UnJust

Out of curiosity, I threw my blog URL into Wordle.net. If you've never used this time-consuming site, take a look! It creates tag clouds in which the most frequently-used words are larger.

The result irritated me, because one of the largest words turned out to be "just," hereafter referred to as ______.

I hate that word. Do I really use it that often? Yuck!

It's one of the Evangelical Protestant catch-phrases (I love the E-Ps I grew up with, but their insipid vocabulary drives me nutso!). "I _____ Wanna Be Where You Are," "We ____ Worship You," "You're ____ So Goooooood," "I'm ______ So Blessed," on and on and on. In this context, the word has no meaning. It's a filler word that contributes to the watering down of religion's mysteries.

I often refer to myself sarcastically as "_____ a teacher," so perhaps I could just pull back on the dry humor. Problem: That less-than-witty usage wasn't the most common in my "find on this page" search.

No, I'm using it as a filler word, and it's not the only one. Is there any benefit to these banal vocabulary choices? Does the rhythm they contribute outweigh the fluff that detracts from the post? Do I express myself this way? Do people consider me uneducated, head full of fluff, unable to compose an original creative thought? Instead of encouraging my students to expand their vocabularies, have I dumbed mine down so I sound like a teenager? Like, OMG, dat would be hella bad!



Are my thoughts as vapid as my vocabulary?

Well, somebody taketh away!

One of the great ironies of the Education profession: We are (sorta) entrusted with 30 or more students at a time, and yet we can't seem to be trusted with anything else!

I recently met some people (McActivPeople, to be exact) who wanted to plan a conference in my area. Great! My school would love to host it! After getting approval of both principals on the shared campus, talking to my District Office contact about how to get approval, sitting down with the McActivRepresentative (who is a wonderful person, by the way), and sketching out a plan, I got an email.

From my district office contact. I'm pretty sure it was written by her boss.

"Please give us the contact information of your McActivRepresentative. These things are usually planned through our office."

Yes, you read that correctly. Not, "Oh, great! Thanks for starting this process! How can we offer our support and make this the best conference ever, bringing rare good publicity to our district and encouraging our teachers with real professional development rather than bashing them down with the mediocre shit we usually offer?"

Not, "I'm glad that you're excited and taking initiative. Let's talk so that we can make sure we're following proper protocols."

Nope. Basically, they're saying "there's no was a measly little teacher could plan a conference worthy of our district's untarnished reputation. Now that you've made the contact, hand over your work so that we can transform it into another poorly-planned, cheaply run, narrow-minded district love fest where everyone sits around getting talked at all day and our department gets to stand up and welcome everyone and feel all important."

I have to wonder how much of this comes from the recent furlough days we agreed to if the parcel tax doesn't pass. They know we, the teachers, want to see cuts at the bloated, croneyistic district office, and they see that their jobs could be on the chopping block if they don't prove their worth. What better way than by making work for themselves?

Isn't there something better they could be doing?

Back in touch with reality...

The last few weeks have been pure bliss.

No, not the mind-controlling, freaky-naked-lizard-alien bliss, but actual this-job-is-so-amazing-I-would-do-almost-all-of-it-for-free bliss.

You see, I finally get to teach poetry. Even though it only addresses three questions on the CST, I've managed to justify scheduling three weeks that "accidentally" overran and turned into four weeks.

At the end of every year, the kids fill out a survey, and one of the questions is always "what do you wish we had learned this year?" A large contingent always makes some remark about how they wish we could have spent more time on poetry, and I always agree with them. It's just that the enormous vise-grip that is the state test squeezes the life out of our schedule, and the good parts (you know, poetry) get condensed to as little time as possible.

So, for the last four weeks, we have been exploring lyric, narrative, and free verse poetry. The kids have read, analyzed, performed, and written all three types, and it's been beautiful. They come ready for class. They listen to the information, complete the activities, and read just for the sake of reading. Kids who have gone through puberty since they last finished a homework assignment are bringing me their poetry to read, turning in work early, and happily skipping home with their writing in one hand and passing grade report in the other.

And me? Oh, I'm great! I'm giving myself a birthday present on Monday: the kids are presenting dramatic readings of free verse poetry. Happy Birthday to me!

I'm not going to rant about how testing kills motivation, or how kids will bend over backwards when they are learning something meaningful. Instead, I'm just going to revel in the totally-non-reptilian bliss that is teaching poetry.

Inequity Sux

Field Trip! I took a group of girls to the local college-prep catholic girls' high school for the 8th grade day, and came back feeling 2 extreme emotions: excitement and anger.

I'm excited because this is an amazing opportunity. Twenty-two girls went today, and I wouldn't be surprised if most of them were accepted to the school. The teachers are phenomenal, the resources are out of this world, and the academic program, with its Social Justice focus, is everything I could want for my girls.

