Growth (or something like it) In The Schools

As in other schools, my worth as a teacher is determined almost arbitrarily. My school has students take the Scholastic Reading Inventory (SRI) in September, January, and May to measure how effectively I've gotten them to learn reading and 'riting if not 'rithmetic. 

This week, my administrators and the person who facilitates testing stopped to see me. They were both interested in having a couple more kids take and do well on the test. I was confused because I don't much care about unreliable tests that measure very little. But rather than chalk up their interest to rah-rah, go-team nonsense, I came to understand they were looking out for me. 

I need to show growth acceptable to the algorithm in order to be rated effective and avoid being put on an improvement plan. Need might be too strong a word. I've been on improvement plans before and they are largely just additional paperwork for my admin. I don't want to be the reason for more work, but I didn't develop this ridiculous system and won't buy into it. 

I spend a lot of class-time developing reading skills. I don't teach much of this. I structure time for students to read and take everything out of the way. No book reports or testing. We write a brief note (post-it size) after each day of reading. I talk with kids about their books, but mostly try to listen and get them back to reading. The problems kids have with reading are that there's no backlit screen, they aren't used to staying with something, and teachers usually spoil the hell out of even a good book. 

The SRI may measure reading growth or not. I don't give a shit. I know that many of my students haven't read a book in years if ever and when they finish a book they are surprised at what they've done for themselves. I have a few students who have read half a dozen books this year. One has finished more than a dozen after claiming to have never read a whole book. 

Today is the last day for SRI testing and the facilitator is back hoping to get a couple more kids tested to prop up my scores. I'm grateful I have people trying to help me, but I hope they won't mind that I choose not to get excited about any of it. I've got more important things to do, like reading my book. 

Lousy Day In The Schools

Lest anyone get the idea I have all the answers or even the right questions, I present today's seventh period class, a fairly complete disaster for your amusement and edification. 

I was trying to teach a lesson ostensibly about a poem, but really about compassion and how we recover from the fight that broke out a few days ago after school. It was the same lesson that went perfectly fifth period. That should have given me pause, lightning not striking the same place twice, but I thought I had planned well enough to weather most anything. 

They came in riled up. The class is mostly seniors with a handful of eighth- through eleventh-graders. Several are challenging and I don't have enough desks so kids sit on the heater and at the back table. It's not ideal. Within the first minute I knew they were going to be difficult. This is how it goes sometimes. 

I reeled in some of them, but not many, not enough. Four were glued to phones. I mentioned that it would be good to put phones away. No dice. Two of them were messaging each other and dissolving into giggles. Within five minutes I asked one to leave, but knew it wouldn't really help. I was losing them. They were pretty much gone.  

I went through the lesson from fifth period, but it was no good. Our special ed teacher took two tough kids to a reading test. A senior came in from who knows where. Each interruption derailed us. Mostly I tried to keep people from talking about other things, arguing, and swearing. 

Pressing on, we read the poem and tried to discuss it, but I kept interrupting: "please put the phones aside," "don't touch her," "please watch your language," "yes, you can go to the bathroom," "come back together, folks," and a half dozen other ineffective things. I set up the writing prompt and asked, "are we ready to write?" A guy on the heater asked, "about what?!" I explained again just in time for a senior to ask, "what are we supposed to write about?" Before I could answer, a younger kid asked, "can we write about anything?" I pointed to the prompt on the board. Perhaps I should have texted this shit to them. 

Some of us wrote. Two never started. One stopped after two sentences. "I'm done." No, I explained. We write for the whole time (nine minutes today). I had explained this before we began. It has been S.O.P. since September. We write to get from the first idea into the second and third, to see where our pens and minds take us. "But I'm done," the kid said. I may have sighed. I kept my pen moving on the page, hoping it would be enough to keep some of them writing. 

Some did. Some listened to the poem and thought about it. Some even got the idea about compassion and empathy. But that's not what I took away from class. I was angry, frustrated, and wishing most of them would skip class from now on or maybe transfer. I didn't and don't hate them, but I didn't much like them today.  

Am I allowed to say this? 

I'm not a teacher who loves his students. When the school year is over, I move on. Their lives are up to them, not me. I'm happy if I see some of them (especially if I can remember their names). I shrug when the news says they've been arrested, arraigned, or sentenced, Oh well, I say. Who's next? 

I'll have to try and teach that group of students again and again this month and next. Who knows how it will go? It doesn't have as much to do with my preparation as some believe. I was prepared today, just not for them as they were. Success in schools is a lot about their moods (and mine), the weather, and luck. A crowded classroom often tumbles into chaos and disappointment. Today was chaotic. It was disappointing as hell and pissed me right off. 

I blame them. So there. 

To paraphrase Art Buchwald, I gave them a perfect lesson, and they screwed it up. Schools would work just great if not for the damn kids. That's the only real school reform to consider. I'm in favor of it. Today, I am. Tomorrow, I might feel otherwise. For now, I'm pouring a glass of bourbon, adding one ice cube, and going outside with the dog to watch the sun set. 

Understanding In The Schools

There’s this kid in my class—I’ll call him Frank—he doesn’t say much. Each day, I wait outside my classroom and greet each kid by name. Every time I say hello, Frank acts as though he has not heard me, stares at his phone, and passes by. I usually shake hands or bump fists, but Frank refuses. I’ve stopped extending my hand or fist so as not to annoy him, but I still nod and say hello to show him respect and teach him that this is how things are done. 

