Sometimes I think the most important learning space a teacher can create is the one that comes first, in the teacher's mind, when s/he first allows for the possibility of what could happen when the children are given real responsibility. This occurred of necessity in Rosenwald schools, because the children played important roles in the actual running of the school. Boys brought in firewood and kept the stove going. Girls raked the yard and polished the floor. The older children were expected to help the younger children with their lessons, many of which involved recitations. So here we see an interesting juxtaposition of rote learning and the creative initiative the older students had to take to make sure their younger charges were on track.
Now our academic expectations are more complex and conceptual, but on the other hand I think our respect for the children's ability to make meaningful contributions has diminished. It is as if we are always saying, tomorrow there will be time for that. Next year will be the time when they are ready to practice adult roles and make real contributions. Yet, when next year comes, there is always some other reason to delay responsibility. For example: We just adopted the Common Core standards, and the teachers themselves have to get used to planning with the new objectives, so how could the students possibly help? It wouldn't be practical to have students help clean the school, and anyway parents would get angry. Grade levels are segregated, so older students don't intersect that often with younger students except for the occasional "Reading Buddy" program.
So the signs and practice of maturity are continually put off, until we arrive at the situation we have today, in which the majority of Americans polled believe that one is not an adult until at least age 25. To be fair to schools, our elongating concept of maturity must be mostly influenced by our life spans, which have increased by decades. But the situation of prolonged adolescence amazes many of my elderly friends, who in their teens were doing such things as working full-time and getting married and having children. (Not in a reality show, "Teen Mom" style, but actually establishing stable households of their own.)
Certainly I am not advocating that we all return to teen parenthood, but I do think that schools create more learning when students have real responsibility. This begins with a simple conviction on the part of teachers and administration that students are capable of making real contributions. Within the classroom, it means the students pitch in. Many times they will do so spontaneously, if we allow them. Sometimes I don't even know how a student might help until s/he has actually jumped out his/her seat, come over to where someone is struggling (for example, I might be having trouble with the LCD projector, or another student might have lost his/her place in the story) and fixed the situation. That is why I am slow to reprimand the children. Is he out of his seat so he can go bother someone else? Or is he out of his seat to help? I wait until I can see their intentions.
In order to have the potential benefit of children taking initiative, you have to be open to children making decisions, which inevitably will sometimes lead to chaos. However, I have found that the more trust I have in them, and the more I allow them to practice making small decisions, the better things go in the long run.
An example on a larger level: One year, there was an issue with students getting too boisterous at assemblies, to the point where the administrators suspended whole school (800+ students) assemblies. However, in the spring the student government wanted to have a pep rally in preparation for EOGs (End of Grade tests), and they wanted to include all the grade levels at once. The student government made a plan, persuaded the administration, and pulled it off. All of the students were well behaved; in fact, teachers remarked that they were almost subdued! To me, the fact that this assembly was planned by students and went better than the others was no coincidence.
Curriculum goals may differ from state to state or from school to school, but everyone gives lip service to the idea of having children grow as problem solvers. Yet many school environments undercut their decision-making in the name of discipline or of covering material. To me, however, the question is simple: If we don't allow them to make decisions now, then when? If we don't even trust them to help choose a lesson activity or decorate a classroom, how will they grow into adults who can vote and solve problems on a job?
Monday, December 31, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Accountability: A View from the Trenches
I adore my students, but by the end of the fall semester I was feeling discouraged. Sometimes I can't go to sleep, thinking about what I am doing and how much more they need. It was in this context that I had my first observation for this year. I was teaching reading to a young lady who never attended school before last year; she really has made remarkable progress for someone who missed so much early schooling.
Mid-way through teaching this lesson, another student of mine, one who needs a lot of physical assistance, came to school tardy. I had already sent my teaching assistant to the library with a group of EC students who were taking a test (most of them have 'separate setting' written into their IEPs, meaning they have a right to take quizzes and tests in a small group separate from the larger class). So there in the middle of my reading lesson I began assisting one student with eating his breakfast while I taught the young lady... all while the principal did her observation.
Fortunately for me, everyone took this in stride, and the lesson went well enough that my principal gave me positive feedback. During our conference I asked her about the new software the state is using that is supposed to rate our individual impact as teachers-- in other words, that is supposed to be a measure of individual teacher accountability. We have been told that this software will "automatically populate" (complete) the section of our online evaluation that addresses a teacher's impact on student achievement (i.e., test scores).
Now, I have no problem with teacher accountability, but I do think it's fair to ask that I be judged by the growth (or lack thereof) of the students I actually teach. However, it turns out that this is not the case. As often as I have been in meetings where scores from EC students were identified and measured as a group (often broken down by grade level), I learned that somehow these data cannot be used to evaluate my performance. My rating will be a reflection of the average growth of the entire student body. So my rating in the "teacher accountability" section will NOT be based on EC students' growth at our school, much less the growth of my actual group of students.
This was disappointing to me, given the gains many of my students made last year. One boy had never before scored above a level one on his EOGs, and he scored a level two on both Math and Reading. Granted, it's not the stuff of fairy tales, there is still room for improvement. However, I was excited for him, and he is a much better student this year after feeling it is possible for him to succeed.
One other issue I have with the software the state is using is that it is based on EOG scores, but it doesn't take into account students' retest scores. In the past if a student took an EOG test and scored a level two, that student was automatically retested to see whether s/he could achieve a level three. This is not commonplace, but it does happen. However, for some reason the software the state is using does not take retest scores into account-- so the report from that system might indicate that a student did not score at the proficient (level three) level the previous year, when in fact that student did achieve proficiency when retested. This oversight will doubtless also have a small but meaningful impact on measuring teacher effectiveness.
Then again, it's hard to know what is coming, since NC joined the Common Core movement and the EOGs are being completely rewritten. We are told there will be no retests given this year and that EOG scores from May 2013 will not be available until the fall. The EOG test scores have to be "normed." In other words, it is an entirely new metric, based on a new test, but we will carry on with the idea that the scores are somehow comparable to the old EOG scores. DPI does not pretend to know where the cutoffs for proficiency will be, they are waiting to see how the test goes. I have been told they will use, among other things, their expectations of how certain schools will perform as one means of setting the scoring levels. In other words, they will get what they expect. Rogue students or schools who break out of an underperforming mode don't fit well into this model. In my bleaker moments it seems to me as if the state is saying "Yes, we're holding you accountable, but we're not going to take the trouble of trying to measure your actual, individual impact."
Still for me, next to my own children, the sun rises and sets over my students. We'll carry on.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Schools as Targets: How Can We Respond?
It is a difficult year to say "Merry Christmas", haunted as we are by the children and adults who lost their lives in the senseless shooting in Newtown. I have been praying for the families of the victims, as I think most of us have. Praying that God will envelope them with His healing love. As for the victims themselves, we know God is holding them in the palm of His hand, with infinite love and care. Their souls He has doubtless already healed. It is the ones who are left behind who suffer and mourn.
It is not enough to say, this time, that this event only leads us to appreciate our own families all the more. It is not enough just to take this occasion to be grateful for our own children. It is not enough because the murders struck at the heart of all that is good and orderly, in the only place where we still come together as a society, the one place where we should be able to assume that children are safe. For many people school is the only common civic endeavor we undertake. Perhaps that is why schools have become a target (although it's difficult to know, because it's difficult to understand the twisted motivations of a mass murderer).
As a teacher in a title one middle school, I am acutely aware of all the possible pitfalls that happen inside of a school-- perhaps a jacket is stolen, or a rumor starts that makes a child cry. A fight may even erupt. One thing we don't expect is for an armed person to come in and create mayhem and tragedy. Even while we're adjusting to this threat, we need to ask ourselves what what we can do to counteract the spiritual chaos that created it. Yes, we need protective measures, increased security, heightened awareness. Yet what are we doing to counteract the root cause, the sense of isolation and hopelessness that young people may develop?
