What is and What Should Never Be

When I started this blog, I made some rules for myself.  For example:

• I will write this blog anonymously. 
• I will focus on how my job as a teacher and my role as a parent simultaneously impact each other. 
• I will write positive, thought provoking, or humorous things, but if I must be negative about something, I will try to do so constructively. 
• I will never write about a student in a way that he or she could feel slighted by what I said, partially because of the anonymity I am maintaining.
• I will give credit where credit is due.  (Thanks to Jimmy Page and Robert Plant for the name of this blog entry.) 

Some were conscious decisions, while others seemed at the time to be no-brainers.  But then I read articles like this one, and then this one, which reminded me that what seems like common sense isn't always so common.  It appears that Ms. Natalie Munroe and I share some similarities- we are high school teachers, we are both about 30 years old, and we both have blogs which we believe are anonymous.  Except that's where the differences begin, because Monroe, through her lawyers, claims that she "[strove] to keep her blog anonymous," even though her photograph, first name, and last initial were utilized on her blog.  Umm, even someone who isn't an English teacher knows that the definition of "anonymous" is really being stretched there.  We also don't agree on how to appropriately vent frustration.  I know people will say she has a right to free speech (her lawyers already have) and that's true, but the First Amendment doesn't absolve her from having to face the consequences of what she has said and how she has said it.  This isn't the same thing as a teacher privately complaining to his or her spouse about a student, or even speaking ill of a particular class too loudly at a restaurant and having a student or parent overhear.  Her blog is a public forum, so how she went about degrading her students was tantamount to walking into the home of every one of those kids and standing in front of the TV and shouting it to their faces. 

One of her own former students very articulately addresses how he feels about the situation in the first article, and I couldn't agree with him more, at least regarding her behavior.  I don't share his opinion that "[h]igh school kids don't want to do anything..."  In fact, much of what Ms. Monroe was complaining about reflects more about her ability to manage a classroom and motivate students than it does about the state of today's youth.  Every teacher struggles with a particularly challenging student or even a group of them during a school year, but resorting to what Natalie Monroe did is unacceptable, from both a parental and educational perspective.  Those "applauding her for taking a tough love approach" and members of the Facebook group that support her should be ashamed of themselves.  I laud the students who notified the powers that be about the blog, and I hope that if any teacher were to ever rain insults down in a general or specific manner on my son, he wouldn't hesitate to get an administrator or another teacher involved.  I recognize that public employees and everyday citizens in this country are experiencing a real and valid surge in union solidarity in light of the debacle in Wisconsin, but if any teacher directly or indirectly calls my boy "rat-like," you can damn well bet I'll want him/her fired.  If publicly insulting students is what's best for kids, come next September, Central Bucks East High School will still have at least one teacher in its hallways who has demonstrated a frightening lack of empathy and a tendency toward lapses in judgment-- not the least of which is that she continues to defend her actions rather than admit that she has erred.

"Light Bulb" vs. "Wow" Moments

While reading applications as our department attempts to fill two mid-year openings, I noticed that nearly every applicant answered the question about what the most rewarding thing is about being a teacher in almost the same way.  The response was commonly about the "light bulb moment"-- when a student realizes something that he or she had never understood up until that point.  I don't think there is necessarily anything bad about this answer.  In fact, that was the answer I gave when I applied.  But now I realize that it is the wrong answer.  The most rewarding part of teaching is not the moment when the kid "gets it" and suddenly understands a never-before-understood concept-- and it shouldn't be.  After all, isn't that my job, to make kids understand things they didn't understand before?  Could the biggest reward in my career field be doing what I'm supposed to do?  Teachers need to have high expectations for students, but this "light bulb moment" response implies that expectations are rather low if these moments are so gratifying.  But I don't fault people who gave that answer, or my seven-years-ago self, because it is only with years of experience that I realized what the right answer is, at least for me-- and it's something that I see and hear my son do almost on a daily basis. 

