"As Always," MM11914

"Me I'm down by the bay exploring, 

I'm the lost captain losing track 

of the shorelines around 

with stars as my only compass..., 

beauty I want to see it all and 

I understand 

that in order to see beauty 

you have to walk through 

pain..."

Sonic and Sexual Assault: You Just Gotta Take It

A few years ago, the fast-food chain Sonic and I had a brief run-in: they failed to add a cherry to my cherry limeade on multiple occasions.  This might seem insignificant (and let's be honest: it is), but in the middle of a chaotic day, a cherry limeade at lunch can make a world of difference, and savoring that chemical-filled maraschino cherry before my next class was an important part of my lunch ritual.

The first time it happened, I was disappointed but not ready to grab the pitchforks.  I went back the next day and ordered the same.  No cherry.  The third day, I politely requested a cherry limeade with a cherry, please.

No cherry.

Did you know that Sonic's website has link for comments and questions?  Did you know that if you submit a comment, you will hear back from the branch manager within 24 hours?

They called in the middle of my first hour class (and I answered, unsure of who was calling my school phone) and asked about the experience.  That call merits a post of its own, but ultimately, the manager offered me a free meal and a large limeade WITH a cherry.

Problem resolved.

My class, who were listening in, couldn't believe that I would make such a big deal over a cherry.  Frankly, neither could I, but I didn't admit it.  Instead, I explained that as a paying customer, I expect a certain level of service, and when that is violated, I feel that I have a right to demand restitution... even if it's just a cherry.  And, I pointed out, the company seems to agree, which is why they have that comment box in the first place.

They just shook their heads and muttered, "They're gonna spit in your drink, Miss.  You just gotta take it."

You just gotta take it.

Fast-forward to 2014.  I am still teaching inner-city kids, and they are still incredulous when I tell them this story, which I have now incorporated into a Julius Caesar / persuasive writing unit.  It's just a cherry, they say.

With a different audience, I might agree that it's just a cherry, but with many of my students coming from poverty, I can't and it isn't.  It is a representation of something much larger, and sometimes it is the difference between generational poverty and upward mobility.

Psychologists call it having an internal locus of control.  Others label it as a self-advocacy, versus a belief in fate or destiny.  Ruby Payne attributes it to the "hidden rules of class."  It is the acceptance of 'fate', she explains, that tends to dominate generational poverty. Things are the way they are, and you can't do much to change them.  She also explains that many times, those trapped in poverty go into survival mode and have few resources - physical or emotional - to deal with more than day-to-day existence. [Disclaimer:  Payne has recently been discredited in some circles, but many of her insights remain accurate.  Additionally, I realize that these statements may sound categorical, but believe me, I see exceptions in my classes every hour.]

I see all this every day in different forms, whether it is a missing homework assignment, an emotional outburst, or the passive acceptance of an unfair situation.

This condition has tragic consequences, some of which have rocked Oklahoma City this past month.

Few Oklahomans have been able to escape updates regarding the ongoing investigation into the allegations against Daniel Holtzclaw, the Oklahoma City police officer charged with 16 counts of sexual misconduct.  BuzzFeed published an article that examines the evidence and court proceedings in detail, and reading it makes me want to shrink into oblivion while simultaneously baring my teeth as an idealistic educator.

If you're not familiar with the situation, here is a summary:

• Police officer stops random African American women between the ages of 30 and 60 in a certain low-to-middle-income neighborhood in OKC.
• Once stopped, he checks their police records.  
• He then solicits sexual favors while threatening them with their records and/or his status as a police officer.
• He continues to harass certain women and expands his scope to others.

The BuzzFeed article claims that Holtzclaw was caught because he stopped the wrong woman "who, when he allegedly assaulted her, wouldn't hesitate to call the police."