It's not enough just to excise the cancer, we need to strengthen our whole civic body. Volunteer your time at your house of worship, in a local school, or be a part of a mentoring program. If you garden or care for animals, pull children into your activities. Don't allow your own children to be isolated. Reach out to families you know who are stressed by circumstances. Encourage children and teenagers when they do good and creative things. Help your town to expand arts programs and recreational sports facilities. Even in these tough fiscal times, encourage your legislators to vote for increased mental health and youth program funding.
Most of all, I think, we need to seek God's guidance in this and all things. Early each morning, before I pack my kids' lunches and begin the whole hectic morning routine that lands them in one school and me in another, I pray "God, help me to know Your will for me, and help me to do it. Bless those who suffer, Lord, and bless those who mourn. Enfold them in Your peace. Help me to be a blessing to my family, my students, and my community. Make me a channel of Your love and Your peace. Amen."
Sunday, November 18, 2012
The Words that Form Us
It is quite something to hear my friend Carrie recite Chaucer (in Old English), or Shakespeare, or lengthy poems from her days at the Chinquapin Colored School, the Rosenwald school (see www.underthekudzu.org) she attended in Duplin County, NC. Hearing her speak with such wonderful expression, hearing her talk about how she and her sisters would recite as they worked in the fields, makes me think about the value of memorization and recitation. When words seep into us, whether literature or poetry or famous speeches or song lyrics, they shape and form us.
When I was in middle school, words and music saved me. I tell my middle school students now, be happy that your teachers and administrators are in the hallways, and monitoring the lunch room, and with you at recess. We hassle you because we love you. The thing I don't usually say is, I know what it's like to attend a middle school where the adults have given up. When I attended middle school in NYC in the 1970s, the adults hid in the offices and classrooms. The halls were a riot of children shoving each other, boys assaulting girls in corners, kids pushing each other down the stairs. Three years went by, and I wouldn't have recognized my principal if s/he had walked into me. (I just realized I don't even know whether the principal was a man or woman!)
At any rate, the situation was quite stressful, and I think I would have felt hopeless except for one thing: Somehow, I got pulled into chorus class with Ms. Morrison. She was the only adult in the entire school who had the respect of every student. She was a talented singer and a demanding teacher. Ms. Morrison was beautiful and commanding, and I never tired of looking at her colorful print dresses, her elaborate silver earrings, her high cheekbones set off by her hair, which she wore in a short Afro.
I have to say here, I have very limited singing talent. While a few of my classmates were so talented that they were part of the Children's Chorus at the Metropolitan Opera House, and many more of them had impressive ranges and pure soprano tones, I did well to carry a tune in my alto voice. Ms. Morrison was well aware of my inherent limitations, but she didn't kick me out of her class. In fact, back in those days before strict attendance laws and computerized student records, we frequently left gym and other environments that were too wild and headed to the chorus room. I don't recall that she ever turned us away.
It was in this haven that I first became aware of the power of words, repeated words, historic words, words set to music. Never before or since have I heard anyone sing part of the text of Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech, but we sang it in that class, and it was powerful. Gradually, my mind began to open. The words of the gospel songs we learned wove with an Italian opera solo that Ms. Morrison would sing for us. My capacity for recalling and savoring words expanded. I began to memorize poetry and quotes that struck a chord with me.
Sometimes I wonder whether, due to our discomfort around the topic of segregation, we discarded some valuable educational practices from that era. During the course of my documentary research, blacks and whites alike mentioned the poetry, speeches, plays and literature they committed to memory during their school days. Often, they recited for me with great feeling. I could see that, like me, their minds return to these words in spare moments, and also in times of stress or despair.
When I quote Shakespeare or Pound or MLK to my students, they fall silent and look, blinking uncertainly. They are not quite sure what to do with these words, but they sense the power in them. In modern education parlance, we stress the ability to deconstruct and analyze over any task of mere memory. In my experience, though, and in the experience of countless others who have been formed by great words, memory and recitation are gateways to deeper meaning.
When I was in middle school, words and music saved me. I tell my middle school students now, be happy that your teachers and administrators are in the hallways, and monitoring the lunch room, and with you at recess. We hassle you because we love you. The thing I don't usually say is, I know what it's like to attend a middle school where the adults have given up. When I attended middle school in NYC in the 1970s, the adults hid in the offices and classrooms. The halls were a riot of children shoving each other, boys assaulting girls in corners, kids pushing each other down the stairs. Three years went by, and I wouldn't have recognized my principal if s/he had walked into me. (I just realized I don't even know whether the principal was a man or woman!)
At any rate, the situation was quite stressful, and I think I would have felt hopeless except for one thing: Somehow, I got pulled into chorus class with Ms. Morrison. She was the only adult in the entire school who had the respect of every student. She was a talented singer and a demanding teacher. Ms. Morrison was beautiful and commanding, and I never tired of looking at her colorful print dresses, her elaborate silver earrings, her high cheekbones set off by her hair, which she wore in a short Afro.
I have to say here, I have very limited singing talent. While a few of my classmates were so talented that they were part of the Children's Chorus at the Metropolitan Opera House, and many more of them had impressive ranges and pure soprano tones, I did well to carry a tune in my alto voice. Ms. Morrison was well aware of my inherent limitations, but she didn't kick me out of her class. In fact, back in those days before strict attendance laws and computerized student records, we frequently left gym and other environments that were too wild and headed to the chorus room. I don't recall that she ever turned us away.
It was in this haven that I first became aware of the power of words, repeated words, historic words, words set to music. Never before or since have I heard anyone sing part of the text of Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech, but we sang it in that class, and it was powerful. Gradually, my mind began to open. The words of the gospel songs we learned wove with an Italian opera solo that Ms. Morrison would sing for us. My capacity for recalling and savoring words expanded. I began to memorize poetry and quotes that struck a chord with me.
Sometimes I wonder whether, due to our discomfort around the topic of segregation, we discarded some valuable educational practices from that era. During the course of my documentary research, blacks and whites alike mentioned the poetry, speeches, plays and literature they committed to memory during their school days. Often, they recited for me with great feeling. I could see that, like me, their minds return to these words in spare moments, and also in times of stress or despair.
When I quote Shakespeare or Pound or MLK to my students, they fall silent and look, blinking uncertainly. They are not quite sure what to do with these words, but they sense the power in them. In modern education parlance, we stress the ability to deconstruct and analyze over any task of mere memory. In my experience, though, and in the experience of countless others who have been formed by great words, memory and recitation are gateways to deeper meaning.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Flood
Sometimes, as a teacher, I feel overwhelmed by a flood of needs. On Friday I became depressed at the end of the day, when I had to break up a fight in the hallway, then rush out to afternoon duty. After that I went back to speak with my assistant principal about the fight, as well as another student who should probably go into a day treatment program.
Going to back to my room, I did some of the mountain of paperwork on my desk, and then looked up to realize I was running behind for my own sons' school event. I rushed out at 5:20, picked them up from their after school program, and barely made it to the event.
It's easy to feel overwhelmed and overlook the fact that most of the children are doing what they're supposed to, and it's also easy to underestimate the difference a teacher can make by noticing individual students' talents.
So my day Friday started this way: I stole some time during homeroom to run upstairs to the 8th grade hall and find a student I taught two years ago at another school. He is an exceptional young man: Poised, ambitious, an A student whose family has few material resources but tremendous integrity. I went to see him because I want him to apply for our district's early college high schools; if he is admitted he could earn two years of college credit at no cost to his family.
