On the Shoulders of Giants

A Casualty of the Teaching Profession

I ran into my former colleague, "Joe," a gifted teacher and leader, who transfered to a KIPP charter school this year.  I wrote about him here in the winter, when he was raving about how wonderful it was to teach at KIPP, where everything is so well planned, resourced, organized and implemented.  In particular, I was compelled by his statement that it was much easier to progress as a teacher, to spot and address his weaknesses, which had been too difficult to discern in the chaotic environments of other schools that serve high needs populations.

This time the story was different.  He looked a little vacant as he told me he wouldn't be returning to his school next year.  I got excited for a minute, thinking maybe he'd come work at my school again.  "No," he told me, shrugging. "I'm leaving teaching.  I don't have a plan."  

I was shocked.  "Why?  You're such a wonderful teacher! What happened?"

"It just got to the point that every morning I thought, 'I don't want to go in.'  We start at 7:20 and go til 5pm. I wake up at 4:45 for my commute and some days don't get home til 10. I'd honestly rather work in an office at this point."  I am still trying to reconcile this new image of Joe with the old one, who was so in love with teaching and seemed to be made for the job.

When Joe left my school, it was a huge loss to our students.  But I understand why he wanted to go somewhere less crazy, more organized, that serves a similarly needy population.  His current school has one of the highest student achievement rates in NYC, but something is wrong if it killed Joe's drive to teach.  He told me that a many other teachers at his school burnt out and quit, much like him.  I'm wondering if this KIPP school sees its teaching staff as expendable.  Perhaps it has such a great reputation that it can easily replace good teachers who leave with other good teachers.  

The tragic thing is that now, no more students at any school will benefit from Joe's teaching expertise and wonderful ability to connect with kids.  

The policy world and the media are paying far too much attention to the so-called "bad" teachers in the profession, who are relatively small in number.

The real question is what happens to the quality teachers in our schools?  Perhaps many of the "bad" teachers are just people who stay, who do not chose self-preservation as Joe has, but who succumb to the vacant feeling that overtakes them after years of working too hard and not wanting to go in every morning.  

What is really wrong with our schools that serve high need populations?  Teachers are still expected to be martyrs, or else sink to mediocrity... which may be acceptable in stable middle class schools, like the ones I attended (I had many less-than-great teachers).  In high needs schools, however, where the odds are already stacked against students, mediocre teaching won't get the job done.  It can actually mean life or death for some students.  

If policy-makers care about the lives of all students in public schools, then they need to think about the lives of their teachers--and invest aggressively.  Otherwise, we'll keep losing the good ones and keeping/creating lousy ones, and all the other investments the government makes in education, (testing, data systems, scripted curriculum programs, opening new schools, etc) will add up to nought. 

[image credit www.signonsandiego.com]

A Teacher's Noon

I've come up with a new metaphor for this particular moment of my career: noon.  I am way past my first few jobs, like ice cream scooper, and arts and crafts counselor, which represent my pre-dawn career. Actual dawn occurred for me after college as a permanent substitute teacher in Providence Public schools, which led me, first, to flee the country, and then, pursue a masters in education at Bank Street College.  Think of my masters degree program as breakfast. 

Following breakfast, five years ago, the sun rose on my career as a middle school English teacher in New York City public schools.  I've now taught through the morning of my career, and have almost reached twelve o'clock noon. There is still plenty to be done, but I need some lunch, or I won't last. Only in this career, there is no lunch hour, no cafeteria, not even a kitchen in sight. In fact, there's no dinner either, and certainly no dessert. Just keep working 'til bedtime, says the contract. If you're good, you'll be able to take on more and more work at work. The satisfaction of being able to do it well will sustain you, both professionally and personally.  Your students need you more than you need lunch or dinner, so don't think about it. Just do it.

Here I am at the noon of my career with no lunch, watching countless colleagues bail out and head to various careers that feature 2 course lunches and 3 course dinners.  

All metaphors aside, when I was asked by www.publicschoolinsights.org what I thought should be done with the federal stimulus money for education, I wrote about the need for incentives--in the form of career opportunities with real promotions--to keep good teachers in the classroom teaching.  Check it out here.

You'll also find interesting suggestions from three other teachers from the Teacher Leaders Network about how federal education stimulus money could be spent in meaningful ways.  

   

The Desks Incident

This is a story of student leadership in the realest sense.

