The "WTH" of Assessment: Lord, Give me Strength. . .

So, report cards came out today. Thank goodness Rick was the first to retrieve it so Audrey didn’t see me explode. As noted in previous blogs, we have the unfortunate circumstance that our child is subjected to a teacher that uses assessment instead of actually teaching – something I brought to the attention of the school administration and about which nothing has been done.

So, what’s the harm in assigning grades to stupid worksheets that don’t align with clear objectives, aren’t the products of actual instruction, and seem to make little or no sense? Well, the power of a number is that it implies certainty – something the clueless and cowardly in life cling to. It empowers the cowardly to make unwarranted claims about those under their supervision. It further disenfranchises those parents who feel they can do nothing in the face of the all-powerful teacher. The fact that she talks down to them all only reinforces their fears. So, there is power in numbers, and the unscrupulous teacher will use that power over students, parents, and whoever else may get in her way. Who cares if those numbers mean absolutely nothing?

Yes, I’m ranting. I’m angry. I’m angrier than I have ever been about a teacher – and believe me, I’ve been angry about teachers. As an administrator, it was my “job” to help struggling teachers, but it was also my job to career counsel some the hell out of the school if they were hurting kids. I believe it’s my moral obligation to be angry. As Freire reminds us, we have the obligation to be angry because of our capacity to love. If we love kids, then we MUST be angry when we see teachers hurting them.

Now, Audrey is not “hurt” by the report card. Not this time. And if we are forced to endure this woman for the year, she will never see a report card – at least as long as they continue to say absolutely nothing about what she does and does not know about second grade skills and competencies. My child will NEVER define herself by what this woman puts down and calls grades. But, I think about the other children in the class – those whose parents don’t realize how meaningless these grades are. How many children tonight are getting scolded or spanked because of these grades? How many children feel less about themselves because they’ve seen the grades and their parents have “explained” that it means they’re dumb?

Let me interrupt this rant to give you a bit of context. After all, how are you to know the extent to which I’m justified in my rant without the full back story? Audrey got a D, yes a D in “CATS” which we can only assume involves science and social studies – subjects the principal herself admitted aren’t taught because of NCLB. What was the basis for this grade? ONE worksheet on bus safety that had bizarre and confusing pictures with a cut and paste activity. Audrey brought it home – having missed 2/6 – upset because the pictures were so confusing. She shared with us how the images could mean more than one thing that that she was confused. I will now pause for this to soak in. A school does not teach science or social studies. Nevertheless, they have a “box” in which a grade must be placed. A teacher shows a film, passes out ONE worksheet, grades it, and then lets that one worksheet count for the entire quarter’s science and social studies grade – bus safety, mind you – hardly science OR social studies.

Moving on. . . . Audrey got a B in spelling. We’re not parents that insist on As because our child is brilliant. Please keep that in mind. We reviewed the grades on-line (which, by the way, privileges those parents who have access to Internet at home in a community with 50-60% poverty, but I digress), and discovered that her 85% was the result of three things: getting a 70% on her first spelling test because she forgot her punctuation on her dictation sentences (which, by the way, were never taught or practiced before the test and have absolutely nothing to do with spelling), a worksheet where she got a 70% because she used words from the larger spelling list instead of those relegated to a particular word box, and (the clincher) a 40% on a paper where she answered each fill-in-the-blank correctly, spelled each word correctly, but on the word box she underlined the words vs. circling them, and after all, the directions said to circle them before putting them in the sentences. She didn’t even put the grade on the paper because she knew we would scream – instead she tried to hide it in the grades on the computer and then averages it in with the rest.

So yes, I’m angry. I’m angry not only for my child but also for the 24 other children who must endure this “award winning” teacher. I’m angry about the parents who feel helpless tonight. I am angry about how this teacher will talk down to them Thursday night when she meets with them in parent conferences (by the way, we declined our conference) – the same way she talked to them on Parent Night. I am angry that the administration will not touch this 37-year veteran even though we are bringing up case after case of inhumane treatment of children. I am most angry about how other children in this class will begin to see themselves as a result of the utterly unprofessional and immoral acts of this woman.