Here's where the anger comes in.

Why should only a few of my girls (and the guys who are accepted to the all-boys school) get these opportunities? The students at my school are no less deserving than those whose parents can shell out $13,500 every year.

I don't begrudge the school or its students the resources they have, especially because they seem to make good use of their location and don't buy or build things they don't need. Their library isn't impressive, but they're just down the street from the amazing 8-floor City/University library.

They should have the lab equipment and darkrooms and art studio.

So should every kid.

They should have the amazing teachers who benefit from worthwhile professional development.

So should every kid.

They should have the interactive curriculum enhanced by local and global trips.

So should every kid.

When I arrived back at school, I discovered a visitor. One of our students who graduated a few years ago was back to say hello, and she described her high school experience. "Some of the teachers are really good, but if they stick you with a bad teacher, it's terrible." This bright, intelligent young adult went on to describe schedule problems, missed opportunities, and trouble that she never would have faced at a private college prep school.

Our free public schools should be well-equipped to prepare our kids to compete. The problem isn't just that we don't have enough money; the problem is misused funding, an inappropriate focus on standardized testing, and a lack of quality teacher training.

And our kids suffer for it.

Sweet Success

A gigantic environmentally-friendly lightbulb flashed on in my class yesterday. One student, whom I'll call Emily because that's totally not her name (and I'm sad about the lack of a new Bones episode this week) finally figured out how to write! I'm not quite sure what happened. I had already given detailed instructions, and this is my third year as her Language Arts teacher so I KNOW that she's been taught this stuff before, but she's just never really done well with writing.

During the after-school homework center yesterday, Emily was a little distracted by her friends (completely engrossed in a conversation), so I separated the group. Not an uncommon occurence. Instead of sitting and pouting like some of them tend to do, she started working on the book report. She needed more guidance, so I gave her the same step-by-step instructions I've been teaching her class since 2007. This was the time! It worked! She had already read her book carefully, which may have been the missing ingredient before. She took the instructions, worked on them, brought her writing to me to check, revised, checked it again, revised it again, and ended up with a composition that rivals the top students in the class!

Emily was completely shocked with herself, and I think I am too. Honestly, if I hadn't watched her write it, I would have doubted her honesty.

What in incredible boost this is for both of us! Emily is a good kid, and if she doesn't always work as hard as she could, she has shown the desire to do well. Algebra has been a pain for her, and I've seen her self-confidence take a blow, but now she knows, like I already knew, that she's capable.

Lesson learned for me, too. Even though I've been with them for a really long time, a number of my students might need just one more explanation, just a little bit more help, so they can get it.

The time it takes to do simple tasks

30 new sixth grade students.

40 minutes.

1 timeline assignment.

Create a timeline.

Place 5 events from this list on the timeline.

Think we finished it?

Think again.

Why does it take so long to accomplish simple tasks? Even my least-needy class, the ones who could fold a piece of paper in half without asking me to check and make sure they did it right, was agonizingly slow in gluing the three pieces of paper together to make a long strip.

My instructions were clear and carefully sequenced. My supplies were ready. My tools were adequate, with the exception of a couple of rulers made by idiots who didn't think to make the quarter-inch lines slightly longer than the eighth-inch lines.

And yet, in 40 minutes, the class just barely managed to read the directions, glue-stick the paper, draw their lines, and label century increments.

So, tomorrow, I'll spend another hour showing them how to place 5 events on the timeline, create sketches to accompany 2 of those events, and write 3-6 sentence descriptions of two events.

Will they finish in an hour? Probably not. But we're going to try!

How Proud I Am!

Earlier this year, I set some professional development goals for the summer. Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to announce a status update.

I've made progress.

Yes, my friends, I can now use "actions" to make my McActiveFlipcharts more student-friendly. This skill will allow me to create documents that students can use without me hovering over their shoulders in case they get lost, making me more inclined to actually let THEM use the board instead of making it a great big wireless mouse.

I'm so proud. Do I hear applause?

Please don't ask about the whole reading thing.

The Sunny Side of the Table

Even though interviews can be boring and tedious, it's MUCH more fun being on the interview panel! I was foolish enough to move just two years after landing my first job, and I can't tell you how frustrated I was trying to represent myself accurately while telling the interrogators interviewers what they wanted to hear.

We had 9 interviewers today, beginning at 8:30. They were scheduled 30 minutes apart, but it would have been easy to work in a 15-minute window, considering HR only allowed us 8 dull questions.