Last week my students had social studies testing all morning. By the end of the day, I guess they were a little burnt out. My class (the one that tends to be a very well-behaved bunch of students) came into the room in a small uproar. I have a policy with them that they need to line up outside the door, enter the room quietly, and sit down.  If this is done well, the class gets the next five minutes to socialize. (See my article, “Ask the Kids,” in Teacher Magazine for more on this practice.)  If they do not enter quietly, I often allow them to line up outside and walk in again—for a second shot at earning the social time. 

Now, on this particular day, the desks were still in rows from testing, instead of the groups of four they are used to. When the students came in, they didn’t know where to sit. I said, “Find a seat anywhere for now.” On most days, that would have sufficed.

            “Oh, man, I hate the desks this way! Can’t we sit in our groups?” a student yelled. 

            “No!” answered another student indignantly. “We should keep it this way. Every day ‘til the end of the year!”

            “Noooo!” some other students shouted. 

            “Shhh!!!!” other students cut in. “Quiet for the five minutes!” 

Gradually the class became quiet, waiting to see what I would do. 

Even in their silence, I was slightly shocked at the level of tension they were displaying. I didn’t think it had so much to do with the desks, but I knew we needed our usual structure back. “On a scale of one to four, how do you think the entrance was?” I asked, as usual.

“One!” they groaned, all in agreement. “Can we do it again?”

“Yes,” I answered calmly. “Here’s what I want you to do. Each of you, move your desk back into group formation. Then line up outside and we’ll enter again.” I thought these were reasonable directions and didn’t expect any fuss in return. I was wrong, however.

“What?! I ain’t moving any desks!” cried a girl, who is usually very well behaved, but does have a complaining streak that kicks in on occasion.

“It’s not fair! We didn’t sit in these desks like this! We shouldn’t have to move them!” another student chimed in. 

Soon half the class was complaining about moving the desks, while the other half was watching, wondering what would happen next. I was surprised by the behavior, which I know I showed on my face, and was fighting back rare feelings of disgust. I could have gotten ugly at that moment. No matter what was going on with them, my students knew better than to act that way. 

Suddenly, Kino (a pseudonym) stood up from his chair. “Oh my GOD!” he said.  “This is ridiculous!” He forcefully moved his desk 90 degrees and pushed it into the desk in front of it. The whole class watched without saying a word. Then Tyshawn, one of the tougher students in the class stood up, shaking his head at the rest of the class.

“Come on, guys,” he said quietly, and moved his desk too. Within a heartbeat, the whole class moved their desks into their usual formation without another word about it. They lined up outside and entered quietly. During their five minutes break, I found out there had been major drama in the lunch room: kids were throwing bottles at one another and there had been no adult present. 

For some reason, this incident—the one with the desks—stayed on my mind for a while. On the one hand, I had trouble getting over the gall of the students’ refusal to move the desks… on the other hand, how remarkable was Kino’s moment of leadership? While the class was stuck thinking, “Are we going to be good right now or bad?” Kino rose above it and did what he believed was right. His influence over the rest of the class was powerful, and no one questioned his choice. Finally, how much better was it for all of us that leadership—and, frankly, authority—emerged at that moment from within the class rather than from me, the teacher.

Leadership in middle school is about how kids position themselves and make their voices heard in their various communities (school, home, church, neighborhood, etc.). School may be one of the most important communities for kids, because it is where so much of their peer-to-peer socialization occurs.  Student-centered classrooms, while they open the door to the full range of adolescent behavior (more than a lot of people want to be bothered with), also give kids real opportunities to be leaders. 

I have been thinking of talking to Kino about what he did that day and why I thought he displayed leadership—but I don’t want to ruin it by putting the Teacher Stamp of Approval on it! I know he didn’t do it because of me, which made it all the more real.

[image credit: www.monitorequipinc.com/ cdf_desk_chair.JPG]

Yes, End of Year Community Building

Ideally, perhaps, I wouldn't be doing this now.  My classes would be well-functioning machines with students who acted out of care for one another at all times.  But I don't live in a perfect world, teach in a perfect school, nor am I a perfect teacher.  I started my year out with a strong unit on classroom community.  We talked about the elements of the classroom: mind, voice, time and space. Students came up with guidelines for how to use these elements to create a positive learning community.  At the end of the unit my students surprised me by suggesting that we add a fifth element--heart.  