Deep breaths. I know in some objective realm of “me” that this will pass and in one way or another Audrey will ultimately be “o.k.” It will take a LOT of work and perhaps a LOT of reinforcement to assure her that she is not the sum of her horrid second grade experience. I can’t help to think, though, that some of those 24 kids will not be o.k. This will be the beginning of a downward spiral regarding how they see themselves and how their parents see them. That’s what keeps me up at night.

Yeah. . . I don't think this is what Dewey had in mind. . .

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.

Giving Thanks

In part to try to diffuse the “Mama Bear” that has been engaged over the past couple of weeks and in part because it is long overdue, I want to take time to say thank you to the teachers that have touched our lives over the years. It only takes one bad experience to remind us how fortunate we are every time we get to partner with outstanding teachers. Rick and I have been incredibly blessed over the years with such teachers, and it’s high time we acknowledged their greatness.

Before I begin I’d like to offer one observation. I know that people are likely to assume professors of education will be overly harsh in their assessments of their children’s teachers. I’m sure I’ve done more than my share to reinforce this image in my past two blog posts. True, teacher educators and professors of other facets of education “know more” and can criticize more explicitly when it comes to work in schools. But frankly, that’s just half of the story. Yes, we know more, so we also know more deeply why great teachers are so great. We, more than the average parent, know the challenges schools face, so we know when they are overcoming countless obstacles to be great. Further, while we may advocate for specific forms of curriculum and pedagogy, we also support teaching as a profession, and thus will be the first in line to advocate for teacher autonomy. Therefore, as a professor of education with 23 years of experience in schools, I am truly humbled by the level of greatness my children have encountered over the years.

Thank you Mrs. Wilson. You have made the first three weeks of first grade welcoming and engaging for Niamh. She walks out of the building every day with a smile on her face. She bubbles over talking about the things going on in class. She has become the family expert on Hawaii, and she reads with confidence and enthusiasm. She looks forward to school every day. She feels loved and supported while she is there.

Thank you, Jamie Lester, and your family. You are an amazing soccer coach for our girls. In a mere three weeks you have taken two shy and pensive girls and taught them how to engage with others in the game. You’ve built their confidence and taught them skills that will help them in the future (whether they choose to stay in soccer or not). Your wife and daughter have joined in to encourage and support them. You’ve also taught Niamh that it isn’t about winning – a lesson Rick and I have tried to teach for years. You’ve done far more than just say “good job,” in general and easy ways. You’ve seen what they do well and how they’ve improved, and you’ve shared your observations with them so that they know how authentic your praise is.

Thank you, Carrie Skirvin. You made Niamh’s kindergarten experience absolutely amazing. The other day the girls were “picking” an age where they’d like to stay forever. Niamh said she wanted to stay five forever so she could stay with you in Super K. What I appreciate most of all was how much you enjoyed the children – laughing with them and making the classroom such a positive experience. I know you had an incredible span of abilities in that class – but the kids didn’t know that. In spite of the challenges of huge differences and the increased pressures to teach so much in kindergarten, you managed to do so lovingly and in a way that kept the kids excited about learning. Niamh has memories from Super K that will last a lifetime. We can never thank you enough.

Thank you, Patty Grever. You taught Audrey so much. You too had an incredible span of abilities in your class – and many needs among the students. You created a warm and supportive environment in the classroom where kids blossomed. You created a classroom climate where students supported one another and celebrated in one another’s achievements. You supported Audrey’s love of reading and learning and encouraged her in so many ways. You also made your classroom a welcoming place for parents. I don’t know how you managed your day when so many parents came in to speak with you, but you did – and what a difference that must have made. You clearly and daily demonstrated that education is a partnership between home and school.