The article goes on to suggest that one of the main reasons that these acts came to light was that this victim was an upstanding member of the middle class, unlike some of the other victims who had good reason to fear the authorities.  As such, she had the resources, confidence, and wherewithal to go to the police, and she did.  When no one answered her phone call, she and her daughter went to the station in person.  On the other hand, few of the other victims wanted to press charges at first, even when encouraged to do so.  

A friend of mine summarized it succinctly: "Because he chose poor black women that no one cared about until he got too bold."  Snarky?  Yes.  Abrasive?  Yes. True?  Yes.

This is based on comments from the prosecutor:  "Not only is this individual stopping women who fit a profile of members of our society who are confronted rightly or wrongly by police officers all the time," said Gieger.  "He identifies a vulnerable society that without exception except one have an attitude for 'What good is it gonna do?  He's a police officer.  Who's gonna believe me?'"

You just gotta take it.

As a teacher, I try to fight this attitude and this vulnerability every day.  I tell my girls, If he seems creepy, run - don't walk.  I tell the same thing to my guys.  I show them angry letters that I've written -- and sent -- and we talk about how and when to argue.  We talk about advertising, media bias, and subliminal messaging.  We talk about alternative actions our protagonists could have taken, and whether those solutions would work in our society today:

• Antigone ignores the law and follows her heart.  Then she stands up to the king and dies as a result.  Was she right? I ask.  Was it worth it?  When is it worth it?
• Brutus killed his friend and emperor.  What was his duty? I ask.  How far is too far?  When does strength turn into an abuse of power?  What would you do?
• In Candide, Voltaire mocks every issue known to Western civilization and then ends demurely:  "We must cultivate our garden." Is he right?  I ask.  What's YOUR garden?  What's it worth?  What happens when someone violates it?
• And in Night, Elie Wiesel's seminal Holocaust memoir, I ask bigger questions:  How does hatred develop and how do we fight it?  Do we have a moral obligation to help others?  What is bravery?

Check your grades, I say.  Argue your answers with me, I implore.  Ask questions and stand up for yourself, I exhort.  You are not a victim, and you cannot allow things to "just happen" you.  You make your own choices, and when others' actions affect you, you determine the extent of the damage as well as your own response.

I teach, and I hope that some of it sticks.  More than anything, I hope that my students never, ever have to face a situation like the Holzclaw investigation.  But in the worst case scenario, I hope that in 5 years -- or 50 years -- it will not be my girls who are testifying at trials like this, or if it is, I hope that they are the ones who called the cops.  I hope that they will be the ones hauling their mattresses around Columbia's campus until someone takes note of injustice.  And I hope that they do argue their grade with me after school.

You don't just take it.  

   "The one deep experience that distinguishes the social rich from the merely rich and those below is their schooling, and with it, all the associations, the sense and sensibility, to which this education routine leads throughout their lives.  As a selection and training place of the upper classes, both old and new, the private school is a unifying influence, a force for the nationalization of the upper classes." 

- C. Wright Mills, The Power Elite

(emphasis added)

Maybe It Was Idealism

When I was student teaching at a mostly-suburban school, one particular teachers-workroom lunch conversation focused on the movie The Freedom Writers and how unrealistic it was.  The most vocal of the teachers were, naturally, the most outspoken.  How idealistic it was.  How glamorized.  How Hollywood.

Maybe they were right about the glamor.   There is nothing glamorous about teaching.

But they had no idea.  They spoke out of ignorance.  They criticized something they knew nothing of.

The first day of teaching in an inner-city school, my first class soon proved to be the most challenging.  There was a knot of 5 or 6 boys who came in and immediately moved my desks, if they sat in desks at all.  (In case you're not aware, teachers are pretty particular about their desk arrangement.)  Even now, remembering that class makes me shiver.

There were some dark days, that first semester.  Luckily, I had 3rd hour plan, and for that I was thankful.  But... I always consoled myself that my day wasn't possibly as bad as Erin Gruwell's.   Was that idealistic?  On my part, possibly.  But the experience as a whole was very, very real, and it was not so different from hers.  There were other teachers at the school who had a worse time, for a longer period.