But as the year goes on, we begin to take our classroom community--and the learning it supports--for granted.  We expect more and more from students, increasing the complexity of the work each month. We are excited when we see them learning and growing. Then we slam a standardized test on them--no, 4 standardized tests.  We push them hard, and then congratulate them on their work.  But all this time, what has happened to the community?  It has grown somehow.  It, like them, is older than it was in September.  But is it stronger?

What have I done to help my students continuously grow as members of a learning community throughout this year? Far less than I should have.  I succumbed to many of the ills of the factory model system of schooling over the last few months.  Even though I design my curriculum to bring out the voices of my students, I've failed to address things they've said or done to one another that jeopardize our community.  On the surface, I always respond to inappropriate behavior, but on the deeper level I've failed.

I've committed a great sin of teaching--being more committed to "the curriculum" than to the students. I've gotten caught up with doling out consequences--and sometimes neglecting to dole out consequences--for students who break basic rules of conduct.  For minor misbehaviors that happen on a regular basis, consequences are and were never the answer.  

The answer, in my experience, is class time.  Kids understand that the things we choose to spend class time doing are the things we really value.  Class time is our time to help our students grow.  If students interrupt and undercut each other in discussions, for example, a million warnings, detentions and calls home might not make the difference.  They only serve to keep these behaviors down to a barely tolerable level.  

Earlier this week I found myself less than inspired to teach.  That's when I decided it was time to break out of the habits I've allowed myself and my students to develop, little by little, over the last few months. We've taken a break from fiction writing, even though students are pretty excited about the stories they're writing. I figure, they will still be excited when they come back to them in a few more days.  

Yesterday, and today we used class time to discuss what's been happening.  I must say, it's been both liberating and painful. One student got me where it hurt when she said, "It's late in the year for this.  We should have been doing this months ago. We can't change now."  

But another student rushed to disagree. "It's never too late to change," she said.   

A boy, who had admitted earlier to playing around a lot and cutting on others, added, "If we want to change the class, each of us just has to start with ourselves."  

Tomorrow groups of students will each "unpack" a category from our daily whole-class self-assessment practice [these include (1) agenda, (2) quality of work, (3) student jobs, (4) golden rule and (5) neatness] and create guidelines for how they would like the class should ideally function in their category.  Later I plan to have students reflect individually in writing on how they specifically will try to help the class bring about the change we have been talking about.

 To be continued...

[image credit: www.ibo.org]

Birthday Wish

So, I'm turning 30 this week. My 20's were great, but I'm glad to have worked out a lot of the existential turmoil that went with them and move into something that feels more like full-fledged adulthood!  So yeah, I'm thinking about a family, a house, and all those cliches of grownup life that require some long term planning. 

Oh, and I almost forgot--a career.  

How exactly does one go about planning a career in teaching?  I mean, I know people who went into teaching knowing they would eventually make a move into administration or policy or academia.  I know others who made those same moves, not because they always wanted to, but due to the financial pressures of starting a family...or turning 30...

If I want to remain a practicing teacher, what's out there for me?  What could I be doing 10 years from now, at 40, having completed my 15th year in the classroom?  That's a long time!  I can say, at least, that I'd be a pretty fantastic teacher by then.  But where would I be in my career?  I can look at the current salary scale and plan, at year 15, to make $79,531 annually. That might not sound too bad, especially to people living outside NYC.  It IS a living wage, which is more than many people have.  But in NYC, that's still qualifies as low income, by many definitions.    

I can invest in another master's degree or 30 credits in anything I want, and get an extra $5,895 each year, earning $85,426 for my 15 years of experience, bachelor and two masters degrees. A principal with a few years of teaching experience and a masters in administration earns $110,000 in the first year (probably not enough for the work they do either, but it's a huge jump I could make in a few years if I wanted to.  I see why so many teachers do it.)  Assuming I want to stay in classroom teaching, those 30 credits could cost $30,000, taking me another 6 years just to break even on the investment, not to mention the time and energy it would take to teach full time, raise my own children, and take courses.  

Then there's the question of what courses to take and for what purpose. Courses that would help me be a better teacher?  Courses about writing, to help me be a better writer? Leadership? But I don't want to be a principal, so are there 30 credits that would be relevant to teacher leadership?  I'm interested in becoming better at all of those things, but what's really in it for me long term?  Can I plan to be a teacher leader in the future, when there are no such positions in the salary scale now?  How much time/money do I want to invest in being a writer when writing will always be like a second job, competing with the time and energy I have for my students, and eventually, my own kids?  