Thank you, Mrs. Simpkins. As the principal of Grandview Elementary School you created a warm and supportive environment for children and their families. You greeted children and parents nearly every day – standing outside or at the front door. Whenever children wrote to you, you immediately wrote back and mailed the letters to their homes. You made sure there were no distinctions between the children who had resources at home and those who did not. You worked diligently to ensure the school had the resources it needed to help children and their families. You also made sure parents were around – lots of them – to help the children. I’ve never seen a school with such an active parent group. You wanted parents there to see the great things happening in the school – and for good reason. I wish all principals could see what you and the teachers have done for children and their families at Grandview.

Thank you, Mrs. Curtice. You taught Audrey so much in kindergarten. It was such a critical time in her life as an early reader, and you supported her growth in reading in consistent and meaningful ways. Even though it was a half-day program, you managed to provide outstanding instruction in reading, math, science, and social studies. You communicated with us regularly and welcomed parents to be involved. Thank you for supporting Audrey’s kindergarten year as a partnership between home and school.

Thank you, Miss Amy. We were doubly blessed that both our girls got to learn from you in pre-K. There’s so much that we appreciate from your class, that it’s hard to narrow it down to a paragraph. You got Niamh to cross the threshold on that first day (and many figurative thresholds thereafter). You helped her to become more independent while maintaining loving support. You sparked their love of science – something we hope that they don’t lose in the NCLB era of what isn’t tested isn’t taught. You helped them both learn what it means to learn with others. You also KNEW our children. You knew what their academic and social needs were – and you responded to those needs even when they may be very different from the needs of others in your class.

Thank you Mr. Matt. We are so thankful that both of our girls had your as their afternoon Pre-K teacher. When so many might blow off afternoons as times to just have fun, you taught them – often in subtle (dare I say sneaky?) ways so they didn’t realize they were learning. You also “saw” them – you knew the ins and outs of their learning and their socializing and supported them in both.

Thank you Miss Aida. What can I say about the two years we got to have you as a teacher? I say “we” because you were there for all of us. Some of my fondest memories of the girls’ experiences at “Horsey School” are the mornings when I sat at that table with you and helped the kids with their morning art. You made your classroom warm, welcoming, and comfortable for all of us. And the art – oh how our girls loved the art in your class! It’s hard to look over those books you put together and all the pictures from your room without getting teary.

Thank you Miss Irena. You were the first introduction to “school” that Audrey had, and I think it’s because of the amazing experiences in your class that she decided she wanted to become a teacher. I was always amazed at how much you were able to “teach” two-year-olds and how much you helped them grow and develop. I also appreciate how you were willing to ask hard questions. If you read into my body language that something was wrong, you didn’t hesitate to ask, “Is everything o.k.?” You helped me learn how to be a parent instead of a teacher. I am forever grateful for that.

Thank you Miss Jennifer. You were an amazing teacher both in and outside of school. You didn’t stop teaching after 6:00. You were just as willing to teach or redirect the girls when were in the middle of a play date, wandering through the Botanical Gardens, or eating out somewhere. We were so incredibly fortunate to have you there to watch our girls when we went away for conferences. I am honored to be your friend and partner in the girls’ education.

Thank you, Miss Sadika. You watched over my precious baby when she wasn’t even two years old. It was so hard to leave her there in those early days, but your warm smile assured me that everything would be o.k. – and it was more than o.k. You taught her as well. We can never thank you enough.

I know many others have had a hand in teaching Audrey and Niamh. I am thankful for music teachers, teachers’ aids, directors, and others who’ve touched their lives. I cannot go back and thank each of you as often as I should have over the years. I can only work to make sure I never take great teaching for granted again.

Thank you.

I promise I am a Much Better Advocate than Adversary: A Follow-up Note to My Daughter’s Teacher

Having just completed our conference, I want to make sure I completely understand your position on the concerns we raised.