Now, I've only done this once, so I'm not any kind of expert, but here's what I learned:

• The people who are interviewing you may or may not be your immediate supervisors. We were all from the same school, but were interviewing for positions at 3 different locations.
• The people who are interviewing you may not have ever done this before. They could be pretty nervous, too, especially if it's early in the day.
• Like any competition, it's not best to go first.
• Come early. Your HR department might allow a huge window between interviews but, especially if it's after lunch, the interview panel will appreciate being able to move things along.
• Answer the question.
• Answer only the question. If you're going to volunteer random information, be sure to connect it back and show how it answers the question.
• Answer the whole question.
• Prepare a solid answer for the ubiquitous "what is your greatest strength? What is your greatest weakness?"
• Be prepared to answer the weakness question. It is ALWAYS asked. Always. People who seem surprised look foolish.
• Don't try to "forget" the weakness question.
• Does it seem like I'm harping on the weakness thing? I am! My students know that when I repeat something over and over and over and over and over it means that it's important.
• Don't go overboard with your clothing. Seriously. If you're applying for a job where you won't have to wear business formal, don't go buy a new suit. You'll look uncomfortable, and we'll be able to tell that you don't wear that sort of clothing in your current job.
• Whatever outfits are expected at your job, wear them enough so that you're comfortable. Wash or dry-clean them once or twice before the interview. Break in your shoes so you don't fall over in the hallway on the way to the interview room. Don't wear an outfit you don't like.
• Wear one interesting or unique piece of clothing or jewelry. Not anything crazy or punk, but a pretty necklace or slightly brighter tie. After 9 interviews, everyone kinda blends together, and we're not allowed to discuss candidates until the end. I'm not a fashionista by any means, but I did say things like "remember the one in the green shirt? She said that...."
• Everyone says this, but I'll repeat it: LEARN AS MUCH AS YOU CAN ABOUT THE JOB BEFORE THE INTERVIEW. Ask people you know, use any contacts you have, even if you haven't talked to them in 20 years, and go online and talk to people, especially those in your local area. It's hard to picture you in a job if you're sitting there asking what you'll have to do.
• In many school districts, interviewers have a list of questions, and they are instructed to record comments. When you finish answering a question, STOP TALKING. We may not say anything, but that's not 'cause we're waiting for a more complete answer, it's because we're making notes on what you already said. Rambling makes you look silly.

Teacher interviews are next week! It should be fun to help select my newest colleague.

Muahahahahaaaaaaa!

Photo Credit: Rickydavid on Flickr

Went to my classroom today!

Neighbor teacher texted to say she was working in her classroom, so I decided to unload the bazillion boxes of donated USB drives that have been overwhelming my miniscule dining room.

It smells funny.

Not the dining room, or the neighbor teacher. No, my classroom smells funny. My nose was itching within a few minutes of pretend-work-but-really-gossipping, and the trip into my closets to find the elusive but completely worthless grammar teacher's edition made me almost die.

Next time, remind me to go in early, open the windows wide, turn on the fan, and go revisit the In'n'Out that I've missed so much this summer. While I'm at it, I should recruit some kids to come and move desks for me...

As we pretended that we were going to do some real work, neighbor teacher and I discussed the following:

• Summer school.
• How happy we were to be rid of our principal.
• How the former principal darkened our souls.
• How low our test scores were going to be this year because teaching quality went down and nobody really did any extra interventions because we so hated former principal.
• Our readiness to move on from the horribleness that was the former principal.
• Ideas for staff collaboration which is guaranteed to be incredibly amazing because everyone loves each other like the kids on Barney.
• My need for help in figuring out how to improve class, learning, and life for my English Learners.
• My need for help standing up to my teaching team. Wonderful people, but they don't always listen.
• Our frustration with the new 7th grade students' general misbehavior and how it's all the former principal's fault (wait, we weren't going to talk about her again).
• Classroom configurations.
• Sleeping in 4 hours later than normal.
• Summer plans.
• Summer reading.
• Books that have been turned into movies.
• Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and how cool it was when the memories kinda dropped like water into ink in the pensieve.
• and other random frivolity.

Seem like a long conversation? That's what happens when you take two people who are accustomed to talking all day, every day, and give them 3 months without students! Really, I should get a job as a telemarketer or something.

Meanwhile, my classroom looks exactly as it did before my arrival, with the addition of several boxes of USB drives and the removal of the remains of the potting soil that we used for an experiment at the end of the year before last and that I now need to repot my basil plants.

Guess I'll have to go back next week. I wonder if neighbor teacher will be there...

I Quit!

Yes, I quit. Not my job, not my life, not even my endless (unpaid, did I mention that?) hours of planning.

I quit this whole Year in Review thing. If you've read the first few posts, you probably think I'm a witchy monster who hates life.

Last year was so negative and hateful and hurtful, at least outside the classroom, and my memory just isn't good enough to translate all the awesome things my kids did into readable posts.

So, I quit. I'm not going to finish the year in review.