I meander about in my thinking, but the truth is, I know what I really want--and I'd like it sooner than later. I want the opportunity to take on a hybrid role, where I would teach half a load and use the other half of my schedule for teacher leadership roles.  These roles could vary depending on the needs of my school and/or whomever is paying me.  They could include developing curriculum materials for my school, mentoring teachers, or creating partnerships between my school and other organizations.  I could also participate in policy work outside my school and/or be a freelance writer, where only half of my salary would be paid by a school.  

  

The possibilities are endless, yet very specific to the needs of my students, school, and profession, and the skills and passions I'm able to bring to these contexts.  Alternative job descriptions can be designed to fit these needs and new pay scales can reward the skills.  See Teacher Solutions Pay for Performance Report for more detail on innovative teacher salary scales--and it's designed entirely by teachers.  

The beauty of a hybrid role is that I would always maintain a classroom teaching practice. Teaching is the soul of my work in education.  If I lose that, I think I'd feel disconnected from my purpose and passion.  At least in my own mind, my work would lose relevance.  

The problem with wanting a position that doesn't exist, is that you can't really plan for it. And that makes me a little less sure of my future than I'd like to be at 30.  But hey, just because you can't plan for it, doesn't mean you can't go for it.  I'll be looking for ways, and taking suggestions!  (Note: any advice on this matter will be considered an excellent birthday present.)

[image credit: nadinedickinson.wordpress.com]

The Power of Looping with Students (test scores included)

At the school where I taught for my first three years, I taught sevenths and eighth grade each year. My seventh graders would move on to become my eighth graders the following year, so I taught them for a wonderful two years in a row.  (This was only true for English classes at the school for some reason.)  

By the time my students reached eighth grade, we already knew each other well.  We did not have to spend a few months testing each other and building trust.  By eighth grade, my students also had formed a strong group dynamic and knew how to work together.  I remember one September a new student lined up for my class as an eighth grader I saw her groan when she saw one of the school's most troublesome students, Maurice, enter the line for the class.  Her friend said to her in Spanish, "Don't worry, he doesn't act out in English class." I attribute this to the fact that we had already developed a positive group dynamic in the class; Maurice felt comfortable in the environment we had worked for a whole year to create. 

My second-year students were also accustomed to the type of assignments I designed. They knew I would ask them to reflect on their experiences, and they knew what that meant. They were also accustomed to drawing their own conclusions from their experiences, and listening to the ideas of their classmates, rather than constantly deferring to me for the "correct" response.  This gave them great confidence in their work.

They also had been through my "Whole Novels" program for an entire year.  Without going into great detail here, this method has students reading a number of whole class novels almost entirely on their own, and then coming together to discuss them in student-centered seminars.  Each novel builds on the previous one in complexity, but similar themes run through them all.  By 8th grade, my students know how this process works and how rewarding it is.  They trust my choice of novels, because they recognize that nothing in my curriculum is random and everything is connected and carefully planned with them in mind.  They take pride in formulating their own opinions and interpretations of the book, and look forward to expressing them in discussions.  

Recently, I've been wondering why my 8th grade students at my new school, whom I meet for the first time in September, seem to have less confidence in their own reading and their own thinking than my old 8th graders did.  Although my new students actually have higher literacy skills than my previous ones, they struggle more to trust their own thinking, to relate positively to one another, and to take on challenges.  There are many possible reasons for this, but I'm certain that part of it is because they have not--as my old students did--spent seventh grade building a foundation as a group, with me as their leader, for our work this year.  Much of the work I used to do with my seventh graders now has to be done in the first half of the school year with my current eighth graders.  It's still rewarding and I see a lot of progress, but the net effect seems to be less than when I looped.  

Enter the NY State ELA Test.  It is given every year in January, after just 4 months of eighth grade.  I have always resisted "teaching to the test," preferring to think that good teaching is good teaching, and if my students are learning, they will perform well on the test.  Well, many do, but there has been a lot of variation over the years.  In four years of testing every January (I haven't gotten the results for this year yet), there were two classes that made huge, startling gains.  By now you can probably guess which classes those were--the two 8th grade classes I had taught the year before as seventh graders.  

My conclusion at the moment is that it takes time to see the long term results of teaching that is designed around deep learning.  Four months is not enough to see the long term benefits of the work, at least on the standardized test.  It requires a substantial work on the social-emotional level [that includes their understanding of what learning is and how they do it], both for students individually and for the group as a whole.  Though conceptual, experience-based learning may require more time for students to arrive at a particular skill or idea, once they do reach it, I believe their level of understanding or mastery of an objective is much higher and long-lasting, because they have discovered it for themselves.     