Regarding the excessive competition in your room, you were, at best, dismissive. You did not deny that you have games with the children. You did not respond to our concerns that you often have boys compete against girls. You in no way indicated that you will change this practice. We made it very clear when expressing our concerns that setting up a classroom environment with such a competitive spirit – and in particular making that competition gender-based – can have long-lasting effects on how children perceive themselves as learners. Based upon your body language, it appears you are dismissing our concerns as overly academic.

When I expressed my concerns about your daily timed math, you had a solution: don’t come in anymore and don’t help me. That way, they won’t do it daily. When I expressed my concern regarding the explicit levels on the tests and how everyone in the class knows where everyone is in terms of performance, you were once again dismissive. I hope I made myself clear that if you actually put the children’s names on your rocket on the bulletin board – announcing to all those who pass by who is or is not performing in your class - that I will respond quickly and with utmost determination. I suggest you look up FERPA policies before you put that first named tack in place. It will save you and the school a significant amount of grief.

You made sure we knew that there were 25 children in each class – that moving Audrey was, unfortunately, not an option. We had not brought up this possibility. By the very fact that you brought it up, you let us know that you have no intentions of changing and that we are stuck with you. We will see what those above you have to say about that.

You tried to redirect our concerns to talk of developmental levels of second graders. I stopped you because I taught second grade for a number of years – and third, forth, seventh, and was an elementary and middle school administrator. You know that. Don’t try to derail serious conversations in a twenty-five minute conference. You then tried to imply that Audrey has merely found some way to get attention – that she knows this bothers us so she is using it. That shows how very little you know about our daughter and how little you’ve actually listened to us during this conference.

Given the short time we had and given your attempts to redirect the conversation from the actual issues, we didn’t not have much time to talk about your grading. Trust me, we will return to this issue with your administration. It is very clear that the items coming home with grades are not the products of instruction. This is not assessment OF instruction. They are not, in any way, informing you to differentiate in your classroom. Thus, they are not assessment FOR instruction. Rather, they are assessment IN PLACE OF instruction. While you may be able to force your way into creating a culture of competition in your classroom without much possibility of consequences from administration, you cannot get away with this. If I accomplish nothing else this year, I will make it my mission to ensure that you actually teach and that the grades on papers are actually and only the results of having taught.

In other words, you have forced me into the role of adversary. I resent this. Education should be a partnership. The focus should be on what is good and right FOR children – not for your ego or for your 37-year routine. I’ve not had to take on this role before. I can tell you that I truly believe I make a much, much better advocate than adversary. Instead of seeing Rick and I as resources, you see us as threats. Oddly enough, the highly competent teachers we’ve worked with up to this point have always seen us and used us as resources. As such, we’ve done everything we can to support what they do in the classroom. We haven’t changed. We still see the world the same way we did when our children were in preschool and in their previous school. So, the one factor that has shifted our roles is you.

So, it is quite possible that the next 155 days of school will be torture for the three of us. As I told you at the end of the conference, we want to be advocates. We want to support what is going on in school. However, we will not stay silent when we see things that are wrong. We will continue to challenge. We now must get others involved. I resent that your principal may also perceive us as adversaries because of the conditions you have put in place in your classroom. As we move ahead and attempt to deal with these issues, I want to make one thing absolutely and perfectly clear. These issues are between us. While they affect our daughter, she is not part of this conflict. Any indication otherwise would escalate this matter far beyond anything any of us would want to encounter.

When I was a middle school teacher I worked in a very urban area. I taught rival gang members in the same class and had to break up many conflicts – physical and otherwise. I learned very quickly that you do not put someone up against a wall, literally or figuratively, or you ensure that that person will come out swinging. You always have to provide a road to redemption. Otherwise, no progress can be made. We will do our best to maintain that road to redemption for you. You can make this year better, and we can return to the role of advocates – but it will take a lot of change on your part. We are willing to accept a wide range of teaching practices that we don’t’ like. That’s our compromise. However, we cannot and will not accept that issues we’ve brought forth in the conference and in this follow-up letter. In other words, these are deal breakers.