In class, Frank sits alone at a table he pulls over near the wall. He doesn’t interact with me and usually has to be asked twice to do things. I ask gently and ask too if there is anything I can do to be of use to him. He doesn’t respond.

Yesterday Frank hadn’t gotten out pen and paper and I mentioned it quietly to him for a third time: “If you can, please put down today’s date so we can get ready to write.” Frank was busy on Snapchat but responded softly, “next time that motherfucker say anything, I bust him up.” I said, “you can leave now.” He went. 

Later in the period, I stopped by the office. Frank was there. I stayed more than an arm’s-length away as I squatted so that I was below his level. I don’t want to be threatening or the victim of a right hook. I said, “I’ve been nothing but kind to you. I’ll continue to be kind. Do you know that you abuse me?” 

Frank said nothing. Frank refused to engage, but he heard me. I’m sure he took it as a challenge. I don’t want to challenge him to a fight, but I do want to challenge him to hear someone criticize him without it becoming a fight. I bet that’s rare in his life. I waited a few seconds in case he wanted to talk, saw that he didn’t, thanked him, and went back to class. 

Later yesterday, I asked the social worker to arrange a meeting for the three of us. Frank and I weren’t going to make progress without help. We had that meeting today. We didn’t make much progress. 

I kept quiet, letting the social worker speak first. Frank got his phone out and busied himself with it. The social worker talked. Then I said, “I was hoping we could talk about how you and I get along. I feel I’ve been kind to you but you’re pretty abusive to me.” Frank said he don’t do nothing to me. “Maybe you could put your phone aside so we can talk.” Frank said he was listening. I felt myself getting frustrated. “I wonder if you were trying to tell me something and I had my head in my phone how that would go.” Frank said he didn’t give a fuck. 

This isn’t unusual in my line of work. Still, it gets to me. In two decades I’ve run through most of the reactions to this sort of thing. Only two work well. The first is to nod and wait it out. When I’m at my best, I do just that. However, that also requires something of the kid. Today I wasn’t at my best and Frank wasn’t going to budge, so I got up and left. I told the social worker and Frank. “Please, excuse me” walked out, closed the door gently, and went back to class. 

Frank and the social worker talked without me likely making more progress than if I had stayed. I returned to class feeling frustrated, apologized to the students for having been gone, and said, “if I seem frustrated tell me to get over it.” One shouted, “Get over it!” I smiled. 

I don’t know that I’ve gotten over anything, but I’m not under much of anything either. It’s a thing that happened and I don’t yet understand it much. This is how it goes in schools. Things happen. We react or respond (maybe a little of both). Then more things happen and we don’t understand much of it right away. It reminds me of parenting. 

When I left the meeting with the social worker and Frank did I give up, surrender, choose discretion over valor, or something else? I don’t know. Ask me next October. By then I might have some idea. 
 

Rules Of The Game In The Schools

Let me tell you a sad story.

Frank, a student who has been out of school for months, came to see me. At first, I had no idea why. He asked for "anything that can get me at least an 80 in this class." Then I understood. Sadness came over me as it always does when this happens. And this always happens. 

My school, like almost every school I know, is primarily focused on kids passing classes and graduating. The lowest grade we are allowed to give for the first three quarters is a fifty. Thus Frank, when he misses an entire quarter, still receives a fifty. There’s also a mandatory final exam in each class weighted as a kind of fifth quarter. This is all designed so the Franks can pass. I know of no requirement for seat time in New York State. I will gather the work for the past quarter, give it to him, grade what he returns, and likely put a passing grade on his report card. This is the sad part of the story.

Frank is a good enough kid for someone whose home life is completely fucked. When he's bad, he's bad, but mostly he's more of a houseplant taking up some space, head down, phone out, waiting for the bell. Today, he was energetic, saying, "I can do this, I can do this." He probably can. 

The sad part is what he’s being asked to do which doesn’t have much to do with learning. It turns out that learning doesn’t have that much to do with grading. Grades, honest teachers will tell you, are mostly about work completed. (Really honest teachers admit that grades also have to do with race, gender, parents, and economics.) Frank is required to do the work but not to learn. 

In the past I would have blamed my school, but it's not my school’s fault. To quote Pacino in And Justice For All, "The whole system's out of order!" But it's largely okay. Kids who play the game do well either by learning or just doing the work. Kids who don't play, usually fail, but some like Frank wise up near the end and take a bus to the marathon's finish line because there’s no rule saying they can’t.  

To be honest, when Frank came to me today I rolled my eyes and felt myself getting upset. But I remembered the game we’re playing, gave him some work, and when he hands that in I’ll give him more. After Frank left, a kid asked, "doesn't it piss you off when a kid can blow off the whole year and you have to pass him?" I smiled and recited a line I have taped beside my desk: 

"I have no thoughts about that which I care to express at this time." 

This is the game we play in schools. It's a sad story for students, schools, and society, but that’s how schools are. As for me, I'm reminded of the scene in Bull Durham when they are going over cliches: "I'm just happy to be here, hope I can help the ball club." I don't make the rules; I just play the game. Sad story, but it's all true.