When I saw this young man on Thursday, he said his mother wasn't sure about him applying-- I asked him why, pointing out the benefits of the small classes and college credit. He said "I know, that's what I'm saying." I could only conclude that his mother didn't really understand the opportunity. That is why, Friday morning, I took some printed information to him about the programs and asked the 8th grade counselor to be available to answer his mother's questions. By the end of the day the counselor told me he had decided to apply. Of course, there are no guarantees-- he might not be admitted, or he might decide in the end to attend his regular zoned high school so that he can play sports. The main thing is, I wanted him to expand his horizon, to have more choices.
Fridays are usually a "mop up" and testing day, when I pull some of my EC students in for individual conferences while we proctor tests. I check in with some students, help them organize their notes, and give them encouragement. One young lady lacks self-confidence but has a burning desire to be a journalist; I had pushed her earlier this year to sign up to work on the school newspaper, which she did. At our conference yesterday we talked about a great website (www.writingkid.com) that lists publishing opportunities just for kids. With luck, she will get an early start on her writing career.
At lunch we had a little pizza party for a student who is leaving for another school. He is very bright but his social perceptions are sometimes way off because of his disability. This has often made it hard for him to connect and to see others' good intentions. We sat around the table and talked about what we would remember about this student's time at my school. When I asked him, he said he would remember "That there are good people in the world."
In retrospect, my day had some real high points, but I allowed myself to feel carried away by the flood of circumstances and needs that no one person could ever fulfill. Yet Monday will bring a chance to try again!
Going to back to my room, I did some of the mountain of paperwork on my desk, and then looked up to realize I was running behind for my own sons' school event. I rushed out at 5:20, picked them up from their after school program, and barely made it to the event.
It's easy to feel overwhelmed and overlook the fact that most of the children are doing what they're supposed to, and it's also easy to underestimate the difference a teacher can make by noticing individual students' talents.
So my day Friday started this way: I stole some time during homeroom to run upstairs to the 8th grade hall and find a student I taught two years ago at another school. He is an exceptional young man: Poised, ambitious, an A student whose family has few material resources but tremendous integrity. I went to see him because I want him to apply for our district's early college high schools; if he is admitted he could earn two years of college credit at no cost to his family.
When I saw this young man on Thursday, he said his mother wasn't sure about him applying-- I asked him why, pointing out the benefits of the small classes and college credit. He said "I know, that's what I'm saying." I could only conclude that his mother didn't really understand the opportunity. That is why, Friday morning, I took some printed information to him about the programs and asked the 8th grade counselor to be available to answer his mother's questions. By the end of the day the counselor told me he had decided to apply. Of course, there are no guarantees-- he might not be admitted, or he might decide in the end to attend his regular zoned high school so that he can play sports. The main thing is, I wanted him to expand his horizon, to have more choices.
Fridays are usually a "mop up" and testing day, when I pull some of my EC students in for individual conferences while we proctor tests. I check in with some students, help them organize their notes, and give them encouragement. One young lady lacks self-confidence but has a burning desire to be a journalist; I had pushed her earlier this year to sign up to work on the school newspaper, which she did. At our conference yesterday we talked about a great website (www.writingkid.com) that lists publishing opportunities just for kids. With luck, she will get an early start on her writing career.
At lunch we had a little pizza party for a student who is leaving for another school. He is very bright but his social perceptions are sometimes way off because of his disability. This has often made it hard for him to connect and to see others' good intentions. We sat around the table and talked about what we would remember about this student's time at my school. When I asked him, he said he would remember "That there are good people in the world."
In retrospect, my day had some real high points, but I allowed myself to feel carried away by the flood of circumstances and needs that no one person could ever fulfill. Yet Monday will bring a chance to try again!
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Saints, Suckers, or Worse
The arc of my working life has been a little, well, unusual. Three years ago I gave up managing a small business to return to the field of education. I blame my family, coming as I do from a long line of people who have worked hard to disassociate the typical link between education level and income. Just in the past two generations in my family there are social workers, clergy, educators and (as in my mother's case) founders of nonprofits. Most of them earned Master's degrees or higher, and most of them earned a living that enabled them just to get by. Earlier in my life, I used to resent that my parents answered the call to service while my sisters and I did without; however, I had to make peace with this family tradition, since I have been in education over 20 years now.
Anyway, I think often about my profession, and sometimes I reflect on how others view teachers. Historically, I think teachers were revered in American culture as having something akin to a religious vocation. This view was influenced in no small part by the fact that there was an unending supply of intelligent women whose only choices for respectable work were teaching or nursing. Their lives were not as restricted as those of nuns, but there were shades of common elements, the assumption of self-sacrifice along with the notion that teachers' private lives were rightly subject to institutional control -- regulations about how they could live, restrictions against going to taverns or being out at night, etc. In the early 1900s even marriage disqualified a woman from teaching.
Carrie Newkirk, the subject of my current documentary project, recalled that married teachers were starting to be allowed to keep their jobs by the time she completed her education at the Chinquapin Colored School, a Rosenwald school (see my website www.underthekudzu.org for more information about these historic African American schools). When she herself became a teacher in the 1940s times were changing even more. Women were gradually starting to enter other fields, and the Great Migration drew many African Americans north and west. The restrictions on female teachers eased a little more, and school districts no longer automatically fired pregnant teachers. She had her own children during her teaching career without missing many days; their births coincided with breaks (whether by luck or intention, I did not ask).
Gradually the iconic single female teacher, who intensely dedicated her entire life to teaching, whose services could be bought at rates even lower than that of her male counterparts (who at least had a better chance to advance to administration), began to change. In later decades women of the same intelligence and drive might still become teachers, or they might decide to become college professors or lawyers or doctors.
In the meantime, teaching salaries in most states did not grow at a rate that reflected the reality of this new competition with the attractions of other professions. That leaves teachers with a new image; regardless of their passion for teaching or their education level, many other college-educated Americans regard teachers with some mix of admiration and contempt. Recently I read a personal finance book in which the author sneered "Surely, dedicating yourself to a being a Kindergarten teacher is a nice thing to do..." but, the author continued, it was not the smart thing to do for one's financial future. In this view, investing oneself in building the next generation seems foolish.
The last and least savory influence on our image relates to an assumption that, since really smart people would not opt for a teaching career, teachers must either be less intelligent than other professionals or have some horrible ulterior motive. That is where the immoral actions of a few teachers come in; news stories about the few teachers who abuse children are picked up and reported nationwide. Of course they should be held accountable-- if I knew or suspected any kind of abuse I would report it instantly, and anyone who abuses a child should be prosecuted and punished. I just find it interesting that our nation's media latches onto these stories with such vigor, as if they prove that we should be suspicious of every teacher's motives. Yet if that is true, the social fabric of our nation is truly at risk. Public education is the only endeavor most Americans undertake together, as a society.
Is it really true, that we should view teachers on the whole with mistrust, even contempt? Teachers have been convenient scapegoats for many problems that exist in schools and society, but pat statements about how we are no longer first in the world in math and science omit an historical perspective. I have no doubt that high school graduates in the 1950s were more skilled in some areas than average high school graduates today. However, focusing on blaming American teachers neglects some significant trends. For example, from my documentary research I know that in the rural area where I live high school dropout rates in the 1940s were in the 80% range for both black and white students. Today, many more students complete high school and take college entrance exams. The diversity of this group now-- which includes English language learners, special education students, and others who might never have even completed high school decades ago--dilutes average scores. Similarly, more students take AP courses, and the average pass rate has dropped somewhat. Would we be better off if these students did not strive? Some of these students will not succeed on these exams, but many of them will, and will go on to college.