The most rewarding thing for me as a teacher is when a student says something that I've never before had a student point out during a discussion of literature-- when he or she comes up with something that I, after having read the text we are dealing with so many times, had never considered before.  These instances are pretty rare, but they fill me with a remarkable and perhaps un-nameable feeling.  It isn't pride, because I (probably) had nothing to do with whatever the student said, but it's close.  Maybe the best way to describe these instances is by calling them "wow moments," as in, "Wow, I'd never thought of it that way before..." "Wow moments" are more rewarding to me than "light bulb moments" because they can't be anticipated.  I should and do start a poetry lesson saying, "All of these kids will understand slant rime (which they'd never heard of before until that day) by the time we are done discussing it" but it would be silly to expect all of them to analyze or interpret the poem in a way that neither I nor any of the other students in the room, let alone any of the other students I've ever had in the past, had ever conceived of. 

These moments also occur in the parenting side of my life-- except that I can expect my son to wow me each and every day.  On a Monday he's calling one of his creations that that he brought home from pre-school (a brown construction paper animal on a stick) a "teddy bear," but suddenly two days later he pointed to it and correctly called it a "gwoun-hog."  Of course he heard the correct term from his mom and I and at pre-school, but it was his unprompted switch in that moment to the proper term that wowed me.  Yesterday he picked up a toy-- a girl wearing pink cowboy attire (the kid loves horses)-- and came up with "hat boy"-- pretty close to "cowboy," and little off on the gender, but a "wow moment" just the same.  But my favorite "wow moment," surpassing all of the amazing ones that I've experienced as a teacher, happened on Friday, when, before I could ask him my routine question of, "What happened at school today?" he offered this up as we pulled out of the parking lot:  "Dah-dee, I play choo choo game at school."  It was the first time he prompted the sharing of his day, and one of the first times that the initial share wasn't about nap or snack.  (Not that those things aren't important!)  He's becoming, as I've said before, a "small man," and I have the pleasure of being there and sharing in the "wow."

If You Choose Not to Decide...

That's right, Rush, you still have made a choice.  'Tis the season in high schools for course selection.  Freshmen, sophomores, and juniors are determining what the next steps in their high school careers will be.  As a teacher of English, I try to help students pick literature and composition classes that will help them get where they want to be at the end of high school, challenge them, and interest them all at the same time. With literature classes, I stress that students should choose a class they would be highly interested in.  If a student doesn't love Shakespeare, taking our school's Shakespeare class because it might look impressive on a transcript is, in my opinion, a bad decision.  When given a choice in the matter, life is too short to spend time, even just a semester, studying something because some university might approve. 

For some kids, they already know what they want, and all they really need me for is a signature telling the counselors that I okayed their choice.  I have seen over the years that these kids do not fit the stereotypical "nerd" profile, and in fact, they don't fit any stereotype at all.  They employ a variety of means of expression, manners of dress, and are not defined by any one social label, but what they have in common is knowledge of self.  They know what they like, as opposed to merely knowing what they don't like.  But in truth, most students don't have a strong opinion on the matter of which literature class to take.  Their opportunity to have an opinion is impeded by their lack of knowledge of self when it comes to reading for enjoyment.  For once, I don't think this can be blamed on apathy, because students who aren't sure of what to choose when they look at the list of literature class options seem genuinely confused about what to do and earnestly seek my advice on which class I recommend for them.  I think a lot of their ignorance of their own literary interests can be connected to how infrequently they read anything that they actually want to read, aside from text messages from friends and status updates on Facebook, of course.  Since the studies mentioned in this article from Education World predate the ubiquity of smartphones in the hands of teenagers, I would imagine that Sustained Silent Reading programs are even more beneficial today.  Many students now inhabit a world where the internet is literally available to them at all times, yet they choose to do other things with it than immerse themselves in the world of eBooks and online magazines that can be accessed through it anytime, anywhere. 

And then I think of my son, who right now has a deep, burning interest in books-- particularly those featuring things on wheels, things that float, animals and their living quarters, and bunnies that are sleeping and/or are about to go to sleep.  What will he be reading in ten years?  And how?  Will he be the first generation to carry all of his textbooks on a tablet or e-Reader?  Will a chip implanted in his wrist project a 3-D image of words into the space in front of his eyes with a verbal command?  Okay, that one is probably a "no," but while I don't have the answers to the other questions, I know that I will do all I can to infuse in him a knowledge of self when it comes to literature-- to know what the likes and what he doesn't when it comes to reading, so that if and when he has the opportunity to decide which type he will be immersed in for a semester of high school, he won't need his teacher, or me, at all.

Give Us Your Babies...