So, while you off-handedly mentioned that you would think about our concerns, we expect more than that. We expect to see change - real change - based upon what we have identified as very real issues in your classroom. These are not just parental whims. We have a long line of research backing up our position as well as the everyday practices of highly talented teachers everywhere. If we have to pull out the NCLB mandate that your practices must be research based, then we'll do so. If we have to pull out federal guidelines about the right to privacy for student performance, we'll do that as well. Frankly, I'd much rather spend my time helping a small math or reading group in your class or cutting out manipulatives for more engaged instruction. Your call.

Questions for my daughter's teacher

In preparation for our first (of what I assume will be many) conferences this year, I wanted to put on paper the questions I’ve wrestled with over the first two weeks of school.

1. Why do so many papers come home each week with percentages marked on them? We have just completed the second week of school. I was always under the impression that grades were assigned only after things have been taught and practiced to determine the degree to which the students had mastered the objectives covered. If that’s the case, then I would imagine, at a minimum, twenty minutes of instruction (and I am being generous here) have been provided per actual grade received. With that in mind, my child would have been in school at least 8.5 hours a day doing nothing but direct instruction – not including the time it has taken her to complete the pile of papers she has returned home. When those are factored in (as well as lunch, playtime and specials), I’d say she would need to be in class a minimum of 10 hours a day. Since that’s not the case, something isn’t measuring up with so much measuring.

2. Why is everything – and I do mean EVERYTHING – a competition? My child knows who is “ahead” of her in math. She also knows boys typically beat girls in math and that one student on her “team” can prevent her from earning smiley faces because he doesn’t put his things away quickly enough. She knows that the behavior of that one person then denies her the spoils of winning (e.g. a snack that the winners get to eat in front of the losers). In two weeks she has “learned” that learning isn’t important for its own sake – it’s important to beat others so that she can go to the prize box and get some old McDonald’s kid’s meal prize as a reward.

3. Why does so much measurement seem to have no relationship to instruction (if said instruction exists in the first place)? When my child misses the same problem on multiple worksheets and we ask her if you reviewed them, she says no. When I go in and record the performances of kids on their timed math (which, by the way is a FERPA violation, but that is for yet another blog post) and one child is still working on the same worksheet day after day, it would seem to me that the poor child needs instruction – not more of the same worksheet.

4. Do you honestly think that loving the kids is enough? I’ve come across a large number of ineffective teachers who, while they loved kids, had no idea how much damage they were causing by virtue of the way they were “teaching” those kids. At this point the only things I can be pretty sure about this year are that my daughter will learn very little. She will probably hate math by the end of the year, and she will expect to be rewarded for everything she does. Frankly, I’d prefer a teacher who merely tolerated kids but who knew how to teach.

5. Do you think doing something for 37 years automatically makes you an expert? Doing something year after year does not necessarily make it effective. There are lots of traditions in the world that have lasted longer than that but that have had devastating effects on communities. For example, child labor, lynching, and slavery all have a long history in this country. That doesn’t make them good practices. Longevity does not make something good – it just makes the number of people affected by it far too large. There are now probably generations of people in this community who hate math and who lost some if not all their love of learning while under your supervision.

Perhaps these questions seem harsh and unfair. The thing is that we’ve entrusted our child to you. She must be with you for seven hours each day. Rick and I are prepared to re-teach lessons that do not go well. If it were merely a matter of ineffective teaching, then we could compensate. But how do we compensate for the lessons you are teaching: you are defined by a series of numbers known as percentages; you are better than some and worse than others and the object of the game is to make sure the “worse than” number is greater than the “better than” number; the quality of life and the rewards you will receive will be based upon the choices of others – good or bad; because you are a girl you will not answer math questions fast enough, therefore you should always remember that boys are better at math than girls. . . . . ?

With six degrees in education and more than 55 years of teaching experience between us, Rick and I cannot correct the potential damage you could create with these lessons. So, with these concerns in mind, what do we do next????????????