We can compare ourselves to Denmark, which does yield some interesting contrasts. I have read that the child poverty rate there is less than 5%. In the school where I teach, 71% of the children are on free or reduced lunch. That is absolutely not to say that poor children cannot achieve high levels of educational attainment. I grew up in a low-income, single-parent household, and I have a Master's degree from Harvard. But only a fool would say that having schools where low-income and high- needs children are concentrated doesn't make teaching harder. So many conflicts arise at school because of the brittle egos of children who have little besides their names and personal attributes. Almost anything-- a remark about someone's hair, an insult about someone's second-hand clothing-- can cause conflict to start brewing. This detracts from a peaceful learning environment.
I bought some school supplies the other week for one of my students, and the next day he came to class without anything. I asked him what happened. He wouldn't say, but tears came to his eyes. I am thinking that one of his older siblings, or perhaps another child in his neighborhood, took them. If you think these things don't matter, then you don't know children.
Another interesting fact about the Danish educational system is that teachers are held in high regard and are well compensated. Perhaps we should compensate teachers in every state in our the nation at a level that doesn't cause personal finance writers to sneer.
I would ask some of my colleagues what they think, but most of them don't have much time to talk. They teach, attend many school-related afternoon and evening events, plan lessons and mark papers, coach sports and organize clubs, do required online professional development...and about half of them work second jobs.
Anyway, I think often about my profession, and sometimes I reflect on how others view teachers. Historically, I think teachers were revered in American culture as having something akin to a religious vocation. This view was influenced in no small part by the fact that there was an unending supply of intelligent women whose only choices for respectable work were teaching or nursing. Their lives were not as restricted as those of nuns, but there were shades of common elements, the assumption of self-sacrifice along with the notion that teachers' private lives were rightly subject to institutional control -- regulations about how they could live, restrictions against going to taverns or being out at night, etc. In the early 1900s even marriage disqualified a woman from teaching.
Carrie Newkirk, the subject of my current documentary project, recalled that married teachers were starting to be allowed to keep their jobs by the time she completed her education at the Chinquapin Colored School, a Rosenwald school (see my website www.underthekudzu.org for more information about these historic African American schools). When she herself became a teacher in the 1940s times were changing even more. Women were gradually starting to enter other fields, and the Great Migration drew many African Americans north and west. The restrictions on female teachers eased a little more, and school districts no longer automatically fired pregnant teachers. She had her own children during her teaching career without missing many days; their births coincided with breaks (whether by luck or intention, I did not ask).
Gradually the iconic single female teacher, who intensely dedicated her entire life to teaching, whose services could be bought at rates even lower than that of her male counterparts (who at least had a better chance to advance to administration), began to change. In later decades women of the same intelligence and drive might still become teachers, or they might decide to become college professors or lawyers or doctors.
In the meantime, teaching salaries in most states did not grow at a rate that reflected the reality of this new competition with the attractions of other professions. That leaves teachers with a new image; regardless of their passion for teaching or their education level, many other college-educated Americans regard teachers with some mix of admiration and contempt. Recently I read a personal finance book in which the author sneered "Surely, dedicating yourself to a being a Kindergarten teacher is a nice thing to do..." but, the author continued, it was not the smart thing to do for one's financial future. In this view, investing oneself in building the next generation seems foolish.
The last and least savory influence on our image relates to an assumption that, since really smart people would not opt for a teaching career, teachers must either be less intelligent than other professionals or have some horrible ulterior motive. That is where the immoral actions of a few teachers come in; news stories about the few teachers who abuse children are picked up and reported nationwide. Of course they should be held accountable-- if I knew or suspected any kind of abuse I would report it instantly, and anyone who abuses a child should be prosecuted and punished. I just find it interesting that our nation's media latches onto these stories with such vigor, as if they prove that we should be suspicious of every teacher's motives. Yet if that is true, the social fabric of our nation is truly at risk. Public education is the only endeavor most Americans undertake together, as a society.
Is it really true, that we should view teachers on the whole with mistrust, even contempt? Teachers have been convenient scapegoats for many problems that exist in schools and society, but pat statements about how we are no longer first in the world in math and science omit an historical perspective. I have no doubt that high school graduates in the 1950s were more skilled in some areas than average high school graduates today. However, focusing on blaming American teachers neglects some significant trends. For example, from my documentary research I know that in the rural area where I live high school dropout rates in the 1940s were in the 80% range for both black and white students. Today, many more students complete high school and take college entrance exams. The diversity of this group now-- which includes English language learners, special education students, and others who might never have even completed high school decades ago--dilutes average scores. Similarly, more students take AP courses, and the average pass rate has dropped somewhat. Would we be better off if these students did not strive? Some of these students will not succeed on these exams, but many of them will, and will go on to college.
We can compare ourselves to Denmark, which does yield some interesting contrasts. I have read that the child poverty rate there is less than 5%. In the school where I teach, 71% of the children are on free or reduced lunch. That is absolutely not to say that poor children cannot achieve high levels of educational attainment. I grew up in a low-income, single-parent household, and I have a Master's degree from Harvard. But only a fool would say that having schools where low-income and high- needs children are concentrated doesn't make teaching harder. So many conflicts arise at school because of the brittle egos of children who have little besides their names and personal attributes. Almost anything-- a remark about someone's hair, an insult about someone's second-hand clothing-- can cause conflict to start brewing. This detracts from a peaceful learning environment.
I bought some school supplies the other week for one of my students, and the next day he came to class without anything. I asked him what happened. He wouldn't say, but tears came to his eyes. I am thinking that one of his older siblings, or perhaps another child in his neighborhood, took them. If you think these things don't matter, then you don't know children.
Another interesting fact about the Danish educational system is that teachers are held in high regard and are well compensated. Perhaps we should compensate teachers in every state in our the nation at a level that doesn't cause personal finance writers to sneer.
I would ask some of my colleagues what they think, but most of them don't have much time to talk. They teach, attend many school-related afternoon and evening events, plan lessons and mark papers, coach sports and organize clubs, do required online professional development...and about half of them work second jobs.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Unlocked
It has been such a busy fall at my school, but I am thankful that I moved up a grade level with my EC students from last year, so that I already knew most of them. However, a few new students have tied me up in knots of paperwork, not to mention providing accommodations we are not really set up to provide. We get through with a little humor and a lot of goodwill.
The nicest thing about this fall has been seeing some of my students from last year grow so much. Learning disabled children who started last year glazed over, kids who wouldn't even pick up a pencil because they were so overwhelmed by the transition to sixth grade, are now keeping up with their work and volunteering answers in class.
Not that they don't still need support. I pull them out of their larger classes and work with them...it's just that seeing them try, even just seeing them keep their work in order, is so amazing after knowing the way we started last year.
I think of one boy in particular who has changed so much. At the start of last year he had two modes: Staring into space, or insulting people. I was at my wits' end, and I had to stop pulling him out with his group. Of course, that wasn't optimal, because then I had to divide my time between him and the others. Anyway, I recall one day in particular that epitomized how bad things were: He had a nasty exchange with a student who uses a wheelchair. "Why don't you get up out of that chair and do some exercise?" he asked-- this was either a brilliant put-down or a complete lack of awareness on his part (I think it was the latter).
The other student retaliated verbally; the whole situation was terrible. I had to take disciplinary action against the first boy for behavior that verged on bullying (not just for this incident, but for all the name-calling he had done). That was when I decided this boy couldn't come with the group for a while, until his social skills improved.
There were many obstacles to face at once, but my thought was that if I could get this boy to feel better about himself by improving academically, his tolerance and compassion for others might improve. I worked with him one-on-one and lavished praise on him every time he did the smallest thing right. We also worked on role plays, practicing more positive ways to interact.
At first it was horrendously slow, even getting him to keep holding the pencil was a huge struggle. His attention drifted constantly and he wanted to go to the restroom, the locker, another class--in short, he wanted to be anywhere but where he was, confronting the work he could not do. He had little number sense and would give me random guesses on simple problems. Ten times ten was fifty. There are seventy-five cents in a dollar. To add and subtract he counted on his fingers.