You're probably incredibly disappointed, so I'll make a promise: this year, I'll blog about the good things. I'll tell the funny little stories about the kids, brag about the amazing insights they express, and post pictures of their exhibitions, field days, and artwork.

No more of this raincloud stuff. I quit!

Hope Springs Eternal

New Superintendent who appears to support small schools.

New Board majority who support small schools.

Minority will be termed out soon.

New Principal,

one of our own,

a founder of the school who respects

and has the support of

teachers, parents, and students.

Instead of fighting for survival,

we'll be able to concentrate on

teaching and learning.

What a novelty!

What potential for progress!

What a wonderful world!

Photo Credit Matt McGee on Flickr.com

Accountability? But it's too hard!

Ah, accountability. That catch-phrase hurled at and by teachers everywhere, that multi-tasking noun, that excellent idea so often used to insult and patronize. While "accountability" is slowly being displaced by "transparency," it still makes the rounds as one of the most misunderstood words in education.

It's a cliche worthy of a commencement speaker to define your terminology in a dramatic way, but here it is: Accountability means that you're responsible to somebody or for something, and that your actions are capable of being explained (my paraphrase of Encarta Dictionary).

At the most basic level, this isn't a problem for teachers. We hold our students accountable to the point of being ridiculous: "Why didn't you do your homework?" "Why were you late for school?" "How bad do you really have to go to the bathroom?"

The average teacher would want accountability to sound more reasonable: "What are you going to learn?" "How are you going to learn it?" "How will you know when you have learned it?" This type of classroom accountability should encourage students to learn and inquire and grow.

If you mention accountability for teachers and schools, well, you're asking for a fight. The images that come to my mind are angry union members yelling across tables, people with clipboards and high heels and silk blouses standing in my classroom as far away from the students as possible, and students' sickened expressions as they enter the classroom on testing days.

Accountability in education is too much like the first example. Instead of "Why didn't you do your homework?" it's "Why didn't your English Learners make more progress?" Teachers and schools are judged solely on a set of numbers, and attempts to evaluate in more logical ways become just as foolish.

One of the recent "innovations" was the introduction of the Classroom Walk-Through, or CWT because jargon makes us feel important. The idea is that district personnel, school administration, and other teachers will step into your classroom for 4 minutes, fill out a checklist, and move on to the next room. This should be done often, providing hundreds of classroom "snapshots" throughout the year in order to create a composite picture of what a school is really doing.

As much as I love snapshot collages, I can't pretend that they accurately represent what my students are learning. John Spencer on Television and Teaching recently compared such snapshots to a nature show in which the photographer stands back from a ritual, taking pictures and making judgements, but never gaining a true understanding of the culture by actually participating and getting to know the people. The CWT (love the lingo) may be better than a one-shot evaluation, but it still allows a wall of separation between reality and the clipboard.

So, what about teacher accountability? Don't all business sectors use some sort of performance pay? Not really, according to Richard Rothstein of the Economic Policy Institute. In an excerpt from his book Grading Education: Getting Accountability Right, Rothstein explains that "private sector pay is almost never based primarily on quantitative performance measures." Based on his conclusions, our foolish method of grading schools based on Math and Reading scores is detrimental to real education, because everyone always focuses primarily on the areas of their profession that are evaluated. We all know what happens when we focus on Math and Reading: we say goodbye to Science, Social Studies, Music, Art, Electives, Sports, and anything else that enables a well-rounded education.

When we look at common teaching practices, this focus shouldn't be a surprise. When I start a project with my students, I give them background information, instructions, examples...and a rubric that shows exactly what will be graded and how many points are available in each category. My students know to use that rubric as a checklist and to focus on those categories.

True evaluation requires a change in mindset. Accountability means that we are responsible for our work, but for whom are we working? To whom are we responsible? Who are the stakeholders in our school? We have many:

• The Federal, State, and Local governments direct money toward our programs. They're controlling partners...who really have all of the control.
• The community pays taxes that provide that money. They should have more control, because they elect many of the government officials. They also have an inherent interest because the community's future depends on raising up their children to be future leaders.
• The parents of our students, regardless of their taxpayer status, because, well, they're the parents of our students.
• Our students. These kids are required by law to sit their behinds in our classrooms for almost 6 hours a day, and then go home and do homework. They don't get paid, and they often don't have a voice in the decision-making.

In order to truly evaluate a school, we have to base our assessments on the goals of every stakeholder group, which means that our rubrics must include students' goals as well as federal mandates. Reasonable accountability requires resources: time, money, and an incredible amount of effort that I've already outlined in another post. Such resources are in short supply, but any type of evaluation that doesn't focus on the goals of all stakeholders is as ridiculous as a teacher focusing on bathroom usage instead of academic progress.