But the parallels didn't stop with student behavior.  Midway through the movie, Gruwell wants to get her students books to read.  She looks in the children's section.  The most popular book in my class was The Magic School Bus in Space (Half-Price Books, $1.50).

On another occasion, Gruwell asks her class who knows what the Holocaust was.  One student raises his hand... the white kid.

Last spring, after the stress of the EOI, and after team planning disintegrated and we pretty much did our own thing (much to our own relief, I think), I decided to teach Number the Stars, a short book about a Danish family who smuggles their Jewish friends to Sweden during Nazi occupation.  Before I started the book with my classes, I asked how many of them knew what the Holocaust was.

One student raised her hand.

I never really got over the voids I saw.  I just taught.  I stopped giving my students journal assignments about their heroes.  They explained that they don't have any; they learned long ago that heroes let you down.

Gruwell's students visited a Holocaust museum, read Anne Frank, and found in Anne and Miep Gies, heroes.

My students read and watched different accounts of the Holocaust and wrote about who they found to be bravest, and why it mattered to them.  I wish I'd kept those essays.

But the real similarity I see - the one that really matters, and the one that those other teachers see, too, but might not appreciate to the same degree - is not behavior, or curriculum, or achievement gaps.  It's transformation.

I squeezed paragraphs and essays out of kids who didn't think they had five words to share.

I've seen my kids in other classes... they can be monsters.  I've had teachers (albeit only a few teachers) come up to me with the cliched, "I see you have HIM in your class... hah."  At which point, I smile sweetly and say, "Yes, he's my best leader - really charismatic."  And it's true.  That "gang-banger" the teacher was referring to WAS my best leader (once channeled properly) and was the one who periodically felt the need to shout, "Shut up, fools, Ms. B is trying to teach!"

Another girl celebrated her first anniversary in the US in April.  Her English is severely limited, but she had enough words to write, "This is my favorite class.  I feel like home here."

Is this idealistic?  Perhaps. But the experience is real - very, very real.

Reading Rant

I am a 10th Grade English teacher.

I am helping one of my students read Frog and Toad Together in the first 10 minutes of class while other students work on the warm-up activity.

In case it's been a while since you ventured into this section of the bookstore, here is a page of the book:

We read it twice in class if there's time, and then she takes it home to read to her little sister twice that night. The next day, we read the next two pages. Although we have trouble with "then" and "them" and "there," she hasn't complained once.  Oh, and "he."  H's are difficult, it seems.

10th grade and reading a level-two picture book?  It may sound like she is a special-needs student.

On the contrary, there is absolutely nothing wrong with her. She is extremely bright; she just can't read. And English is her second language. She's been here since kindergarten.

So my question is:  WHAT was her kindergarten teacher doing?

Okay, fine, she had 24 other students all learning to read, most of whom actually understood English vowels, etc, and this girl might have been completely lost.

If that's the case, WHAT was her 1st grade teacher doing?  By 1st grade, half the students have advanced to basic levels of reading, and only half - or fewer - are still struggling.  Fewer demanding immediate and undivided attention.

May I remind you, this student still mixes up 'm' and 'n' sounds?

WHERE WAS HER 2ND GRADE TEACHER?  A 2nd grade student struggling with sounds should be a red flag to every single person who comes in contact with her during the school day.

This might be an appropriate time to mention that a child's 3rd grade reading level is the single most important predictor of his/her future success in school and in the rest of life.

How did this child make it through 9 years of school without someone intervening?  Why didn't someone shake Mom's hand (who, by the way, IS one of the few parents who comes to parent-teacher conferences) and explain that her daughter needs to stay after school for 15 minutes every day so she can, like, oh yeah, LEARN HOW TO READ?  Language barrier?  Get a translator.  There is at least one person in the building who can explain.

