A Blog About School

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A couple of months ago, I came across A Blog About School, written by parent and law professor, Chris Liebig. It has quickly become one of my favorite education blogs. For me, personally, Chris serves as a powerful antidote to the some of the irrational parents I have had to deal with this year–a refreshing reminder that the great majority of parents not only care about their kids, they also care about what is right and good for kids in general. At the end of the day, it’s not just  about grades and test scores–and, as Chris points out, our current emphasis on “accountability” and “performance” has serious implications for participatory democracy. In short, he gets it.

Although he sometimes blogs about local issues, he also writes about the sheer madness that sometimes passes for “school reform.” Occasionally, the two intersect. One of his recent posts along these lines caught my attention. In it, he wrote that “Iowa City has a reputation as an artsy, intellectual, socially liberal college town; the Advocate even named it America’s third most gay-friendly city. So why do so many features of our public schools seem like they could have been designed by the most authoritarian, anti-intellectual, corporate-captive elements of America’s political spectrum?”

The policies that have drawn his ire of late are severely shortened recesses and the requirement that children eat lunch while bundled up for Iowa’s winter weather–to maximize playtime during the too-short recess, of course. And all of this to free up more time for drill-and-kill test prep.

In the same post, Chris pointed out that he was not “sure exactly what ‘progressive’ means, especially in the context of education,” to which I responded that progressivism has always contained a strand of technocracy–a abiding faith in the ability of science to improve our world. More to the point, though, given the recent thrust of his posts, I also asked him what he thought about Sudbury schools, which have really captured my interest of late.

I honestly don’t know as much about them as I should, but I appreciate Chris’ thoughtful response. His understanding and mine seem to match, and like most of his posts, it’s worth reading. It’s a careful and nuanced view of a school environment that would seem the antithesis of the “authoritarian” policies he so despises, but one that comes with its own set of challenges. I look forward to his forthcoming second post of Sudbury schools.

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New Year’s Resolutions

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I know, it’s pretty strange to be posting about New Year’s Resolutions in February, but if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been mostly MIA over the past month. It’s all I can do to keep up with what others are writing and saying, and I never seem to have time to get my own thoughts down on the… screen?

Still, this is a topic that’s been brewing in my head for a couple of months now. Toward the end of last semester, I gave my students a teacher evaluation form. My school also gave one, but I frankly find that one pretty useless. For the most part, the answers are all multiple choice, “never-through-always” or “1-through-5” kinds of things. I’m not sure what to make of it when students give me an average of 3.92 for “The teacher is prepared for class.” Seems to me that I’m either prepared for class or I’m not.

In any event, the form I gave students was much more open-ended. I asked them to reflect on what they would and wouldn’t change about the course, as well as what they thought I did well and didn’t do well as a teacher. I got a lot of good feedback, and much of it has informed my New Year’s Resolutions. Despite the fact that I’m just getting around to posting them, I’m happy to say that I’ve been trying to uphold them for the past month, and so far, I think it’s going well.

Although they said plenty of good things as well, many of my students conveyed in their evaluations that my “expectations are too high.” Typically, this was in response to the question of what they would change or what I don’t do well. I actually take that as a compliment. I’m glad to hear that they think my expectations are high, because they are high. At least we’re on the same page there. On the other hand, several of them used words like “harsh” or “uncompromising” or “severe” to describe my grading. This stuck with me.

The longer I teach, the more I despair about grading. I’ve written about this before. One part of the problem (but certainly not the whole problem) is that my school is fairly lax about student enrollment in advanced courses, and every year, I end up with a number of students who probably shouldn’t be in my class. As a colleague of mine put it recently, there’s a clear tension between the need to teach the kids you’ve got and the need to teach the course you’ve got. The more I think about this, the more I realize that the kids are the ones that matter. That seems obvious, of course, but when you’re in the thick of things, that sometimes gets lost. I can honestly say that I sometimes lose sight of the forest because I’m so busy cursing the trees (whether those are tall administrative cedars or underachieving young saplings)–which brings me to my first resolution.

In the new year, I plan to be a more compassionate teacher. I don’t mean to say that I plan to relax my grading standards (OK, maybe the kids wore me down a little bit, but I still like my average to be in the B-/C+ range). Rather, I hope to be more thoughtful about the way that I present constructive criticism, to make sure that it truly comes across in the spirit in which it is intended. Especially for those kids who are underprepared for my course, I’ve increasingly come to realize something. They’re there because someone or something–be it their parents, their peers, or their perception of the college admissions process–is pushing them to be there. Those same forces teach them that Cs are unacceptable, that the only grade worth getting is an A.

In short, these kids are being told that they have to take the most advanced courses that they can possibly take, and that they have to get the highest grades they can possibly get. For many kids, these expectations are totally unrealistic. And so, even though she’s still struggling to comprehend the difference between a primary source and a secondary source, this sixteen year-old girl enrolls in an advanced history course. And when her teacher asks her to write an essay analyzing how race and religion contribute to change over time, supported both primary and secondary sources, she does her best. The grade at the top of the page is a C+. Although there’s clearly room for improvement, she should be pleased with herself. Instead, what she hears (or reads) is “You’re stupid.”

Those words will be found nowhere on the page, of course, but no matter. Our culture tells kids that a C+ is tantamount to failure. Now, I firmly believe that kids need to learn to fail. To be more accurate, they should be pushed to the edge of failure, because it is on the threshold of failure that true learning happens. But a C+ is not failure. Still, I think I could do a better job of putting grades in context for my students. A student who begins the year earning Cs and Ds needs to have at least some hope that by the end of the year, he can be earning Bs. And the student who earns a C on her first essay should be praised mightily for a B- on her next–as long as she’s working honestly toward her potential all along. And that brings me to my other resolution, which has little do with my students.

In the new year, I plan to be a more self-forgiving person. In much the same way that I set high expectations for my students, I put a lot of pressure on myself. When things in any aspect of life don’t go as I hoped, I fret about it. When students don’t learn as much as I thought they should, I take it personally and blame myself. But I have to realize that I can only do so much. It sounds corny, I know, but in 2011, I will try to take each day as an opportunity. If, at the end of the day, I can say that I gave it my all, I will try to be happy with that.

In that sense, I will try to live a more healthy and happy life–one in which neither the successes nor the failures of my career will define me. So maybe it has everything to do with my students.