrapping of learners based on cursory tests and poor understanding of many kinds of minds.

A Reckoning

Over the past several days, I've gotten a lot of feedback regarding the post about my son's homework.  (You'd never know it by the lack of comments here, but apparently, this thing is being read!)

I never used the teacher' name, and as I said throughout the post, I had qualms about writing it because I didn't want to hurt anyone or put my own darling son in a bad situation.  

Today, I deleted that post.  

I'm still a little confused as to whether that was the right thing to do.  The fact is, I have assiduously tried to be diplomatic here.  Originally, I was going to author this blog anonymously.  Then, when that seemed somehow cowardly, I decided to always err on the side of caution.  At any rate, I most want to share my experiences and--this is the crucial part--figure out solutions and discover new ideas.  

But last week happened, and I was frustrated.  To me, it was the perfect example of the disconnect between parents and schools that can derail the best educational intentions.

I decided that if it was my experience, and if it was factual and as truly reported as one's own perspective can be, then it might really be heard.  And it was!  (Most of the feedback was completely supportive.)

But like I said, I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.  I don't.   I was a teacher, and, as I will write about soon, I was the victim of parental antagonism.   It was an awful year for me, but I learned from it.  (The next year was my best year ever.)

A bully, I do NOT want to be.  

So, if you want that text of that post, I can send it to you.  If you disagree with my self-censorship, I'd love to know about it.  

And, apologies to my son's teacher on the remote chance she read the blog already.  Know this: There are things I need as a parent.  There are things my kids need as students.  But there are things YOU need, too, and I know that.  Those three things can come together in what we all seek--the best education system for all.

Exciting Thoughts from the Heights

I am reflecting quietly on some things that have happened in the past week or so w/ my kids' schooling, trying to figure out how to unwrap it here.  

In the meantime, here's a recent article from Edutopia describing how technology--the way KIDS use it--must shape our educational practice. It's written by Michele Knobel, the head of the reading department at Montclair State.  

I was supposed to matriculate in the masters reading program there this fall, but have put it off until January.  When we met a week ago to discuss my interests and the direction of my studies, Dr. Knobel encouraged me to investigate the PhD program in curriculum and teaching that may be offered next fall.  After all, I already have a masters in that area.   

I do plan to look into getting my doctorate (and not being a wage earner for another decade).  But the reading program still beckons.  One reason I applied to it is because there's a heavy emphasis on "new" literacies--how digital natives communicate information differently than in generations past, and how, in turn, technology can (and will!) reinforce the acquisition of literacy skills.

The other reason I'm excited about the program is that Dr. Knobel is the kind of vibrant thinker who sees things for what they are, but wants to make them better.   

My kind of gal.

 

More on Cursive Writing (Or, Are There Better Uses of Instructional Time?)

Last week, I wrote about the emphasis on cursive writing in my son's third-grade classroom.

An article on that subject appears in today's Education Week.  (Unfortunately, as many dear readers pointed out last week, you must subscribe to Ed Week to get the entire text.  If you would like the entire article,  or any others from that periodical, I can email them to you...)

The article includes arguments FOR continued emphasis on cursive, but it comes mostly from, uh, Zaner-Bloser, the company that publishes most of this country's penmanship curriculum!!! The other pro-cursives are the teachers who insist 

In the age of computers, I just tell the children, what if we are on an island and don't have electricity? One of the ways we communicate is through writing...

Here's a more thoughtful analysis of the issue from that article:

[Vanderbilt University professor] Graham argues that fears over the decline of handwriting in general and cursive in particular are distractions from the goal of improving students' overall writing skills. The important thing is to have students proficient enough to focus on their ideas and the composition of their writing rather than how they form the letters. (Itals, mine.)

Data from the National Center for Education Statistics show that 26 percent of 12th graders lack basic proficiency in writing, while two percent were sufficiently skilled writers to be classified as "advanced. "

"Handwriting is really the tail wagging the dog," Graham said.

Besides, it isn't as if all those adults who learned cursive years ago are doing their writing with the fluent grace of John Hancock.

Most people peak in terms of legibility in 4th grade, Graham said, and Wright said it's common for adults to write in a cursive-print hybrid.