And finally, lest you be reading this and feeling smug about the flaws in our education system:

When was the last time YOU darkened the door of a school building to read a few minutes once a week with one student?  Or did you forget that 1 in 10 high school dropouts is enjoying your tax dollars in the state penal system, and the rest are most likely on some form of welfare?

Can you afford to ignore these kids?

Okay, yes, you're right.  It IS the teachers' job to teach kids to read.

And, yes, that's what I'm doing, so you're off the hook... this time.

But if I don't take the time, and you don't take the time, who will?  Honestly, who will?

I teach 10th grade.  I'm not even certified to teach reading; nor was it part of my coursework.

Would I be justified if I just passed her on?  At this point, yes I would.  I'd just be another of the approximately 26 teachers who already had her in one of their classes.  If she's passing the test with at least a 60% (which, magically, she does), why hold her?  Would she magically learn to read in that extra year?  Doubtful.

For whatever reason, nine years of teachers failed my student.

Her future is at stake.

Can you ignore it?

Triage

In response to:

http://www.salon.com/life/feature/2011/05/10/death_to_high_school_english/index.html

Dear College Professor, 

Fantastic article.  It's a nasty, brutish business, teaching high school English.  You capture the main arguments and controversies of the English / Language Arts world well, and in my young, passionate idealism, I agree with most of it.  A lot of what I see other teachers do makes me nauseous. 

Allow me add my own two cents from an inner-city perspective and explain what goes on in the abyss that is high school English... unsolicited, of course, because I love it so much and am bored.  Beware, this could be its own article! The question shouldn't be limited to high school courses; nor should it be an issue of mere pedagogy.  And really, it is far too important to merely question what. 

Let me explain.  Most of my kids have been in the US fewer than seven years.  Generally, that translates to a wide swathe of English Language Learners, almost all of whom come from a pitifully low socio-economic level.  That means that, although they're getting a free education, it is within the inner-city setting, so its consistency and competency is erratic at best.  Sad but true.  Still, you would think they'd at least get the basics.  False.  While completing my field experiences, I was horrified that 7th graders were still learning what a complete sentence was... something I'd learned - and mastered - in 3rd grade. 

And then I began teaching 10th grade.  Not only did my students not know what a complete sentence was and/or how to make one, but they could barely read. 

Now, keep in mind, 10th grade is THE most important year for state testing as far as English is concerned.  If they don't pass, they don't graduate.  There was added pressure because US Grant HS had been failing its No Child Left Behind annual yearly progress for five years... which is based on state testing.  What does this state test test?  Reading and writing.  Not a conducive situation to progress, and no wonder they'd been failing.  Debates on content - which books to teach, etc - become obsolete when students lack the skills to do anything with it.  

At this point, the question becomes: Is it actually the high school's fault that these kids can't read and write?  Using the seven-year average, these kids have been in American elementary and middle schools for five of those years.  What were they doing in that time?  Actually, this article mentions many of the usual activities with accuracy because student engagement is so, so important.  We’re just not doing it well.  (Sadly, it's hard to escape... see: Victim of Team Collaboration - dumb short story projects.)  

Blaming the preceding teachers does nothing to solve the problem, so the next question is:  Based on what students don't know, what do you teach in high school, then?   And after that, why?  And after that, how?  Is it so necessary to read world authors and Julius Caesar (the typical 10th grade fare) when students can't even comprehend the conventional prose of the newspaper?  When do you sacrifice rigor for relevance? The perfect answer, of course, it to teach both at once, but too often, as the article says, meaning and skills are lost in skits and dioramas.  This part of the curriculum absolutely needs to be reevaluated, as well as teaching methods and objectives.

Students must leave high school knowing how to read with comprehension, communicate with precision, and think efficiently and critically.  Surely the cannon is not so sacred that we cannot modify it to teach these things more effectively.  Surely students are not so juvenile that they require skits to stay engaged as we teach them how to learn... for that is what we are doing, isn’t it?  Or are we merely entertaining them?