We persisted. I did flash cards sometimes, and when he did grade level problems I hung at his elbow. When he tired of that I put him on computer math games and interactive tutorials. Gradually, he began to have some success. A completed homework here, a correct answer in class there. I encouraged and bribed him by turn. After two months his attitude had improved and I was able to include him in the group again.
It just so happened that my principal came to observe me last spring after he had rejoined this group. This boy, who had been so nasty, now jumped to get a cup of water for my student who uses a wheelchair. In turn I saw that child push a pencil across the table for him. I was stunned. Even
in the middle of the session, being observed by the principal, I stopped and tears came to my eyes.
It was a moment of grace I will never forget. The path this boy took to begin to unlock his academic potential had started him on another, even more important journey.
The nicest thing about this fall has been seeing some of my students from last year grow so much. Learning disabled children who started last year glazed over, kids who wouldn't even pick up a pencil because they were so overwhelmed by the transition to sixth grade, are now keeping up with their work and volunteering answers in class.
Not that they don't still need support. I pull them out of their larger classes and work with them...it's just that seeing them try, even just seeing them keep their work in order, is so amazing after knowing the way we started last year.
I think of one boy in particular who has changed so much. At the start of last year he had two modes: Staring into space, or insulting people. I was at my wits' end, and I had to stop pulling him out with his group. Of course, that wasn't optimal, because then I had to divide my time between him and the others. Anyway, I recall one day in particular that epitomized how bad things were: He had a nasty exchange with a student who uses a wheelchair. "Why don't you get up out of that chair and do some exercise?" he asked-- this was either a brilliant put-down or a complete lack of awareness on his part (I think it was the latter).
The other student retaliated verbally; the whole situation was terrible. I had to take disciplinary action against the first boy for behavior that verged on bullying (not just for this incident, but for all the name-calling he had done). That was when I decided this boy couldn't come with the group for a while, until his social skills improved.
There were many obstacles to face at once, but my thought was that if I could get this boy to feel better about himself by improving academically, his tolerance and compassion for others might improve. I worked with him one-on-one and lavished praise on him every time he did the smallest thing right. We also worked on role plays, practicing more positive ways to interact.
At first it was horrendously slow, even getting him to keep holding the pencil was a huge struggle. His attention drifted constantly and he wanted to go to the restroom, the locker, another class--in short, he wanted to be anywhere but where he was, confronting the work he could not do. He had little number sense and would give me random guesses on simple problems. Ten times ten was fifty. There are seventy-five cents in a dollar. To add and subtract he counted on his fingers.
We persisted. I did flash cards sometimes, and when he did grade level problems I hung at his elbow. When he tired of that I put him on computer math games and interactive tutorials. Gradually, he began to have some success. A completed homework here, a correct answer in class there. I encouraged and bribed him by turn. After two months his attitude had improved and I was able to include him in the group again.
It just so happened that my principal came to observe me last spring after he had rejoined this group. This boy, who had been so nasty, now jumped to get a cup of water for my student who uses a wheelchair. In turn I saw that child push a pencil across the table for him. I was stunned. Even
in the middle of the session, being observed by the principal, I stopped and tears came to my eyes.
It was a moment of grace I will never forget. The path this boy took to begin to unlock his academic potential had started him on another, even more important journey.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
"Children Know When You Love Them"
One of my favorite sayings from Carrie N., a retired teacher who grew up in a Rosenwald school (see www.underthekudzu.org), is "Children know when you love them." This simple, sage comment comes from a woman who is the granddaughter of a slave, whose sharecropping father died young, seemingly leaving her with no way to finish school. Fortunately, due to the interest her principal at the Chinquapin Colored school took in her, Carrie was able to attend college and went on to a long and distinguished teaching career. She taught in segregated schools, and later was one of the first teachers to integrate a white faculty in Pender County, NC, where I live.
Carrie is the subject of my of new film project, but I admit that I am overwhelmed just now and have not gone through all the footage of our last interviews. I am trying, but our back to school season has been hectic. I was at school past 5 pm three days last week, trying to catch up on the complex paperwork required for each exceptional child who is new to our school. This is work that I find almost impossible to do during the school day, with one high-needs child staying in the room all day and another 39 students with various levels of need coming and going.
Thankfully, my own children are doing well, but they also deserve my time and attention. Then there is the fact that entropy is always encroaching on our rural property. In the fall I spend several hours each weekend on the tractor. During the time that I am mowing my thoughts usually turn to school, to students I work with now and also to students I have known.
There was a student I met whose father was in prison, and by December this student was making quite a name for himself on the hall as being someone who led others-- usually in the wrong direction. I could see he was hurting, but there was also the matter of his pride and his insecurity. He could be prickly; one teacher called him a future gangster. I saw something else, but he was rapidly going down the road toward long-term suspension. He was the student who was never prepared, who wouldn't take notes, who joked or picked fights during class.
As an EC teacher I am in and out of classrooms all day, and I notice class dynamics, particularly the students who are "high fliers." Daquan (not his real name) was certainly in that category. I started greeting him each day, and when I saw him in class I would encourage him to get on track. It took a few weeks, but he started doing some work and being a little less disruptive. Still, it was clear that his focus wasn't on school. When we talked, he sometimes brought up his father in alternating terms of hope and anger. Regarding his father, I could do little more than listen and say "That must be so hard for you." Regarding Daquan himself, though, I told him the truth as I saw it: That he was intelligent, that he was special, that he was a natural leader. I also told him I would appreciate it so much if he could work on leading his friends in the right direction.
I have found or purchased school supplies for many students; all of the teachers at my school have. Usually, I try to find one of the binders with a clear plastic pocket on the front, because then I can have the child make a picture to place there to personalize it. However, I wanted Daquan to have something he would regard as more special, something that would send him a message that he was deserving of nice things. I wanted him to have the James Bond version of binders, a pricier zippered cloth binder with a dozen secret pockets. One weekend, when I was at the store replacing my son's notebook, I picked up the zipper binder for Daquan. On Monday, I invited him into the resource room between classes to get his materials organized. He put his papers in the new binder, and I gave him extra paper and dividers. We filled a pouch with fresh pencils and he was ready for class.
That spring, Daquan began to work each day. There were still plenty of times when he backslid, but gradually he began catching up to his peers who had been working all year. One day, I was in the hallway when I asked a group of boys to quiet down. One of them talked back, I can't even remember what he said, but suddenly Daquan was at my side. "Don't talk back to my teacher!" he commanded. Then he was gone, carrying the binder that he knew meant he had a special place in at least one teacher's heart. Children do know when you love them, and no software can take the place of that.
Carrie is the subject of my of new film project, but I admit that I am overwhelmed just now and have not gone through all the footage of our last interviews. I am trying, but our back to school season has been hectic. I was at school past 5 pm three days last week, trying to catch up on the complex paperwork required for each exceptional child who is new to our school. This is work that I find almost impossible to do during the school day, with one high-needs child staying in the room all day and another 39 students with various levels of need coming and going.
Thankfully, my own children are doing well, but they also deserve my time and attention. Then there is the fact that entropy is always encroaching on our rural property. In the fall I spend several hours each weekend on the tractor. During the time that I am mowing my thoughts usually turn to school, to students I work with now and also to students I have known.
There was a student I met whose father was in prison, and by December this student was making quite a name for himself on the hall as being someone who led others-- usually in the wrong direction. I could see he was hurting, but there was also the matter of his pride and his insecurity. He could be prickly; one teacher called him a future gangster. I saw something else, but he was rapidly going down the road toward long-term suspension. He was the student who was never prepared, who wouldn't take notes, who joked or picked fights during class.