So what I believe is good teaching is not good teaching as far as the state test is concerned, when I only have 4 months to prepare.  The good news, it would seem, is that with one year plus four months, good teaching begins to pay off quite a lot on the state test.  

Are there shortcuts? After seeing last year's scores, I'll admit, this year I spent a good month and a half before the test preparing my students--hard core--for the type of formulaic responses and tricks they'd need to excel on it. I felt good about it at the time.  But now, I'm watching them struggling to dig in to a challenging novel, and I'm thinking again.  We broke up the flow of the year for that test. More significantly, I broke the commitment I had to helping them as critical thinkers, readers, and writers, in favor of standardization of thinking. Sure, it was only a month and a half, but as my father once said, "Whatever doesn't help hurts."  I see now, we are paying for this decision.  

Maybe looping is the way to go.  I'd imagine most teachers and students would benefit from this, especially in the middle school years, because you don't have to spend the first few moths of the year getting to know one another, building trust, and assessing academic needs.  You can say hello, and take off full speed.

[image found at www.coaster-net.com]

Digital Divide is a Pain in My Classroom

I'm hitting a point where the digital divide is becoming painfully awkward for me in my teaching. In this case, I'm talking about students who have or don't have reliable internet access at home, and I'm also talking about the difference between what we can do with technology in school vs. out of school because of Department of Education blocks on networking sites and electronic equipment.

This year, for the first time, I teach a CTT class, and get to collaborate with a wonderful special education teacher, so that my students with IEP's get the extra help they need. For a few years, in March I've had students read The Ear, the Eye and the Arm as a whole class as part of an in depth study of the journey motif in literature (I blog about this here.)  It is a 300 page adventure story set in the future, but is much heavier on detail, description and back-story, and slightly less formulaic than other fantasy books some of my students have read, such as Harry Potter.  I expected it to be a challenge for my students, and at this point in the year, most of them are hungry for it. Nonetheless, my CTT and I were worried about a few of our struggling students and wanted to come up with way to support them without removing them from the whole experience.  It's easy for us to help students read in groups during class time, but the book is simply too long to read only in class--we'd be reading it until June.

We wanted to create a way for certain students to listen to the story as they read at home.  We found an audio recording on cassette available for order, but we realized our students today hardly even know what a cassette is--much less own tape players at home! When it comes to listening to music, our students are pretty much fluent in the use of mp3s, Youtube and MySpace.

We decided to record ourselves reading the chapters using GarageBand, and make the tracks available to students on the internet.  My CTT partner created a networking site for our class using Multiply.com. It is similar to Myspace, but with much less traffic and inappropriate content; also the age limit is 12 years old.  We figured for the students without internet access, we could burn the tracks onto cds.

We signed out the LCD projector and a laptop at school ready to demonstrate the site, only to realize, duh, the site is not accessible through school internet!  For the next day, we took still shots of the site at home and showed them to students the next day, and passed out detailed instructions for them to sign up and access the site.  

The kids were very excited about this, but only some of them have been able to access the site at home. Some have internet access, but needed help going through the steps of signing up, which of course, I can't help them with at school.  I have helped some students by phone.  For those that have entered the site, it has been great.  They are creating their own profiles and commenting on each others and on the reading!  Every comment is visible to me, so I can keep tabs on these interactions.  It creates another level of interaction for the class and it is based on academic work.  For some reason, it feels like a relief to me, and the kids are looking at us teachers differently--with some kind of added interest or respect! 

The problem is that so many students can't participate. That part of it seems unfair.  As it turns out, many students don't even own CD players, just mp3 players.  The craziest catch 22 yet is that...drumroll...students are not allowed to bring mp3 players into school!  They get taken from them by school safety officers when they go through scanning.  I do appreciate that students can't have their cellphones buzzing or headphones on during my class, and I also appreciate that students cannot go on Myspace when using school computers.  But it seems like we are cutting off too many valuable learning resources in order to keep kids "on task."  

And when will we get to the point where all students have internet at home?  Lately I've spoken to parents about this particular reading assignment.  When I mention the audio option online, they sound like they've already heard about it from their kids... They sigh, "No we don't have internet right now," almost ashamed.  