A Year in Review: July 08, Aug 08, June 09

Although we technically have a week left of school, and that week contains important activities like teaching and reviewing for finals, I've found myself pondering the meaning of life and wondering what this year has really been like. It will take more than one blog session to complete any sort of real analysis, but here's the start.

June 2009: Why do we learn new things right at the end of the year? I had two meetings on Friday (yes, the last Friday before the last week of school) that would have been helpful at the beginning of this year. The first was an IEP, and we got the results of pretty extensive testing. By the way, this was my first experience participating in an IEP meeting with both a competent psychologist/special ed teacher and a willing, educated parent. The test results made sense and we could connect them to what we saw at home and in the classroom. I also learned some real strategies that went above and beyond the typical useless mumbo-jumbo that under-trained special ed teachers usually spew like vomit. I really don't hate special ed teachers - it takes a better person than I to go into the field. However, it is a difficult field, and many of the teachers I've met who go into special ed are more idealistic than realistic, and more touchy-feely than intellectual. I've wasted many an hour in IEP meetings only to be told that "Kidsname needs more personal attention and visual reminders." That sort of advice isn't helpful.

The second meeting turned out to be more of a family conference. I've been frustrated because, all year, I haven't really found a way to get through to this kid. She doesn't relate to people like a typical 7th-grade student, although I suspect that her social awkwardness comes from a higher level of thinking, rather than some social disorder. However, I learned a lot about her in this meeting, and I think she may have seen that I really do care about her and want her to succeed. We created a plan for next year that, if properly implemented, should help to lead her out of this phase she's going through.

In both of these meetings, I experienced a gargantuan stab of "teacher guilt." Anyone with a dose of reality can tell you that, despite the idiocy of some old white male politicians, the teacher is only one factor in a kid's development. Unfortunately, the irrational megalomaniac constantly claws at me, telling me that if I were more careful, involved, or intelligent, these kids would not find education so difficult.

One of my goals for this summer will be to find the happy medium between my foolish messiah complex and backward ambivalence. I can certainly be more careful about my students, checking in on them, clarifying misunderstandings, practicing necessary skills, teaching time management, communicating with parents, and so on, but I'm no Ron Clark. I can't make myself sick or sacrifice my family in an effort to improve life for my students. So, as I create my plans, I'll be setting up a time schedule and working to find or create a better way to keep track of my students and tighten the seive so that fewer problems slip through.

Going back to the beginning of the year...because it makes sense...

August...:

no, not yet.

July 2008: The frustration from last year spilled over without a break into this year. July, that middle ground, saw further attempts by the district big-wigs to crush our successes so that their priorities could succeed. Instead of scheduling new principal interviews so that our teacher representative, who was one of the founders of our school, could attend, one of the district minions made frantic phone calls two day before interviews were to begin and could only contact me, one of the less-capable spokespeople for our school. I convinced her that I could find someone more qualified to be on the panel, but after a day of searching, I could only contact one other teacher who was only a slightly better choice. As it turned out, her voice didn't even matter - I could have easily been the token. The interview panel comprised just one teacher, one parent...and seven district lackeys who had obviously been instructed not to choose whomever our people preferred. As a result, we were assigned a principal who did not understand our vision, showed no interest in learning, and brought with her a terrible reputation for being inflexible and belligerent. Despite all this, the teaching team decided that we would do everything in our power to enable the success of our new principal, because if she failed, the entire school would suffer.

I decided at that time that I needed to educate myself so that I could be a useful advocate for our school.

August 2008: After rushing through the last of my online classes, jumping for joy when I found that I had passed all three sections of my 5-hour certification test on the first try (a rare accomplishment), and flying back from standing up in my friend's incredibly stressful wedding the night before summer school began, I arrived at the school at 7:30 on a glorious sunny morning on the unfamiliar campus we had borrowed for summer school to set up for my first day teaching in the new year.

Nobody was there.

I wandered the campus, looking for a custodian. I called other teachers. I tried to track down our new administrator.

Nothing.

I greeted the few students who started arriving early, and explained my wanderings to the other summer school teacher who drove in a few minutes later.

Finally, and I forget how, we were let into classrooms: I got the library, and she was parked in a classroom way across campus.

Then students started arriving, and the two of us quickly began exchanging worried glances. These weren't the right students!

When we had first planned summer school, we had planned on having more teachers and smaller classes, so we had created a list of incoming 6th, 7th, and 8th grade students. District policies being as foolish as they are, we quickly learned that our beautiful plan was not acceptable, so we created a 7th-grade-only alternative. Then our principal was yanked from us (in an attempt by the big-wigs to squelch innovation wherever possible), and the new principal was instated as previously described. The now former principal passed on the documents to the now current principal, instructing her specifically to use the new summer school list when sending out notifications. Yeah, she didn't do that.

