Competance vs. Length of service

We have a budget crisis in our school district -- SURPRISE! Actually, we always have a budget crisis with our schools, but this time we have to make some big changes to stay solvent. One of those changes is to get rid of "class size reduction" which maintains class sizes at 20 students in kindergarten through third grade. Because of this, we're losing a lot of teachers, and unfortunately, a lot of good ones.

And here's the rub: teachers are being laid off purely on the basis of their hire date with the district. The newest teachers are the ones to go and no distinction is being made as to competence. Again, no real surprise because the teachers are part of a union. I've worked in a union and my husband works in a union. They can be great for many reasons, but they are terrible for this ONE reason: unions have not figured out a way to reward merit. And unfortunately in teaching, competence matters enormously. I am constantly reading about studies and plans for improving education and student learning, but almost all of them ignore teacher ability. I even read an article in the New Yorker that said teacher competence is more important than class size for improving learning. I've listened to a lot of rhetoric about putting the students first, and keeping the cuts out of the classroom, and I think these speakers are very well meaning (administrators and teachers union reps alike). However, it seems to me the best thing they could do for our district is to involve themselves in the very difficult and messy task grading teachers. (I'll write more about the difficulties of this later -- I've been asking teachers about it).

Why do I feel so strongly about this? I was sitting next to a principal at the meeting where this all got announced. She said to me, "I feel sick about the teachers I have to let go, but I feel even more sick about the teachers I have to keep."

The best blank

Once, when I had gone to church on Sunday morning very early and found myself with an hour to kill, I walked up boulevard to Starbucks. On my way out I passed by three men who lived on the street. "Are you going to that church across from the library?" one asked.
"Why?" replied his friend.
"They have the best..." and with that I was out of earshot. I wanted to turn back, but instead I kept walking all the way back to church with a smile on my lips, happy to know we had the best _____.

A bigger deal than cheating.

It happened finally. Cheating, in front of my very eyes. I was giving a test and saw a kid toss a paper to the desk behind him. When I asked him for the paper, he tried to tear it and crumple it. But he gave it to me, and when I opened it I saw the answers for two of the test questions. Not that they were correct, but there they were.

Our conversation after class left me shaken. I could tell he was a good student and had done this just to goof off, not out of any real intensity to share answers. Still, it was wrong, and I told him his teacher would be finding out. "Look," I said. "I know you're going to have consequences from this and they might be tough, but if you live through that now I can almost guarantee you'll never do it again." The student begged me not to tell. He asked and asked with a shy intensity. Finally I said, "I have a teenage boy and as much as I want to protect him, I would want him to learn this lesson now."
The boy turned away from me. His teeth were gritted tight together and the tears were beginning to form. "But would you beat your son?"
"Never." The word fell truthfully and blithely from my lips.
"In my culture they do it differently," he said bitterly and his words hit me in the gut.
Already the next class was waiting at the door, but I wanted to be clear about what I was understanding. "Who are you more afraid of, the school or your parents?"
He answered without hesitation. "My parents."
I knew I had to report him to the teacher. I also knew that when his parents found out, they would beat him. It was no good pretending otherwise. I felt trapped, but knew I couldn't just let this go now that it was out there. And the truth was, their method of punishment, although culturally acceptable, was one that required reporting to child protective services. I called the teacher, a lovely woman, who was so matter-of-fact and clear about what had to happen and the process she would go through to report the incident, that she gave me confidence the right thing would happen for this boy I was feeling so badly for.

And I think it has. At least I hope it's the right thing. After the counseling office met with the student, they did bring the state into it. Apparently they are working with the family to help them find more appropriate (and legal) methods of keeping their kid on the straight and narrow. In the process the school discovered that corporal punishment was indeed a practice among this cultural group. So what really gave me hope was finding out the school principal would be talking to the PTA club for that group and suggesting some parent training for those families. Maybe one boy's courage in speaking up about his culture's practice can make a difference for many students. I hope it will be a lesson well-learned.

An op-blog-ed to an op-ed piece.

Look at this, an entire op-ed about substitute teachers:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/03/opinion/03bucior.html

Her basic message is that substitutes are not trained properly, are given obtuse plans, and are often uninformed about needs of the students in classrooms. She is concerned about absenteeism among teachers and feels substitute teachers are poor replacements for actual teacher.