So right now, all this means is that children in my class with no internet at home need to do their reading homework the old-fashioned way.  No big deal for most.  But as we move forward, this divide is going to become more and more painful.  I'd like to see the government step in and make internet free for parents who send their children to public schools, and provide a laptop--or an easy, affordable pathway to getting one--for all public school students.  Once this is the case, schools need to get with the times and create safe and attractive networking programs for teachers and classes to use.  

[image credit: http://eppsnet.com/2004/10/into-the-digital-abyss]

we need merit pay, take 2

I wrote about this once before in the NY Daily News, but it's time for a second take. We need performance pay for teachers. Not to scare away the "bad ones."  To keep the good ones.

It's March and almost time for teachers to begin making plans for next year.  I know of many gifted, committed teachers in their 3rd, 4th, or 5th years who are getting ready to say goodbye to the classroom. It is truly painful, because our students need them, and instead will have to make due with a new crop of brand new, shellshocked first years.  

A friend of mine who is currently a dean at a middle school, after six years of teaching, mentioned that he's probably going to pursue an administration degree. Not because he deeply desires to be a principal, but because he's "thirty-something years old and can't keep making 60,000 a year."  (I know in the USA $60,000 ain't bad for a teacher, but remember we're talking about NYC, land of ridiculously expensive everything.)  When I heard this, I felt a familiar disappointment.  I've heard it before and may be on my way to becoming jaded and complacent about all the leavers.  Not that he wouldn't be good at administrating, but teaching and administrating are two different things, with different skills sets and different kinds of impact on students.  Truthfully, I have no idea whether he'd be good at it, and am relatively uninterested.

But then he caught my attention.  "But if there was merit pay," he said, "I'd be back in a flash."

"Really?" I said, with a surprised smile.

"Absolutely. Because if there's one thing I can do well, it's teach. I'd teach my whole life if I could." 

Wow, I thought. There it is. This is the kind of teacher our children, especially in high poverty schools, desperately need.  I'm fairly certain that for many of my students, the kind of education they receive in middle school can mean life or death later on.  Not that any kid is doomed after middle school, but middle school teachers create a context for the very beginning of our students' transition into adulthood. Adults have to deal with "the system" that governs much of their lives, and they must make choices for themselves and take responsibility within the system. For middle school students, school is that system and teachers are their guides. It's tremendously complicated work and matters more than many of us care to think about sometimes.  

My students cannot afford to lose the people closest to them at their schools--their strong teachers, the ones who prepare lessons and teach, and assess, and see that they learn, and STILL have energy leftover to get to know them, and partner with their parents, and actually change their schools to meet all of their students' needs better.  

No, my students can't afford to lose these teachers, simply because the system won't pay for them to be teachers anymore.  And no, the job I've just described is not something a first year teacher can do well, even the most gifted first year teacher working her heart out.  (I was a pretty good first year teacher, I might add.  But at year five, I'm still learning to do all of the parts of my job effectively.)

I was happy to hear Obama talk about paying teachers for their expertise, and that he's promised to work with teachers on the merit pay plan.  But I doubt I'll be letting out a sigh of relief any time soon.  The details of the policy will matter a lot in whether or not we keep the experienced teachers our students need, but are slated to lose each year, like clockwork. Already, I'm hearing more talk about recruitment than retention, investing in charter school "pockets of excellence," rather than confidently transforming the system our government is responsible for running... I hope President Obama and Secretary Duncan start talking to teachers, and soon.  

[image credit: jenkintownparents.org/ revolvingdoor.jpg]

What do teacher pass rates tell us?

It was data review time again this week at my school--probably the country's most popular PD activity of today.  My AP handed me a print out that included each teacher in our grades 6-12 school and the percentage of students he or she passed for the first semester.  What I saw was, for me, shocking. Teachers had wildly disparate pass rates for their classes.  Some teachers passed 100% of their students or very close to it.  Other teachers passed 50-60% of their students for the semester.  These rates did not seem to correlate in any coherent way to other things I knew about these teachers, such as number of years of experience, level of commitment to student learning, or general skill level as a teacher.  But looking at the data it was also clear that the disparities indicated more about the perspectives of teachers than they did about students.  And once again my discomfort with grading reared its bumbling head.

I realize I have surprisingly little knowledge of most of my colleagues' grading practices.  I know we all have some sort of grading schema, with categories, each weighted a certain percentage, all adding up to 100%.  Some teachers weight homework heavily, others don't.  Some teachers weight tests heavily, others don't.  Some teachers enter a zero for a missed homework, others enter a 55%, and still others leave the assignment out of the student's average altogether as if it never existed.  I know for my class, reading is a non-negotiable, so I set up my grading schema such that it's impossible to pass the class without doing a substantial amount of reading.  So a failing grade often indicates a student didn't complete a certain minimum amount of reading.  But the same is likely not true in another class, even of the same subject.  