But let’s return to focus on writing.  Writing is a painfully slow skill to teach because it requires so much of everything.  That's why it is soooo essential.  But sadly, it still falls prey to questions of priority.  Based on the state test, which skills are the most heavily weighted?  Spelling counts very little.  Fine, we'll focus on something else.  Mechanics are more important but still don't account for much.  We'll pick those up along the way... even at the cost of a few misplaced commas.  Organization is a biggie.  Flow and logical construction. That means students have to start thinking about what they're thinking - metacognition, phew... and then write it down... and then organize it well enough to support a thesis, not to mention box it all in with an introduction and a conclusion. 

Honestly, I would prefer that students leave my class knowing how to organize their thoughts in complete sentences and logical order than knowing precisely where to sprinkle a few commas (this is said by an ex-grammar nazi, by the way).  Make no mistake, I hold a profound respect for proper grammar, especially commas.  However, students can pick up a usage book later on and answer their comma questions, or sit in your college class and make small corrections to what they’re now realizing is a rough draft.  

Learning how to think is more difficult to simply pick up. I have 25 weeks (125 days) to fix what ten years of education should have taught them... not including pep assemblies and fire drills.  While student teaching in a well-off suburban school, I nailed the students on commas and semicolons.  They already had the basics and had been writing some form of essay for years.  Commas polished their work and semicolons made it classy.  Grant kids don’t have that luxury... for now.  If I were to teach my same kids again next year for 11th grade, they’d graduate with commas.  As it is, I’ll be back in 10th, and it will take three months for them to learn that a five-paragraph essay has - surprise! - five paragraphs.  True story, and absolutely necessary.

So, college professor, that is what we teach in high school, and that is why your college kids do not know how to construct formal papers.  We could do many things better, and hopefully some of us are trying to do so, despite the general apathy around us.  Teach the four students of mine who attended college about commas. I know you are paid to teach more advanced things, but remember that it could be worse, much worse.

Sincerely,

High School English

Bootstraps

For Dr. White

Well, friends, it’s time for a missive on education.  As a preface, I’d like to say that my experience is representative of many, but not all, Spanish public schools.  The new bilingual program is really shaking up the status quo, and there are several schools who are doing great things, especially at the primary level.  However, the rest are still reeling from, well, who knows what and sometimes the results are abysmal. 

Buckle up.

Last Thursday, Maria* (teacher) informed me that my services would not be needed the following week.  Of the 22 students in the class, 85% of them had failed 7 of their 8 subjects.  

There are several immediate observations to be gathered from this news, but let’s just get right down to the heart of it:  the Spanish education system is a disaster.

Maybe as a cultural envoy, liaison, and ambassador that is a bit harsh for me to say.  But as a teacher, it is the truth.

There are the technical elements to the evaluation above.  Unable to choose or fire their own teachers, principals have little autonomy and control over their school.  Teachers are transferred based on seniority points and rarely hav e time to acclimate to a position or level before changing.  Curriculum is a mess and classroom management is virtually nonexistent.  

But those are the macro issues.  As the semester has gone by, I’ve had plenty of time to listen, observe, compare, sort out, and generally ruminate on the differences between American and Spanish education, and what my own views are.  I’ve  realized that the short semester I taught at US Grant, an at-risk inner-city high school, has drastically changed my personal perspective on children, teaching, and education in general.

*name changed

The Face of Opportunity

As a new teacher, there was no easing into the water for me.  I was thrown right into the thick of things.  Facing a variety of problems, US Grant had been on No Child Left Behind’s failing list for several years.  It was absolutely vital that the school succeed, and school success is measured in student success.  Student success is measured by state tests.  The school was getting a makeover.  How hard could it be?

And then I met my first class.  As 10th graders, many of them could not read well, had never written anything of consequence, and they had been psychologically decimated from their previous school experiences.  Most are non-native English speakers. Moreover, many face an excruciating home life of some kind.

The state test is 150 school days away.  The English portion of these focus on reading comprehension and writing... on a 10th grade level.