That beautiful late-summer morning was quickly turning into a nightmare, and it was a perfect opportunity for new principal to prove herself. Yeah, she didn't do that either. Rather than swoop in, sort out the details, and apologize for her mistake, she crisply informed us that she had an administrative meeting at the District Office and was much to busy to come and assist. We were to teach the students we had, and we could meet at the end of the day to work everything out.

Have I mentioned yet that this is a 5 day summer school? By vamping through that one day, we lost 20 percent of our teaching time. Of course, we did our very best, as mature professionals, but we were fairly irritated by the time we made it back to our school site. Our hopes for a mature, professional reconciliation were quickly dashed. The principal asked us (I think it was just me by that point - the other teacher had another meeting) to "be creative." I proposed a wide variety of solutions. The principal could call all of the affected students and make corrections so that the right students would show up the next day - I would even help with the calling! No, that wouldn't work. No explanation as to why it wouldn't work, but I've since learned that this individual has a habit of going to ridiculous measures to avoid taking blame. I also suggested that we could keep the students who were currently attending, but we would need to be compensated for more prep hours, because we had already spent a considerable amount of time planning an intense, rigorous course of study for these 5 days. No, that wouldn't work. Again, no real explanation as to why it would work.

That was when I learned that "be creative" means "shut up and find a way to do what I told you to do." What an incredible difference from the student-centered, team-led environment I had enjoyed for the last two years! It was starting to sound like my first two years of teaching, except now I knew better, and was determined not to be blindly obedient like before.

Still, I, with the rest of the team, tried to be helpful and make things work. When the principal left a calendar meeting to go set the schedule with the monster school, with whom we share a campus and who typically tries to run over our needs because they're bigger, I quickly printed her a copy of the schedule WE HAD ALREADY AGREED ON in our June planning sessions, the notes from which I knew she had a copy. We all cheered for her when "she" convinced the other school to agree to that same schedule, and we were kind when she failed miserably to reach satisfactory arrangements in other areas. In my attempt to become a stronger voice for the needs of our students, I started hanging out so that I could be around to help and know what was happening, bypassing the solitude of my classroom and the luxury of the pool to plan amidst the chaos of the office.

School started just a few days before the end of the month. It was the easiest, smoothest first week of school ever! This was my first year looping with my students, and I already knew everyone's names, had a seating chart arranged that avoided problems, and had created lessons and a homework assignment that were appropriate for their needs. Despite the storms we could already see coming, this was going to be a good year!

To jump, or not to jump?

When I was applying for my first education job, I was surprised at how difficult it was to get an interview in the summer. School doesn't start until August or September, so why aren't people hiring in June or July? As it turns out, the process starts much earlier. Like...now.

Last week, probationary/temporary teachers were notified of their "re-elect" status. Having just become a permanent teacher, I'm grateful that I no longer have to face the anxiety felt by those who could be terminated with no warning and, perhaps, no real reason.

Letters already went out informing teachers of early-retirement bonuses. Rumors are starting to fly about who is transferring where, and why. Teachers are crossing their fingers, hoping that their administrators will move on and torture someone else. (aside: i'm starting to get callouses on my knuckles).

The charter schools in the area are also making quiet inquiries as to which quality teachers may just have had enough of the frustration and foolishness. Being professionally attached to many such quality teachers, I'm in line for a few of these opportunities, and I have to admit that they sound attractive.

The hours would be longer, more would be expected, and I wouldn't have union protection, but the benefits I would receive in exchange must bring me pause. The promises of professional respect, the opportunity to become a leader, the undiscovered country of a place where people use time like it has value...

'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.

But what happens when I step out of my current position? I've worked here for years, and I still believe that the vision is alive, buried somewhere under all the manure of district mandates and administrative mistakes. I know what to expect and what is expected of me. My teaching team works well together and provides the consistency that the kids need. The parents know me, and most of them trust me. The kids listen and learn and grown and change. Aside from the one individual who spitefully makes extra work at every opportunity, I'm in a good place.

And I've helped to build this good place. I wasn't on the original founding team, but I have made an impression on the school. From simple procedures to working documents to overall tone, my fingerprints are all over the school. How can I just ditch and go to another school, one that doesn't look and smell familiar? Am I ready to be the new person again, when I've so recently become comfortable (but not apathetic)? The new guy is never treated well; parents get upset with every change to procedure, kids are unsure and unwilling to take risks, and colleagues are less likely to accept and listen to new ideas.

Conscience is truly making a coward of me. The current that was driving me out of the school is turning awry, making eddies and whirlpools that lead me back to where I started. I'm circling and gyrating, wondering where I should go and what I should do.

It looks like I'll be staying. I've lost the name of action. More than that, I've realized that one person's incompetence should not drive me to professional suicide.