The more I think about, the less certain I am of what "pass" actually means.  I spoke to two of my close colleagues, both of whom attended NYC public schools themselves.  These are two teachers I respect very much and whose students work hard and clearly learn a lot in their classes.  

The first teacher has a near 100% pass rate for all of her classes.  She said she calculates her grades based on a grading schema on our online grading system.  But then, she compares the number grade to what she thinks about the student.  She looks for evidence of what the student learned and knows how to do.  Whenever possible, she passes the student, even if the numbers don't add up.  When I asked her why, she explained that middle school grades are used to determine what high school a student gets into in NYC.  She would hate to doom a student's future based on choices they make in seventh grade, a time where adolescents are growing in so many ways and are often not aware of the impact of their behavior.  Mistakes made in seventh grade--that often have nothing to do with academic ability and everything to do with social-emotional development, which most middle schools currently give little attention and support--should not keep a student out of a competitive high school, she reasons.  Having taught seventh grade before, (and having been one myself) I do understand her point.  

The second teacher has one of the lowest rates I saw, around 60%.  She says she sets a high standard for her students, and doesn't budge on her expectations.  She works hard to modify her instruction based on the needs of the students, but expects all students to work hard consistently--she herself worked hard to achieve at a high level in NYC public schools despite many obstacles.  If her students meet her standards, they will be prepared for any high school, whereas if she lowers her standards, she is certain many students won't be able to succeed in competitive high schools.  If students fail her class, they are learning a hard lesson sooner rather than later, she reasons.  This too, makes sense to me.

Earlier in the year the administration asked each grade team to make a goal for the school year for our student pass rates.  As an 8th grade teacher, the pass or fail line becomes especially significant, because it determines who participates in the graduation ceremony and activities, and who is sent to summer school or retained for a second year of eighth grade. My grade team came up with a goal of a 90% (on-time) pass rate this year.  The number was somewhat arbitrary, but we chose it because we thought we could beat our rate from last year, which was around 80%, through better communication with students, parents, and increased interventions.

But the real can of worms we need to open up--if pass rates is going to be a key data point for our school--is how we understand and assess passing and failing, and how this definition fits into the mission of our school.  I don't have the answer, but we should start by opening up dialogue on the topic.  

Do any of your schools have a strong consensus on this issue?  If so, I would love to hear how you arrived at it.  I am concerned that, once again, we come up against the limitations of ascribing one number to stand for a student's learning over a period of time.  Narrative evaluations, least in middle school, might do a better job of capturing the complexity of any one student.

[image credit: http://blogs.courierpostonline.com/eagles/files/2008/11/pass_fail1.jpg]

Slow Dancing With "That Class"

You know that class.  Every teacher who teaches multiple classes in a day--especially in middle school--knows that class. You've planned an excellent lesson; maybe you've used it successfully for years. It goes over swimmingly with 810 and 812--these students exclaim how they love your class. Then comes 813. You brace yourself as they enter the classroom, because you never know what to expect with them. For whatever reasons, students in that class respond differently. Some days they are great, but on others, they don't settle down and it's a struggle just to begin class--they seem content to socialize while you wait or dole out detentions. Sometimes they start out cooperative and engaged, and then devolve into petty quarrels with each other. They often fall behind the other classes, or the classroom environment is so full of distractions that students have trouble being productive. The usual strategies seem to work one day and not the next. You find yourself shortening lessons to make up for lost time. Students often ask you to teach even though kids are having side conversations, but you know this is a trap and refuse.

You ask yourself, why is this happening?  There are some students with challenging behavior in this class, but there are challenging students in all of your classes.  This class doesn't even have any students with diagnosed special learning or emotional needs.  What's more, you spoken with students individually and met with their parents, but the progress is almost always temporary. Is it you? But your lessons and teaching style seem to work in the other classes. And other teachers report similar experiences with the same class. Is something just off with 813?