I'm sure what she says if often true, but as a sub, I have also seen a different view as well. In the district I work in, I usually have strong, clear lesson plans left for me which include seating charts in middle and high school. It is always best to have the regular teacher in the classroom, but when they have to have a sub, I consider it my duty to enhance the student's education. Perhaps it means I wander and help with one-on-one tutoring for students who are struggling, something a regular teacher may not always have time for. When I'm explaining math, writing, history, science, I believe I bring another way of presenting information that might be useful or more engaging to some of the students. I try to use my strengths to build student knowledge or their interest in the subject matter. I always follow the lesson plans left for me, but bring what I know and who I am to what we are doing.

And, I work to build relationships with teachers so that by coming back again and again to the same classrooms I can also build relationships with students.

So while I understand Ms. Bucior's concerns about the state of substitute teaching, I don't choose to live it.

Tradition

I attended two promotions last week. Maia had her sixth grade promotion and Chongo finished up eighth grade. Both were flawless and smooth (my kids had come home sunburned from their hours of rehearsing), and neither was unbearably long or boring. It was in fact a lovely, meaningful transition, marking the end of one school and the beginning of another. And I was reminded of how important these traditions are, that it's worth the clothes shopping and the hour spent on the hair and the rush to be on time and orderly.

We live in a world where change is an everyday occurrence. We change jobs, schools, churches, spouses, neighborhoods, friends, wardrobes and cars far more often than our fore bearers did. Psychologists say change creates stress for most people, and if that's true we are getting more and more stressed out as a culture. But there are some traditions that honor these times of transition, because we know that it's important to celebrate and embrace change. To take time out to recognize that our lives are in flux, and that we feel a great deal at these moments. To say goodbye, to cry a little, and to let our stomachs flutter with anticipation at the new.

In our family we have been walking down to our local school for nine years. On the last day of school the 6th grade teachers led their kids through the school to say goodbye to the places and people they had spent the better part of their lives with. As a family, we sadly say goodbye to those days and the community we experienced at our neighborhood school. But we also welcome the new opportunities, the challenge of middle school and high school.

And there was one more ceremony. Chongo had a church party for the eighth grade graduates. The youth leaders presented each eighth grader with a journal spoke about each of them with words that affirmed what they saw in them and appreciated about each of them.

In each of these transition ceremonies I felt the right-ness, the beauty of honoring this passage in my kids lives. In those moments I could not imagine any better place to be.

Wrong numbers

Today I had three calls which were wrong numbers. One was the standard "hello?"
"Is Maria there?"
"no, I think you have the wrong number" sort of call.
Two were messages on my answering machine. The first was the lovely voice of a receptionist from a local spa reminding me about a massage appointment for someone named Elizabeth. I called them back to let them know Elizabeth hadn't gotten the message. The only thing worse than not getting a massage is getting a phone call for someone else who is. The next message was actually for someone by my name, and this time, thankfully, NOT for me. Apparently my namesake had bounced the check she'd written to her cabinet maker. I called him back too, and wished him luck. He sounded pretty bummed out.
What do they say about things happening in threes? I tried to imagine what the universe was trying to tell me in three wrong numbers. But the only thing I understood was that I was not Maria, I did not have a massage appointment and I had not bounced a check.
Maybe that was enough to learn in one day.

Tears

I'm in a kindergarten class. We're at the end of a good day, everything having moved along well, and I'm feeling my kinder mojo might be coming back. Kindergarten is so hard for me, just hitting all the marks of work and time and the right amount of explaining and encouraging. We were doing math centers, everybody working on task. I have a group I'm helping, another group doing a worksheet and the lucky red group playing a math game on the carpet.

Suddenly, next to me is a boy crying, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no words or sobs coming out. Hardly a breathe going in. "What is it?" I asked, alarmed but trying not to panic. His mouth opens and closes a few more times and the tears keep rolling but still no words. "Are you hurt?" I ask and he just continues his silent sobbing. Clearly he's in terrible pain and the worst thoughts run through my head. Are his eyes okay? Do I see any bumps? Is it internal? The lucky red group on the carpet where he was playing are oblivious. If he was serious injured they are not alarmed. I get back down to his level and finally he speaks, eeking out the words between tears. "They aren't going in order," he sobs. Ahh, right. No broken bones, no punctured skin. They just weren't going in order.

I tell this story at dinner that night, dramatizing my fear and my reaction. "Mom," says Maia. "Don't ever panic. You'll scare all the other kids."

"Really?" I'm interested in what she thinks ought to happen. "What should I have done."

"Get down at his level and look him in the eye. Then say 'Are you okay, honey?'" Her voice is high and teacher-like. Why does my ten year old have better instincts than I do?