Advisory as Evidence

When the latest mound of paperwork was foisted upon me as being useful and relevant, I spoke up. I questioned why we had to complete stacks of complicated forms (in triplicate, of course), how they would be used, and what they thought they would accomplish, especially since I've never filled these out before and they'd be going into student files. After receiving a simplistic answer ("the district wants us to..."), I then asked when the principal was going to come and cover my class so that I could complete this paperwork. The response: "Do it during Advisory."

Yes, our school has jumped on the Advisory bandwagon, but we're one of the few places I've seen that actually run a semi-effective program.

Let's go back a few years into my past, before I jumped on Route 66 and found the Promised Land.

Early in the morning, students would arrive in my classroom for Advisory. Some of these students were vaguely known to me, while others weren't enrolled in any of my other classes. After a short stint of intercom-listening for announcements and the pledge, I would be left with 12 minutes. Twelve very empty minutes. The plan was that I'd help the students keep track of their homework, teach study skills, and take them through a character-development curriculum.

In 12 minutes.

After I made it clear that this process wasn't working for me, the school counselors helpfully photocopied an entire ream of...additional character-development curriculm. I'm still not sure why they thought killing more trees would help me use this 12 minutes effectively. Ensuing conversations uncovered the reality that these 12 minutes were really a catch-basin time, giving those chronically-tardy kids a chance to get to class on time.

12 wasted minutes a day. 60 minutes a week. 36 hours throughout the year. All this, for kids who wouldn't get up early enough to come to school. How long do you think it took them to realize that they could sleep in an extra 12 minutes?

Meanwhile, the few students who did arrive on time had established long before my arrival that "Advisory" was a synonym for "Social Hour/Naptime." It was lots of fun trying to convince them to do homework, breaking up fights, and pretending to teach about character. I eventually learned that it was just as effective to sit and grade while the kids fooled around, as long as I kept an ear open for conflict.

36 wasted hours, over the two years I was there. Yes, that's 72 hours - 3 full days - of headache-inducing, teeth-grinding frustration.

Now let's flash forward to the present.

We have an Advisory program that actually works both because of the time we invest and the culture of the school. We spend an entire hour every day, and two on rainy days when we don't have P.E., with our home cohorts. Instead of a hodge-podge of kids I may or may not know, I have a group of students who are mine for 2 other classes, and who have been in my Language Arts class for a year and a half. These are "my" kids. I'm the first contact for their parents, I'm the one who facilitates their Learner-Led conferences, and I'm the one who collects and monitors their homework for all of their classes. In this 5 hours per week (180 hours a year, for those of you who are keeping track), I teach real study skills, check every bit of their homework, and lead them through Social Justice projects.

Because of this Advisory class, our kids are able to fulfill our high expectations. They're mastering the standards and applying them to their lives. They're learning how to organize themselves, how to ask for help (which is an art!), and how to change the world.

Which is why I both laughed and cried when the principal said, "Just do it during Advisory." She truly thinks that Advisory is just another study hall? She really believes that I'm sitting around doing paperwork while the kids work silently? She honestly wants me to divide my attention between my students and these all-too-complicated NCR forms?

This is just more evidence that she doesn't understand the vision and mission of our school. We've been struggling with this all year. The first week back, I asked her, "why did you want to work in a small school? What about the model appealed to you?" Her answer? "Well, the size!" As if her job would be easier because the number of students is smaller. As if the only difference between our revolutionary model and the traditional school was the size of the building.

Our school isn't perfect, but we are one of the best opportunities in the area for our students. Our teachers and staff work hard, and our students accomplish more than many people could imagine. But how are we going to continue to innovate and research and collaborate and improve? We've already had so much busy work thrust upon us that we can barely breathe, and sometimes we're surprised when we go back and look at the founding documents of our own school. We're travelling a vastly different road, and it's not the best path.

How are we going to go anywhere if our "leader" doesn't even know who we are? How is it possible that now, just over halfway through the year, she has such a mistaken impression of one of our core programs? Is there any hope?

Dialogue

The last post was such a downer, I just can't leave on that note. So, for your edification, here's what I taught today.

We're working on narrative writing, and this lesson focused on dialogue. Now, this was just the introduction, so I didn't get to bring in all of the wonderful examples found in the wide world of Literature, but we'll get to do that on Thursday.

We started the writing lesson looking at some examples of short dialogue and talking about bits from one of their favorite stories, which happens to come from the author of one of my favorite book series. Then we read some sentences with and without punctuation to show why it's important. Of course, I pulled out one of my old favorites:

"A woman, without her man, is nothing."
"A woman. Without her, man is nothing."

Most of my girls preferred the second!

