We left our conference with School #2 administration with some degree of hope for our future in the community. It was a productive conversation. They listened. We listened. We hope and pray that we didn’t come off as a professorial stealth bomb that has hit their building. I tried to listen with my administrative ears recognizing that they could not and would not say anything negative about the teacher. I believe they listened with their parental ears and acknowledged that we are primarily advocates for our children regardless of our day jobs.
Initially there were moments of frustration. They were quick to note that many parents want this teacher and that if they honored requests, she’d have many. They told us she won a Sam’s Club teaching award for the county or state – either way, it certainly speaks volumes for those sorts of awards, doesn’t it? The counselor assured us that she’s seen no negative effects of this teacher’s approach when she works with children in summer school, and the principal added that she has not heard any third grade teachers express concerns regarding the children’s attitudes toward math.
Yeah, but here’s the thing. . . life isn’t so simple as to produce immediate and clearly identifiable consequences from bad teaching. Children are not going to self-diagnosed themselves as having math anxiety when they are in third grade. Shifts in how one perceives oneself – however subtle – may take years to manifest themselves. Certainly, children are resilient. After all, most if not all of us endured at least one year of a “mean” or otherwise ineffective teacher, and we survived. It’s part of life, right? Simply because children have tremendous capacity to recover from bad experiences does not justify imposing bad experiences on them in schools.
As for our concerns regarding constant competition and extrinsic rewards for learning, the principal lamented that life is competitive. “Perhaps,” I responded, “But does that mean second grade must be?” You see, I don’t think Dewey had this sort of image in mind when he described schools as embryonic communities. I don’t think he was advocating that we take all that is wrong with society and impose it on children in the early years to toughen them up.
I imagine a proposal now: “The Mountaineer Curriculum: Teaching Kids to Suck it Up, Toughen Up, and Win!” And perhaps the parents sporting the university colors everywhere possible (attire, signs on cars, yard signs, flags, etc.) might be in favor of such a curriculum. After all, this teacher supposedly gets numerous requests. If schools honor the community and create experiences that reflect children’s experiences, then perhaps such a curriculum would be appropriate. If that’s the case, then perhaps schooling should be one long tailgate party for learning, right?
But wait, we’re forgetting a few things. Those experiences that Dewey considered the center of gravity around which everything evolves actually need to be educative. They need to lead to growth: growth of the child and potential growth of the community. Now I know I could really get myself in trouble if I start quoting Dewey’s notion of what the best and wisest parent wants for his children is what the schools should want for all children and then present Rick and I as those “best and wisest.” So, how do I get out of this ideological corner I seem to have painted for myself?
I guess I could try to distract you with the fact that these issues are more prominent now because there is no normative conversation regarding schooling these days. We never talk about the purpose of schooling – merely assume that it’s to score well on tests to get in good colleges to get good jobs. As long as we don’t have a basis from which we can engage in meaningful conversations about schooling, then we all just compete to be the “best and wisest” - pushing our agendas like its some giant reality show and hoping we don’t get voted off. In this reality-world curriculum, parents and teachers are adversaries, concerns are dismissed, and there is no hope for progress within the school community.
I think it would be incredibly difficult to introduce the notion of purpose in most public schools today. It would be so far removed from the natural form of educational discourse (but if you look back at articles in the 1970s and early 1980s, you would see such conversations). Perhaps we could begin with baby steps. One question I asked multiple times during the conference today would be one place to start: “But at what cost?“ The principal noted, “We were one of only three schools to make AYP. . .” My response, “Yes, but at what cost?” The principal indicated, “Teachers in upper grades have noted that children don’t know their math facts, so we are focusing on more drill. . . . “ My response, “Yes, but at what cost do you drill daily and in a way that promotes competition?”
This is a difficult question for teachers or administrators – but it is one that they need to ask daily. At what cost do we do what we do? Every initiative comes at the expense of another. For example, the NCLB focus on math and reading has all but killed early experiences in science and social studies. There are far, far too many opportunity costs in schools today that go unacknowledged. While we may not be able to engage in larger debates about purpose during these dark times in public schools, we can ask educators to consider what is being lost in the process. And with that discussion in mind, we can do more than mourn the loss. We can demand otherwise and try to reclaim those things that “the best and wisest parent” knows are vital for a life well lived and for a society worth living in.
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