As an EC teacher I am in and out of classrooms all day, and I notice class dynamics, particularly the students who are "high fliers." Daquan (not his real name) was certainly in that category. I started greeting him each day, and when I saw him in class I would encourage him to get on track. It took a few weeks, but he started doing some work and being a little less disruptive. Still, it was clear that his focus wasn't on school. When we talked, he sometimes brought up his father in alternating terms of hope and anger. Regarding his father, I could do little more than listen and say "That must be so hard for you." Regarding Daquan himself, though, I told him the truth as I saw it: That he was intelligent, that he was special, that he was a natural leader. I also told him I would appreciate it so much if he could work on leading his friends in the right direction.
I have found or purchased school supplies for many students; all of the teachers at my school have. Usually, I try to find one of the binders with a clear plastic pocket on the front, because then I can have the child make a picture to place there to personalize it. However, I wanted Daquan to have something he would regard as more special, something that would send him a message that he was deserving of nice things. I wanted him to have the James Bond version of binders, a pricier zippered cloth binder with a dozen secret pockets. One weekend, when I was at the store replacing my son's notebook, I picked up the zipper binder for Daquan. On Monday, I invited him into the resource room between classes to get his materials organized. He put his papers in the new binder, and I gave him extra paper and dividers. We filled a pouch with fresh pencils and he was ready for class.
That spring, Daquan began to work each day. There were still plenty of times when he backslid, but gradually he began catching up to his peers who had been working all year. One day, I was in the hallway when I asked a group of boys to quiet down. One of them talked back, I can't even remember what he said, but suddenly Daquan was at my side. "Don't talk back to my teacher!" he commanded. Then he was gone, carrying the binder that he knew meant he had a special place in at least one teacher's heart. Children do know when you love them, and no software can take the place of that.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Any Given Teacher, Any Given Day
"We must learn to live together as brothers, or we shall perish together as fools."
- Dr. Martin Luther King
I thought often of this quote last week as I prepared my classroom, attended meetings, and met the new teachers at the inner-city middle school where I teach. We had a fairly high turnover rate from last year to this year, but the new teachers seem to have a lot to offer. As I looked around the room at the first staff meeting, however, I noted how our demographics seem like a reverse version of our students' demographics. I read a study last year that said nationally 83% of the teacher workforce is white, while our student body is increasingly made up of students of color. This is certainly true where I teach.
This fact is rarely addressed directly in the professional development sessions I attend, but I think it's important. If the teaching force in our country is overwhelmingly white, female and from middle class backgrounds, but our students are increasingly people of color (with many from less advantaged backgrounds), how do we make sure we can relate? This has a direct impact on how effectively we lead in the classroom. After decades in education, I do think it is entirely possible for one teacher to reach students from all backgrounds, and I know many teachers who do. In the process, they create a classroom community that is larger and better than what any individual person has to offer. However, like anything else worth doing, it takes effort.
My research on Rosenwald schools (see www.underthekudzu.org) and reading of African American history has helped me to appreciate on a deep level that all of our students bring a lot to the table. My African American students have a very rich educational and cultural heritage. Similarly, that research motivates me to seek a better understanding of my other students. Even the local culture was something strange to me when I moved here 20 years ago. Where I live, in rural North Carolina, parents will sometimes take their kids out of school to go hunting or fishing. At first I could not understand this. Gradually, I came to appreciate that they were doing something important: Passing on a knowledge of the outdoors, and creating important bonding experiences within the family.
Sometimes, I take a few minutes at the start of class to have students talk about their backgrounds. This might include talking about another country or another state, or it might just be a story about riding up to road to visit a grandparent. They show us what they are talking about by using maps and the internet. In this way students practice their communication skills, while helping the rest of us appreciate something new. Of course, students are not just a product of their culture; they bring their unique talents and intelligence and creativity with them to school each day. Culture is the setting, while each student is a unique jewel.
Growing up, I did have the advantage of college educated parents, but I was raised by a single mother in precarious economic circumstances, and attended public school in NYC. Although I had the good fortune to get into The Bronx High School of Science, one of the public "exam schools" in NYC, my middle school was terrible. I know what it's like to be assaulted in school, and I know what it's like to have only second-hand clothing to wear. These things are not insurmountable, but they are distracting and draining.
My purpose here is not to look for sympathy, because I am over these experiences now. However, they do help me look with compassion on the students in my school who are in difficult situations. I think it's important for teachers to make a distinction between pity and compassion. Pity generates an attitude that says "You poor thing! Don't worry too much about this assignment. I know your mom had to leave for work at six this morning, so she wasn't there to help you get out the door and that made you miss breakfast." Compassion, on the other hand, says "Here's a pass, I'm sure Ms. Stack will let you eat this snack in the resource room. When you come back you can help me by checking answers in the review game. I know you're really bright, and I want you to work hard this year, because I expect you to apply for early college high school next year."
Dr. King showed us how limiting segregation was for our whole nation, how it wasted potential and diminished our humanity. However, integration was only a starting point of our journey as a society. Almost any given teacher, on any given day, navigates this journey with his or her students.
- Dr. Martin Luther King
I thought often of this quote last week as I prepared my classroom, attended meetings, and met the new teachers at the inner-city middle school where I teach. We had a fairly high turnover rate from last year to this year, but the new teachers seem to have a lot to offer. As I looked around the room at the first staff meeting, however, I noted how our demographics seem like a reverse version of our students' demographics. I read a study last year that said nationally 83% of the teacher workforce is white, while our student body is increasingly made up of students of color. This is certainly true where I teach.
This fact is rarely addressed directly in the professional development sessions I attend, but I think it's important. If the teaching force in our country is overwhelmingly white, female and from middle class backgrounds, but our students are increasingly people of color (with many from less advantaged backgrounds), how do we make sure we can relate? This has a direct impact on how effectively we lead in the classroom. After decades in education, I do think it is entirely possible for one teacher to reach students from all backgrounds, and I know many teachers who do. In the process, they create a classroom community that is larger and better than what any individual person has to offer. However, like anything else worth doing, it takes effort.
My research on Rosenwald schools (see www.underthekudzu.org) and reading of African American history has helped me to appreciate on a deep level that all of our students bring a lot to the table. My African American students have a very rich educational and cultural heritage. Similarly, that research motivates me to seek a better understanding of my other students. Even the local culture was something strange to me when I moved here 20 years ago. Where I live, in rural North Carolina, parents will sometimes take their kids out of school to go hunting or fishing. At first I could not understand this. Gradually, I came to appreciate that they were doing something important: Passing on a knowledge of the outdoors, and creating important bonding experiences within the family.
Sometimes, I take a few minutes at the start of class to have students talk about their backgrounds. This might include talking about another country or another state, or it might just be a story about riding up to road to visit a grandparent. They show us what they are talking about by using maps and the internet. In this way students practice their communication skills, while helping the rest of us appreciate something new. Of course, students are not just a product of their culture; they bring their unique talents and intelligence and creativity with them to school each day. Culture is the setting, while each student is a unique jewel.
Growing up, I did have the advantage of college educated parents, but I was raised by a single mother in precarious economic circumstances, and attended public school in NYC. Although I had the good fortune to get into The Bronx High School of Science, one of the public "exam schools" in NYC, my middle school was terrible. I know what it's like to be assaulted in school, and I know what it's like to have only second-hand clothing to wear. These things are not insurmountable, but they are distracting and draining.
My purpose here is not to look for sympathy, because I am over these experiences now. However, they do help me look with compassion on the students in my school who are in difficult situations. I think it's important for teachers to make a distinction between pity and compassion. Pity generates an attitude that says "You poor thing! Don't worry too much about this assignment. I know your mom had to leave for work at six this morning, so she wasn't there to help you get out the door and that made you miss breakfast." Compassion, on the other hand, says "Here's a pass, I'm sure Ms. Stack will let you eat this snack in the resource room. When you come back you can help me by checking answers in the review game. I know you're really bright, and I want you to work hard this year, because I expect you to apply for early college high school next year."