After a quick, painless practice exercise to remind everyone that the comma goes BEFORE the quotation marks, the kids worked on writing a conversation between two characters from a story they had read last week. When one pair had a hard time getting started, we assigned parts, with each kid pretending to be one of the characters. They took off! They were laughing and joking and working and writing and creating dialogue that worked and was interesting! We spent about 25 minutes working on the dialogue, and it took a few minutes to convince them that yes, they really had to stop, because it was time to go to lunch. It was one of those cheesy fuzzy moments that made me say, "even though this job can be total shit sometimes, it's worth it when I actually get to teach!"

(note the exclamation point BEFORE the quotation marks)

Next week we'll work on suspense. We really should work on persuasive writing, but, truth be told, I hate teaching persuasive writing! Adolescents really don't have the cognitive ability to put together a coherent argument, which is the foundation of all persuasion, and trying to teach them to organize thoughts that they don't have is like pulling teeth that aren't there. You just end up with sore gums. Yeah.

Lying, cheating, and stealing

Even though we're bogged down with ridiculous standards that nobody could possible teach in one single year, all teachers try to impart some moral fiber to their students. We don't (always) try to indoctrinate them with our crazy liberal agenda, but we do try to show them how to be good people.

So, after 7-8 years of this character instruction, why do our kids still lie, cheat, and steal?

I'm not talking about the girl who crossed the line just once because she wanted a better grade. No, she's past that, and she'll probably never forget it. Nor am I talking about the boy who once made a half-hearted attempt to convince me that he really did put his homework on my desk, knowing that I'd make him look in his backpack again anyway.

No, I'm talking about the kid who steals cash from a teacher's purse, who rummages through file cabinets looking for cell phones, or who accuses other students of cheating in retaliation for their refusal to give her answers during the final.

I'm talking about the boy who will ignore clear evidence that he copied a test and lie through his teeth to his parents, principal, and teachers.

And what about the kid who shoplifts from the gift shop on the class field trip?

These are only a few examples of actual situations I've endured. So, why do kids lie?

Some people try to tell me that it's part of their culture. Because so many people in their community are from a country that is the poster child for corrupt governments, they can't trust those in authority, and they learn that lying to anyone government-related is not only acceptable, but expected.

Others tell me that human nature is terrible and that, unless some divine force works on our souls, we will never even be capable of good.

Many people blame it on the parents, saying that dishonesty is a learned behavior, and there's not much a teacher can do in a few years to reverse the effects of a lifetime of deception.

I've learned that it doesn't really matter why kids lie, and that I need to be prepared for alternate versions of the truth at all times. It's changed my teaching practice; I've had to incorporate accountability into grades, create multiple versions of every exam, watch kids like a hawk, and lock up or leave at home anything that I can't afford to lose. I've learned that I have to be extremely consistent because even the nice kids lie. Above all, I've learned (okay, I'm trying to learn) not to take it personally when a kid lies.

Dr. House was right: Everybody lies. I just have to find a way to teach, assess, and survive in the tanged web they weave.

The Grand Introduction

In honor of an annoying Facebook fad, here are the 25 things you might want to know about me and this blog.

1. I teach middle school in Silicon Valley, California
2. My students are funny.
3. 7th grade is the best. In 6th grade, they're too much like children, and in 8th grade, they're working so hard at pretending to be adults that they're quite rude.
4. I still like 6th and 8th graders, they're just not as cool.
5. I'm a real person, too. I don't identify myself as a teacher, and I don't introduce myself that way. However, this blog is about teaching. If you want to know me, look on my other blogs.

6. Teaching would be the best job in the world if not for politics and stupidity.

7. My school district has way too much of both.
8. I'm going to try to keep this blog relatively anonymous in order to preserve my job.
9. Speaking of perserving my job, I have a new boss this year.
10. This new boss makes my life very difficult.
11. I'm going to try to avoid passing judgment on this boss. I'll state the actions and decisions, you decide whatever you will.
12. Speaking of politics, I often attend school board meetings.
13. I've been unofficially reprimanded for speaking at school board meetings.
14. I've always wondered why the school board was upset with what I said. It was a good question that wasn't answered anywhere else.
15. I've observed school board members wasting time at public meetings insulting each other.
16. I'm going to institute the same policy for district personnel as for school site management: observations, not responses.
17. I'll also tell about my students, because they're incredibly intuitive and entertaining, but I'm going to protect their privacy. I'll probably use initials or nicknames, but they'll be in code, just in case one of them runs across this site.
18. I tease my students, but try not to offend them.
19. My school is unique.
20. I am part of a teaching team that actually collaborates and researches and innovates and ________ (fill in your own corporate buzzword here 'cause dude, we do it).
21. My brother thinks I'm crazy for deciding to be a teacher.
22. Did I mention that 7th graders make me laugh?
23. Future posts will show more writing skill.
24. Future posts will be more thoughtful.
25. I don't just teach reading and writing, I introduce my students to reality.