Last week I made some progress in my thinking about my 813 (a pseudonym). It started when I was absent for a day to score NY State ELA tests.  I left a movie for the students to watch. The film, "Smoke Signals," is actually an important piece of my curriculum, and I told the substitute that I needed the students to really watch the movie. If students were talking, I said, he should pause it and ask them not to talk during the movie, and continue when they are quiet. I also left a worksheet for students to make observations as they watched, and which explained that we would be discussing the movie when I got back, so they should pay close attention. As you might imagine, 810 and 812 watched the movie with no problems. But 813 talked so much, the substitute eventually turned it off altogether.  

When I got back, the students of 813 were upset. "But we weren't even being bad! I mean for 813, we weren't bad. No one was disrespectful. We were just talking," they said. I took a good 15 minutes to hear multiple renditions of the story and discuss the situation with them. I explained that I had instructed the sub to pause the movie if they were talking. I also asked them if they would be able to understand the movie if they were also talking to one another about other things... After a little while, they seemed to understand.  

We put the movie on. They started talking a little bit, then a little more. I paused the movie. They protested! We discussed the reasons behind my expectation that they watch silently again. They got quiet. I put the movie on again. They started to get into it! Someone made a comment in response to the movie. This provoked a string of comments that got loud. They were missing important dialogue. I paused it again. They got annoyed. Then they got quiet. I turned the movie on...and so forth.

The other classes finished the film in 2 class periods--one with the substitute and one with me--and loved it. We had brilliant student-centered discussions the following day, which were so interesting that the students asked for another day to continue (and we did).  

Meanwhile, after 2 days of the film, 813 was only halfway through it. I had a dilemma. Should I give the class extra periods on the movie? How much time? What about the discussions? A colleague recommended not finishing the movie, canceling discussions, and giving them a test on the entire film. Alternatively, I thought of allowing them to finish the movie, but forgoing the discussions. Or, I could allow them to discuss the half of the movie they had seen. But all of these options would defeat the purpose of having them watch the film in the first place: to get experience analyzing an entire work of "literature," its conflicts and the resolutions of those conflicts, its themes, and the craft decisions made by the screenwriter and director to achieve the effects the movie has on the viewer. This would build story understanding and discussion skills that we would put to further use in discussions of an entire novel.   

I spent a while thinking about who was responsible for the fact that 813 hadn't seen the whole film--me or them. I didn't want to enable irresponsible behavior by giving them unlimited time on anything. But the discussion experience had been so rich for the other classes and so well-timed in the curriculum, I hated for this class to miss the opportunity.  

Then I thought, does it even matter who's at fault? Here we are, either way. Maybe this class is just slower than the others. Not slow intellectually--in fact they are some of the most insightful students in the grade when they apply themselves. They are behind in terms of their group process. I teach a CTT class and give that class extra academic supports when they need them. Maybe 813 needs some extra social-emotional supports that the other classes, for whatever reasons, don't require. Though somewhat counterintuitive, maybe spending time learning how to watch a movie carefully together might be the most productive thing for this group. 

I remembered my mentor at Bank Street College, Madeleine Ray, telling a story about a class she taught years ago in Harlem. As the story went, she always kept bread and butter in the room for the students. When, on occasion, they broke out the bread, one boy in the class always tried to eat more than his share. When the students reported it to Mrs. Ray, she said, "It's okay. Let him eat. We can always get more." Contrary to everyone's expectations, every time they ate bread, she let him eat until he was full.

Then one day, just as she predicted, the student stopped eating extra bread. His need had been filled and, more importantly, he made the decision on his own to limit himself. Sometimes we make the mistake of trying to control everything, and ration everything when it comes to our students, even when it's not working. Afraid to take risks, we ignore the real problem and continue to do what's already not working. Often, we deny our students the opportunity to make important decisions for themselves.      

There was no real reason for me to limit 813's time, when they clearly needed it to reach the learning objective I had for them. Like Madeleine had done with the bread, I let my class take as much time as they needed to finish the movie. I explained to them that they were two days behind the other classes, and that I had debated over how to handle it. When I told them that it was necessary to finish the movie before having the discussions, and the discussions were necessary for their education, they seemed to feel some urgency. 

By the forth day, they were watching silently. They finished with fifteen minutes left in the period and elected--without my input--to begin discussions right away. They listened to one another and even stayed voluntarily for part of lunch to continue the discussion.  

Mind you, day two of discussion we were back to starting and stopping, starting and stopping. But I'm coming to see this as the practice they need. My patience and persistence are more valuable to them than my instinct to control them or cover up their weaknesses. For now, I'm content to slow dance.  

 

[image credit: http://carcino.gen.nz/images/index.php/5922d576/6faaad84]