What do you do?

Failure Is Not an Option

January 2008, the first day of Adolescent Psychology.  Dr. White came in wearing an outlandish, moderately mismatched outfit and hair that stuck out like chicken feathers.  “Well hi, ya’ll,” she drawled in a Louisiana accent, looking at our impassive faces.  “This is gonna be real fun.”

It was a great class.  She was crazy.  Like her hair, several things stick out in my memory, one of which was a mantra she repeated several times.  Usually it followed a leading question that accused federal spending in education.  “Shame on you!”  she’d cry when we muttered disapproval.  “You can’t pull yourself up by the bootstraps if you ain’t got no boots.”

I was skeptical.

Despite an eclectic schooling background, I somehow emerged with a rather elitist perspective on education.  Student teaching Pre-AP English at asuburban high school, I had no problem crossing my arms with an unsympathetic, “Well, I taught it; you should have le arned it.”  And it was true: they should have.

Then Grant happened.

When your students come to you in 10th grade and cannot read... tell me, is that their fault?  Did all twenty-five of them link arms and stomp their collective feet in second grade and declare that they weren’t going to read?

More importantly, as a teacher, what are you going to do about it?  If you present the lessons, assign the homework, and hand out the tests, have your students learned?  What happens if 85% of your students fail that test?  Is it their fault?  Can you simply say, “Well, I taught that; it’s their fault”? 

As they say.... bootstraps.

I in no way want to espouse the savior complex, for teaching is humbling.  But there is a line in the movie The Guardian that seems pretty suitable to insert here.  Ashton Kutcher plays a coast guard rescue swimmer and asks his mentor one last burning question before going out for his first job in the Bering Strait:  

“When you can’t save them all, how do you choose who lives?”

Kevin Costner responds without blinking. “It's probably different for everybody Jake. Its kind of simple for me though. I just, I take the first one I come to or the weakest one in the group and then I swim as fast and as hard as I can for as long as I can. And the sea takes the rest.”

Swim hard, teacher.

... Unless Your’e in Spain

Lately, I’ve been doing some private research into education, democracy, and dictatorships. Most of the problems confronting Spain are a direct result of the 40-year Franco dictatorship that began in the 1930s.  Obvious issues arising from this include an overemphasis on rote memorization with little critical thinking; lack of classroom control as a rebellion against Franco’s oppressive classrooms;  and, perhaps less apparent, preferring to finish the textbook rather than ensuring student learning.  Any time there is extended oppression, it takes several generations to unlearn those habits and values, and the fallout is still affecting schools today.

It is not unusual for a teacher to come into the teacher’s room with a stack of failed tests.  “I try, I try so hard!” is the usual lamentation.  “I just don’t know what to do. They just cannot learn.”

The next week the class moves onto a new unit. 

Better Options

Now then, back to the opening statement, when Maria told me 85% of the students failed 7 out of 8 subjects.  Let’s think about this.

Several things come to mind. First of all, when 85% of your students fail, YOU are doing something wrong (yes, fine, even in suburbia).  This is not specifically in reference to Maria, but all the teachers.  Sure, maybe the class has developed extreme apathy (and no wonder).  That’s tough.

Their education is at stake. 

You can't just cross your arms and say, “Well, I taught that; it's their fault.”  Second, why are you just now realizing that your students are failing??  At this point in the school year, the problem is clearly a breakdown of prior skills, and now it's too late to fix it.  Third, taking me, your beautiful language assistant with that awful American accent, out of the picture isn't going to change anything if you keep doing the same activities with them that helped them fail in the first place.  In fact, I would love to, like, you know, help teach the English part.  That’s why I get paid the big bucks, after all...

And in reply to that, here are some options:

Re-evaluate the current criteria for success in teaching.  Covering content is important, but not if students aren’t learning it.  What knowledge and skills are absolutely essential that they leave your classroom with, and how are you going to make sure that they get it?