Dr. King showed us how limiting segregation was for our whole nation, how it wasted potential and diminished our humanity. However, integration was only a starting point of our journey as a society. Almost any given teacher, on any given day, navigates this journey with his or her students.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
When the Voices of Rosenwald School History Fall Mute
My dear friend and neighbor, Mary, suffered a stroke several weeks ago. She is the star of the second half of my film "Under the Kudzu", because her voice is the central narration for the history of the Pender County Training School. She began attending school there is the 1930s, but you would never guess her age upon meeting her, with her smooth complexion and lively eyes.
Fortunately, Mary can still understand what is said, but she lost speech and is just starting to say a few words again. No one can say for sure whether or when she will recover her former eloquence, although I can see she is full of the same intelligence and grace as before. I can see her frustration over not being able to express much; she can nod her head yes and shake her head no. When I visit I try to carry on conversation with her as always, only broken into segments and phrased with her current communication limits in mind. I tell her about the conference at Tuskegee, and ask her whether she wants some of the pudding that sits on the tray next to her. She cannot reach over to lift the container to her, so why the nurses leave her tray sitting next to her as if she will eat without help is a mystery to me...but her family is usually there to help her with these things. She eats three small bites of pudding, then starts coughing. I pat her back and she sits back to rest. Tears come into her eyes. She looks at me mutely as if to say "You see how things are? I cannot even eat this little bit without trouble."
The Bible next to her is open to Proverbs, so I begin reading aloud, but I look up after a little while to comment "This seems a little dark for you!" Mary nods her head and smiles, she sees the humor in what I am saying. Mary is the finest person I know, and does not need reminders to love the Lord. I flip to the Gospels, intending to read from Paul, when Mary's husband comes in. He hugs me and tells me she will be moved to a rehab center soon. The next week I learn that they are starting to plan to bring her home from the rehab center; I am glad, because it is a dour place.
Sometimes people ask me why, meaning, why have I been so driven to record oral histories related to the Rosenwald schools? Why have I spent so much time since 2003, and more money than I could reasonably afford, on these projects? I recall the time when I was unemployed in 2009 and planning the first Rosenwald school conference at UNC Wilmington. My rule for myself was that I applied for three jobs per day, but I also spent hours each day on conference planning with no compensation in sight. There have been times when I emptied the gas can for our lawn mower into my vehicle, so that I could drive way out into the country to talk with yet another elderly person about his or her school experience.
Why? I don't have a good answer, or more accurately, I don't have an answer that makes sense on a practical plane. I feel have been driven by something larger than myself. Now six of the people I interviewed while making the film have passed away, and Mary has fallen mute, at least for now. Sadly, these voices don't stay with us forever. It is so important to speak with our older friends, take time to ask them about their stories, which are personal and yet reflect the weaving of the larger fabric of our nation.
Fortunately, Mary can still understand what is said, but she lost speech and is just starting to say a few words again. No one can say for sure whether or when she will recover her former eloquence, although I can see she is full of the same intelligence and grace as before. I can see her frustration over not being able to express much; she can nod her head yes and shake her head no. When I visit I try to carry on conversation with her as always, only broken into segments and phrased with her current communication limits in mind. I tell her about the conference at Tuskegee, and ask her whether she wants some of the pudding that sits on the tray next to her. She cannot reach over to lift the container to her, so why the nurses leave her tray sitting next to her as if she will eat without help is a mystery to me...but her family is usually there to help her with these things. She eats three small bites of pudding, then starts coughing. I pat her back and she sits back to rest. Tears come into her eyes. She looks at me mutely as if to say "You see how things are? I cannot even eat this little bit without trouble."
The Bible next to her is open to Proverbs, so I begin reading aloud, but I look up after a little while to comment "This seems a little dark for you!" Mary nods her head and smiles, she sees the humor in what I am saying. Mary is the finest person I know, and does not need reminders to love the Lord. I flip to the Gospels, intending to read from Paul, when Mary's husband comes in. He hugs me and tells me she will be moved to a rehab center soon. The next week I learn that they are starting to plan to bring her home from the rehab center; I am glad, because it is a dour place.
Sometimes people ask me why, meaning, why have I been so driven to record oral histories related to the Rosenwald schools? Why have I spent so much time since 2003, and more money than I could reasonably afford, on these projects? I recall the time when I was unemployed in 2009 and planning the first Rosenwald school conference at UNC Wilmington. My rule for myself was that I applied for three jobs per day, but I also spent hours each day on conference planning with no compensation in sight. There have been times when I emptied the gas can for our lawn mower into my vehicle, so that I could drive way out into the country to talk with yet another elderly person about his or her school experience.
Why? I don't have a good answer, or more accurately, I don't have an answer that makes sense on a practical plane. I feel have been driven by something larger than myself. Now six of the people I interviewed while making the film have passed away, and Mary has fallen mute, at least for now. Sadly, these voices don't stay with us forever. It is so important to speak with our older friends, take time to ask them about their stories, which are personal and yet reflect the weaving of the larger fabric of our nation.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
The Single Most Important Skill
Some years ago a study came out that showed students who attend religious services on a regular basis tend to do better in school than students who don't. Before we conclude that God smiles more kindly on devout students, and without delving into some other probable factors (such as, do families who keep more regular routines tend to nurture higher achievement?), I would like to raise another consideration: The sermon. Common to Christianity, Islam and Judaism, a sermon is the part of the service when everyone is asked to reflect on a teaching. So most students who attend religious services hear, on a regular basis, an invitation to reflect on the deeper meaning of the words before them. I propose that this habit, more than any particular teaching, is responsible for the boost in achievement.
I have thought about this finding on a regular basis in the many years that I have been in education. For seventeen years I was a college advisor, first at a private university in Massachusetts, then at a state university in North Carolina. During that time I coached students through the college transition, teaching them study skills. Now that I am a resource teacher in a title one middle school, many of the same issues present themselves (only the intensity is often greater). What, one might ask, might a freshman at a prestigious private university have in common with a learning disabled sixth grader? The answer is, more than I would have predicted.
From the point of view of development, the college student and the middle schooler are both searching for new identities and ways of defining themselves. This can cause some fairly spectacular instances of college students crashing and burning, as well as a considerable amount of drama at middle school. However, what I want to address in this blog is the importance of the skill of making inferences, or, what is more frequently the case, the lack of this skill. It may not be surprising that a sixth grader, especially one with a learning disability, might lack this skill, but college freshmen are often very literal readers as well. Subtle differences, unspoken conclusions, irony-- all are frequently lost on a typical 18-year-old. The 11-year-old facing questions about reading passages on a state end of grade exam can feel equally lost. How can we help our students to develop the skill of inference, of reading into things?
All the possible strategies would not fit into one blog post, but here are some suggestions: Using cartoons with double or hidden meanings (Gary Larson's Far Side cartoons often fit into this category). Having students speak or write what they think are the "secret thoughts" of a literary character. Having students act out a scene from a novel or play, using the premise of the story but their own words. Making an "equivalency list" of hard to understand expressions and their meanings. Most of all, we can and should teach a deeper level of reading comprehension through thoughtful, unhurried questioning and discussion. There's no app for that.
I have thought about this finding on a regular basis in the many years that I have been in education. For seventeen years I was a college advisor, first at a private university in Massachusetts, then at a state university in North Carolina. During that time I coached students through the college transition, teaching them study skills. Now that I am a resource teacher in a title one middle school, many of the same issues present themselves (only the intensity is often greater). What, one might ask, might a freshman at a prestigious private university have in common with a learning disabled sixth grader? The answer is, more than I would have predicted.
