Be the teacher the students need you to be

One of the old timers in the school laid it out for me today. "In order to get their respect you have to prove to them that you're the alpha dog and you're not taking any shit from them."

Apparently, the first step in establishing yourself as the alpha dog is to put your desks in traditional rows and columns and make a seating chart based on alphabetical order, except for moving a few problem kids. I'm not sure that the actual rows and columns are important, but what is important is that these kids see that as a structure with known rules, and anything more progressive is seen as a new system that needs to be tested.

Problem is, rows and columns fit me about as comfortably as high heels. At 6'2" with size 14EEEE feet, you can imagine what an awful fit that is. I spent just a minute looking at the classroom after arranging the desks and cringed. It just ain't me.

As much as I don't like this, I'm going to give it a shot. It's entirely possible that the teacher I've become so far isn't the teacher my students need me to be. And if that's the case, it's entirely possible that this isn't the right school for me. I'm certainly not giving up on this gig, but it's something to think about.

I realized recently that everything I know about teaching is based on the idea of a group of kids who are at least somewhat obedient and cooperative, if not actually enthusiastic to learn. Most of my students are in the other camp. There are a couple in each class who are enthusiastic about learning and a few more that are cooperative, but the majority are there just to get credit or because they get in more trouble if they skip.

In any case, the old dog is willing to take me under his wing and has already given me concrete advice I can put into action immediately, so I'm going to stick with his program and modify it only after I really figure out what I'm doing. Most of the other advice I've gotten has been somewhat vague, and rather than hearing "Eric, you need to do ______ to get the results you want," I hear a lot more of "maybe if you tried _____ it could help, but it might not so you might just have to figure out something else."

As the old dog put it: "Eric, first we're going to work on classroom management. Then, after you're really starting to get that, we're going to work on classrom management. Finally, after you've really mastered classroom management and you can I both think you've got it nailed, we're going to work on classroom management. You can have the most brilliant lesson plan in the world and know your literature inside out, but until you get these little bastards to jump when you tell them to, it doesn't matter because they won't hear you."

There may be more brilliant methods to do this gig without having to be the alpha dog, but nobody seems to be able to tell me what they are or how to make them work, and I know for certain I'm not going to survive if I keep trying to find them by experiment. Not with this population, anyway.

So for now, I'm going to learn to be the alpha dog.

"Experts" redux

Schenectady High School is being audited by the state, in part because of our consistently low scores on the English tests mandated by NCLB.

There are rumors that part of the reason we're being audited is due so the folks at the state capital 20 miles away won't seem like they're biased only against the schools in New York City. I've always felt that the people in the trenches have the least perspective and least accurate knowledge about this sort of thing, and that teachers rarely understand the politics that go on at the administrative level, so I really have no idea how true this rumor is. It probably doesn't matter. We're being audited, and that's that.

We're being audited by a team of people that does not include a single teacher or administrator. If you can explain how this team of people is qualified to judge the quality of work we're doing and suggest meaningful changes, you're a better (wo)man than I.

No Test Left Behind

NCLB has one basic premise: every child can and should perform at their grade level. Period. An implicit premise is that in order to make sure that this is happening, we need to test the hell out of them. Standarized tests. Every kid can and should pass the same one.

Here's the problem: it's bullshit. All of it.

If you've worked with kids, you know right away that they can't all perform on the same level, and that some kids just don't get it even after you exhaust every method you know to help them. Doesn't matter whether it's writing or spelling or math or sports, some just cannot meet expectations.

So it is with tests. In New York, in order to get a standard diploma each kid needs to pass a big test in each of the 4 core subjects, plus one or two other subjects. That's the deal, if you want a standard diploma, you pass the Regents test. Period.

But.

Too many kids fail. They're easy tests to fail. A 3 hour test has a couple dozen multiple choice questions and a lot of reading and writing. If there's 20 multiple choice questions, you need something like 13 or 14 to pass the test, assuming that they do well on the written sections. Not a lot of room for error there, not if you're a struggling student.

But.

You can't just fail kids because they can't pass the test. Too many would fail, and that would mean there are big problems in the school that we're not equipped to address, so things get fudged. First, they give the hardest tests in January, but if kids fail they take an easier version in June. If they still fail that one, they can take summer school and then take an even easier test in August.

And then if they still fail, they can qualify for an even easier version, given in components, one at a time.

See the pattern here?