Whenever teachers are presented with new initiatives at meetings, there are those who respond to the proposals with a heavy sigh and an either verbal or non-verbal statement that amounts to, "This too shall pass."  I have witnessed several such instances, where an idea is put forth, exalted, and forgotten by nearly everyone two or three years later.  On the other hand, I am currently involved with some initiatives that seem so fundamentally important to "doing what is best for kids" (a mantra that I try to live by as a parent and teacher) that I'm amazed they haven't been done before.  Or maybe they have, but they too passed and are only now coming back around again.  That's the trouble with educational reform, from the perspective of many teachers:  what is best for kids sometimes seems so plain-as-day that when a subject gets discussed with new buzzwords or a shifted focus, the enthusiasm that should accompany it can be overshadowed by a "haven't we been here before?" mentality. 

The parental perspective of school reform is very different, and different in a way that is so significant that I'm ashamed I didn't realize it until a meeting last month.  As some of the major building blocks of K-12 education face changes across the nation, one administrator talked about our district's decision a few years ago to begin the use of Everyday Mathematics.  Aside from the anticipated complaints from teachers that were partially rooted in what is described above, the administrator was also fielding complaints from parents who were concerned about this change.  In talking about how he responded to parents, he told those of us in the meeting that we have to remember a school district essentially says to parents, "Give us your babies.  Trust us with your kids for a majority of their waking hours in a day," and then turns around four years into the process and says, "Oh, wait, there's a better way to teach math (or reading, or science)."  Of course parents will respond with concern, and they should.  School reform is in some ways an admission that a school district hasn't been doing what's best for kids, because otherwise the reform wouldn't be necessary.  What does the school district say then?-- "Okay, give us another one of your babies, but this time, they'll get seven years of the "right" kind of math instead of just four like that other baby you gave us..."  I, for seven years, have been teaching teenagers, and I think because they are so close to getting a driver's license and so far removed from getting potty trained, it became easy to stop thinking of these kids as somebody's babies. 

All of this has crystallized something for me:  that I, as a parent, am not ready for my baby to be the school's baby.  My baby still wears diapers.  My baby still wants either "roni-en-cheese" or a "buddorsticky sandwich" for every meal.  My baby isn't ready for Everyday Math, or any other kind of math, for that matter!  But he will be-- soon.  In less than time than I may like to admit, the announcement of a new school initiative will not be the occasion for eye rolling, note taking, or "we can do this!" cheerleading.  It may be the first time that I play the role of the concerned parent who picks up the phone and asks, "What are you doing to my baby?"

Shy as a Whistle Pig

Well, it is Groundhog Day, and the one in Pennsylvania saw no shadow for only the 16th time.  Legend has it that if he sees his shadow, the reason he goes back into his stump, or hole, or wherever, is due to fright, even though in reality a groundhog (also known as a whistle pig or woodchuck) is a rather tenacious creature.  Even if prognosticators like Punxsutawney Phi are afraid of their shadows, is that such a bad thing?  More to the point, is a student necessarily worse off if he or she is more of a shrinking violet in the classroom?  I can't speak from experience on this matter, at least from the student standpoint.  As a third grader I was once punished with the loss of outdoor recess privileges because I overzealously answered a question by shouting out my response when the teacher was deliberately ignoring me so that other students could be given a chance to participate in the class.  I was still the very same, "Ooh, ooh, pick me!" type in high school too.  But I certainly don't see that approach as the only means of being successful now that I'm the one doing the question asking and not the hand raising.  Ever year I have several students who fit the category of "shy" that do exceedingly well in the class.  Through assessments, particularly essays, these students demonstrate knowledge and skills that are no less well developed than their more vocal and actively involved peers. 

When I consider how this relates to my son, it doesn't seem to, at least for now.  At the moment, it is very difficult to imagine him being anything besides outgoing.  He talks almost non-stop, and even if some translation is required (fish is currently "shiFF"), he yearns to be social with both family and new acquaintances.  While I know his current gregarious nature is not an absolute guarantee that he will be as genial ten years from now, it is hard to envision him any other way.  Regardless of whether or not my son, or any future children I may have, ends up being an introverted teen or an extroverted one, I know that both sides of the coin can be successful in the classroom-- and one side of it is a lot less likely to end up alone at a desk while everyone else is playing at recess.