From the point of view of development, the college student and the middle schooler are both searching for new identities and ways of defining themselves. This can cause some fairly spectacular instances of college students crashing and burning, as well as a considerable amount of drama at middle school. However, what I want to address in this blog is the importance of the skill of making inferences, or, what is more frequently the case, the lack of this skill. It may not be surprising that a sixth grader, especially one with a learning disability, might lack this skill, but college freshmen are often very literal readers as well. Subtle differences, unspoken conclusions, irony-- all are frequently lost on a typical 18-year-old. The 11-year-old facing questions about reading passages on a state end of grade exam can feel equally lost. How can we help our students to develop the skill of inference, of reading into things?
All the possible strategies would not fit into one blog post, but here are some suggestions: Using cartoons with double or hidden meanings (Gary Larson's Far Side cartoons often fit into this category). Having students speak or write what they think are the "secret thoughts" of a literary character. Having students act out a scene from a novel or play, using the premise of the story but their own words. Making an "equivalency list" of hard to understand expressions and their meanings. Most of all, we can and should teach a deeper level of reading comprehension through thoughtful, unhurried questioning and discussion. There's no app for that.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Why Do Rosenwald Schools Still Matter?
Why do Rosenwald schools matter to teachers and students today? To answer this question, one need only ask, does it matter how we speak to our students? The answer is an emphatic yes, it matters a great deal how we speak to our students. In our words and tone they sense how we see them, and because they are children they tend to take the words to heart. I can't tell you how many times a student has recalled some teacher comment from years earlier, whether for better or worse: "Ms. Smith in third grade told me I was good in math" or "Ms. Jones in fourth grade said I'll never be a good writer." (Both of these are real teacher comments that were repeated to me.)
These comments might have been made in passing as a math quiz was handed back, or in a moment of frutration as a teacher saw many mistakes in a writing assignment. They were probably quickly forgotten by the teachers, but they made a deep impression on the students. Even the student who seems closed down, who claims not to care, latches onto words that provide a glimpse into how teachers see them. So how we view our students matters a great deal, it shapes our words and our expectations and even determines how we feel about coming to work. I feel I am a fortunate teacher who gets to spend my days with incredibly creative and intelligent students, helping them discover their talents, students whose families have a long history of supporting education.
All of my students are part of rich educational and cultural traditions. My knowledge of African American history, including Rosenwald schools, lets me know that my lower income African American students (who comprise about 70% of the school where I teach) may not have every material advantage, but they have a rich heritage. Just a few examples: Northern African philosopher Aesop influenced Plato, and his teachings still embody the best examples of parables outside of the teachings of Jesus. African building, agricultural and musical influences were transferred to the Americas when enslaved Africans were brought to work here; our culture and economy would be much poorer without them. My students' families were striving for education even before it was legal for them to do so. Dr. James D. Anderson and others have documented that in the decades following the Civil War poor African American families sought education in greater numbers, and sacrificed more for school building, than white Americans.
So I am able to teach from a solid perspective, I know my students are intelligent and creative and talented and, yes, both contributors and heirs to our culture. Education is something that African Americans have always shaped and owned.
These comments might have been made in passing as a math quiz was handed back, or in a moment of frutration as a teacher saw many mistakes in a writing assignment. They were probably quickly forgotten by the teachers, but they made a deep impression on the students. Even the student who seems closed down, who claims not to care, latches onto words that provide a glimpse into how teachers see them. So how we view our students matters a great deal, it shapes our words and our expectations and even determines how we feel about coming to work. I feel I am a fortunate teacher who gets to spend my days with incredibly creative and intelligent students, helping them discover their talents, students whose families have a long history of supporting education.
All of my students are part of rich educational and cultural traditions. My knowledge of African American history, including Rosenwald schools, lets me know that my lower income African American students (who comprise about 70% of the school where I teach) may not have every material advantage, but they have a rich heritage. Just a few examples: Northern African philosopher Aesop influenced Plato, and his teachings still embody the best examples of parables outside of the teachings of Jesus. African building, agricultural and musical influences were transferred to the Americas when enslaved Africans were brought to work here; our culture and economy would be much poorer without them. My students' families were striving for education even before it was legal for them to do so. Dr. James D. Anderson and others have documented that in the decades following the Civil War poor African American families sought education in greater numbers, and sacrificed more for school building, than white Americans.
So I am able to teach from a solid perspective, I know my students are intelligent and creative and talented and, yes, both contributors and heirs to our culture. Education is something that African Americans have always shaped and owned.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Beyond Nostalgia
As one woman who grew up in a sharecropping family said to me, "It was hot, so hot, but you could not stop. You had to work and work and work." Her father died when she was young, leaving her mother to look after ten children and continue the family's sharecropping agreements. This woman has her own double vision, because even today she sees the descendants of the landowners living a comfortable life, but often the landowner would come to her mother after the crops were sold and say "You didn't make nothing, I didn't make nothing...." And, as she told me, the family "had worked all the year and had nothing to show for it. We knew the man lied..."
When I drive past one of the many surviving Rosenwald school buildings in Pender County, I think about the sacrifice the communities made to build and maintain schools. How laborers and sharecroppers who might have made 50 cents per day, on average, gathered hundreds of dollars for school building and also gave freely of their time. How families took turns putting the teachers up in their homes, and how the whole community would turn out for spelling bees, concerts, and plays. Against a backdrop of unjust laws, thousands of black students took their first steps toward a better life in our local Rosenwald schools. I think about the legacy of the commitment to service that is alive and well today-- you can see it in the volunteers at the hospitals, in the schools, at the polls and in the churches.
The regional impact of the African American school building movement, which began during Reconstruction and included many types of schools in addition to Rosenwald schools, was enormous and still echoes today. Preserving Rosenwald school buildings is an important way to acknowledge local African American communities' commitment to education, as well as their huge contributions to our region.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Rosenwald Schools' Impact
Recently, I interviewed the subject of my new film project, a woman who is about to turn 90. I have interviewed her several times in the past, but for this new film I wanted to start fresh. What I learned impressed me more than ever, and reinforced the depth of African Americans' historical commitment to education.
My friend's grandmother was born a slave and never learned to read, yet she pushed her children and grandchildren relentlessly to get an education. "Put something in your head" she told them over and over "and no one can take it from you."
It is in this context we have to understand Rosenwald schools and our students' heritage. Some scholars have criticized Rosenwald school builders for being too accomodationist, or (wittingly or not) for advancing a type of education designed to keep African Americans down. What puzzles me is, why do these critics not see the complexity and craftiness of Booker T. Washington's response? Once someone has learned to read and speak, no one can control his or her ideas. They called Washington "The Wizard of Tuskegee" for good reason. Operating in the deep South, he could not afford to advocate openly for integration, yet the school building program that he and Rosenwald founded gave literacy and a ladder to hundreds of thousands of African Americans.
My friend's grandmother was born a slave and never learned to read, yet she pushed her children and grandchildren relentlessly to get an education. "Put something in your head" she told them over and over "and no one can take it from you."
It is in this context we have to understand Rosenwald schools and our students' heritage. Some scholars have criticized Rosenwald school builders for being too accomodationist, or (wittingly or not) for advancing a type of education designed to keep African Americans down. What puzzles me is, why do these critics not see the complexity and craftiness of Booker T. Washington's response? Once someone has learned to read and speak, no one can control his or her ideas. They called Washington "The Wizard of Tuskegee" for good reason. Operating in the deep South, he could not afford to advocate openly for integration, yet the school building program that he and Rosenwald founded gave literacy and a ladder to hundreds of thousands of African Americans.
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