Go back to the basic premise of NCLB. Are all of the kids performing to the same set of standards? It's obvious that they're not.

So what is it that we're doing? I mean, besides stigmatizing the writing and analysis process by associating it so heavily with a test, and teaching to the tests and hurting our chances of developing creative and dynamic thinkers, what is it that we're doing?

Vote with your dreams, folks, not with your fears.

Breakdown

this was started almost 3 months ago, i don't know why i didn't finish it off and post it then. -e.

Two weeks ago April couldn't get started on her class assignment. This isn't unusual for April. She's not a particularly good student, though she usually tries hard. Her occasional cooperativeness more than makes up for what she lacks in intellectual ability, and I think that's how she'll be successful in life. Combine that with a bright smile, big blue eyes, and a desire to please, she's got a lot going for her that others don't.

Usually when she's struggling with an assignment she'll either demand help or goof off and talk to one of the boys. This day was different. Instead of any of her normal tricks, she went off in the corner and put her head down. I tried to talk to her and get her to work, knowing it would be a struggle, but hoping that I could at least get her to accomlish a little bit.

I gotta hand it to her, she tried to get started. I don't now whether that's a testament to her desire to succeed, my ability to persuade, or what, but she tried. But then she started breaking down. A few tears sneaked out before she could stop them, and she started making vague references to having done something bad and it forcing her to drop out of school so she could go live somewhere else.

It's best not to ask for details. A student offering information to a teacher is one thing, but a teacher looking for it is another. Unless I actually see evidence of something that endagers a child, I probably shouldn't ask. I do know she lives in a group home for foster kids, and she intimated that she'd done something that would get her kicked out.

And she was panicking.

Like most kids, she thinks that she's alone and that there's nothing anyone can--or will--do to help. I don't know the system well, but I know there are a ton of resources available to her, and there are people who spend all day finding ways to help kids. In fact, one of the things I like about working in an urban district like this is that there are so many different services and resources available, and the needs are so high that there are people who know how to take advantage of them.

After 5 or 10 minutes of persistence I was able to convince her to talk to her counselor, calling ahead to let them know that a girl in crisis was about to walk in and to ask that someone talk to her right away. I checked in with her counselor after school and found out that she spend quite a while in there that day. The counselor didn't ask for specifics either, but told me that there are only about 5 things that can get a kid kicked out of a group home and she was pretty sure that drugs were the problem this time.

Fast forward a couple of weeks: April is going to a rehab center, probably for a month, and her counselor, principal, and teachers are meeting to convince her that a month out of school isn't the end of the world and that she's not throwing her junior year away if she goes to rehab. And we have figure out how to get work to her so she can get credit.

Fast forward 4 days: At the end of the day April walks in with her bright smile, seemingly ecstatic to be back in school. I said that I thought she was supposed to be gone for a month, and she replied "Mr. G, you don't understand. The people there are crazy! I couldn't stand being there." She was all smiles, like usual, but I had a feeling that this kid just took a wrong turn.

She didn't come to school much in the next couple of weeks, and then disappeared altogether.

Fast forward another couple of weeks: I caught her in the hall at the end of the day and asked where she'd been. All smiles again, she said she was just stopping by to drop out because she was pregnant. I tried to tell her that there were a lot of ways we could help her if she stayed in school, but I knew it was a lost cause at this point.

The kid's gonna have to find her own path, no matter how difficult it is. I'm sure I'll never see her again, but I sure hope she makes it alright.

Mr. G's black!

I want you to picture Josh. He's 6' 1" of hip-hop culture personified. Lanky, corn rows, most of his wardrobe consists of Boondocks tshirts. His research paper is on Jay-Z. He's a funny kid, but I wish to God he'd stop dropping the n-word all the time. (Note: It has been explained to me that "n***-ah" is different than "n***-er", but I'm not buying or tolerating it).

Detention in my room has proven not to be all that effective as a punishment because there are always kids that come to work, but they usually wind up goofing around, so the mood was pretty light when Josh showed up to serve his detention and said "Man, Mister G's black!"

I was helping a kid write an essay and didn't think I heard right, and neither did anyone else. We had to stop working while a couple of kids said "Josh, what the hell did you say?!"

"Mister G's black. He listens to all that old soul music, he sings and dances a little bit, and there's a wrapper from Popeye's fried chicken in the garbage. He black! Like he got a reverse tan or something."

That's praise, I think.

The chicken container wasn't mine, but I do love me some fried chicken!