Measure that success in clear and frequent assessments, not just by the unit tests and semester exams.

Do remedial teaching when the assessments show students haven’t mastered the material; that way, you can catch class-wide problems before May. 

Stop teaching straight from the book.  It’s boring, it requires pure memorization and no thinking, and clearly it’s not accomplishing anything.  Let’s talk about kinesthetic learners.  About this wonderful multimedia environment in which we live.  About relevance - making the subject matter connect to their worlds.  Then let’s talk about motivation. 

Make kids produce items using the knowledge they’re acquiring.  If you just presented how to use the past tense of ‘is,’ make them write about their childhood.  Yes, that means you’ll have to read it.  Sorry.  But then you’ll get to see if they understand what you think you just taught.

Hold off on teaching content for a few weeks and teach the necessary English vocabulary first.  Students are not going to draw a secant if they don’t understand what ‘line’ means. 

Make your classroom a pleasant place to be.  Telling a student point-blank that s/he is stupid and won’t learn anything just isn’t conducive to learning.

I feel like a walking Ed Psych textbook.  This is basic stuff.  Let’s go, Spain.  You’ve got a generation at risk here.

Nine Weeks In

Dear Mentor Teacher,

The first quarter is over, and still I feel like my year is only beginning. I think that I am learning more than my kids are. In fact, if you asked me what I've taught these last nine weeks, I could tell you - vaguely - but not with much confidence. Elements of plot; how to use 'who' and 'which' to add texture in writing; Bloom's taxonomy. Those are the high points.

Other points include, for better or for worse: teachers can and do curse if you talk enough; there really isn't much of a follow-through on stuff, either in class or from the administration; you really don't have to give a damn to get a grade; there are people out there who are pretty successful, but they don't have much in common with 'normal' people.

Now, as for the things that I've learned... they are many, and many are tragic. A lot of them have to do with school bureaucracy and incompetence. I'm learning to march to my own beat, because the rest of the orchestra is one giant cacophony, and the conductor is late. On some level I realized I would have to adopt a "screw you, I'll just do my own thing" mentality, but I didn't believe it... until now. Nine weeks later. This of course is not meant to be flippant or irreverent... but let's see... oh, yes, it was two months before we received the curriculum we were supposed to be teaching. I wish they had just been up front that it would take that long, and I could have made alternative plans rather than playing the waiting game. Alas, communication.

But back to the main lessons I've learned. First and most pressing on my mind concerns assessment: we take grades not just so teachers can assess learning, but so that students, too, can judge their progress. That's why it's essential to grade for accuracy and not just completing, and to return work promptly. But there is the rub! How many kids would fail if there were no completion / participation grades? Why are there so many Cs in class when the majority of the grades do, in fact, come from completion?

During my interview, the principal asked an interesting question: do grades really teach responsibility? I could see both sides of the argument, and still can, but I'm inclined to agree with him on this one. Those kinds of grades reflect effort, or available time, not actual learning. And so my question now is, if that is what I've been grading, what is the use?

Sorry, dear students. You deserve better. I didn't realize what I was doing. I'll try to change. I only have eight weeks left though, and we've already bought into that culture - both of us, you and me.

I'm also sorry that I didn't realize what you're up against. The cultural bias against you. The community expectations for failure. The domestic turbulence you walk home to every day. The hunger you escape from every morning. The danger from excelling. The psychological decimation you came into my class with, thanks to your previous teachers. I've heard stories, and I've talked to seniors who had your old teachers for several years. I didn't know. I didn't understand. I just assumed. I still make assumptions.

I wish we could start over.

I'll be better next year.

I hope.

There are unbelievable odds against all of us. Thank God for friends, chocolate, and sarcasm. And hope. Tomorrow is a new day.

And so, mentor teacher, I sign off, very tired and considerably more humble than last spring. I'm sorry if I ever rolled my eyes at stuff you did - or didn't. I understand now.

Sincerely,
Your crazy, idealistic student teacher