Homework Lamentations

I hate homework. This is not a simple exasperation from a mom tired of sitting at the kitchen table. No, this is an enduring hate that began years ago. I do not remember much about the daily homework I had as a student (in and of itself an indictment for the hours wasted on it). I’m sure I hated it. Don’t all kids? I do recall some meaningful projects completed at home. I remember writing fifty poems out and putting them in a folder in fifth grade – all poems written with different magic markers and illustrated. While I now question the merit of such an assignment, I have to admit that I learned to love poetry spending all that time writing the poems. I also remember the card table I had in the corner of the living room while I spent an entire spring break working diligently on the seventh grade science report sbout nuclear incidents. I remember the essays I had to write for AP English – and how I seemed to park myself at the dining room table for days, pouring over the text to try to make it sound “smart.” I also remember the one writing project that made me really think – trying to explore whether Daniel Defoe developed his characters as a way to justify his own life choices. I also remember projects that were more a test of endurance for my parents than any measure of learning – the ocean diorama in fifth grade, the “art” project where my mom sewed felt on a Pringle can so I could make it into a dog.

My true disdain for homework began when I became a teacher. As a new teacher I was informed that I had to give homework. I didn’t see the point in asking my second graders to do work at home if I’d done my job in the classroom. And selfishly, I really didn’t want that much more to grade. I was taking home a folder for each of 20-24 students every night and grading page after page of spelling, math, writing, etc. Why would I want to add even more to grade? Nevertheless, I complied. And what is the best subject for elementary homework? Why, spelling of course. It’s not the best because students need that much reinforcement in spelling. It’s the best because it’s the easiest to assign. “Write your words three times each. Use them in a sentence. Write definitions for each.” Who didn’t have this as homework in elementary school? I’d be willing to bet most if not all of us had this kind of experience at one point or another. Sadly, I must admit that I administered the same tasks to my poor students in those early years. In part to save myself from a paperwork nightmare and in part because I began to realize the crazy lives of families, I soon told families that they had the week to do the assignments. They could turn it all in on Friday. If they chose to do it all in one day it would be fine.

After a year or two of the angst-inducing spelling homework, I finally decided that homework should be individualized. To do this, I developed contracts with each family. I reasoned that parents knew their children’s needs and their needs as families, so they could determine what would be reasonable and supportive for their children. I would be a resource. When my assistant principal saw a copy of the contact a student left in the hallway, I thought she was going to have a heart attack. It scared her. What would others think if they learned that MY parents could negotiate homework for their children?!

When I started teaching seventh grade language arts, I shifted my focus in homework. I tried to think of things that students would actually want to do – to see a genuine need to do. If they had homework in vocabulary, it was to support what we were doing in class and had natural benefits (as well as extra credit). At other times I’d offer extra credit for crazy assignments: “Turn your t.v. off for a minimum of fifteen minutes and talk as a family – eye contact while talking is a plus.” At other times I would give extra credit to students if they listened to “My Word” on NPR or if they taught their parents the kooky grammar songs I’d taught them in class. The administration never complained. The kids were learning.

Now, I’m on the true dark side of homework: the parent. I wince at the one-size-fits-all obligatory and mindless work my daughter is bringing home. My only consolation at this point is that she is in second grade, so the time we spend on it is minimal. As she gets older and the stakes get higher, I can only imagine my frustration. I resent the time the school will steal from our family – time that should be spent in meaningful ways and in warm conversations, fun time together, quiet moments, and actually learning.

I’m plotting for those days. I’m thinking that there has to be a way to demand that work my children are asked to do is reasonable and leads to growth. Perhaps there’s a way to develop a 504 plan for my girls that excludes all homework that is more concerned with the perception of rigor than actual support of learning. Perhaps I could argue in these plans that my children cannot be exposed to irrelevant and mind-numbing wastes of time. I could argue that in order to support their health and well-being, the school must ensure that their time at home be spent engaged in meaningful experiences with family. Now THAT would be a form of accountability – being held accountable that the well-being of children and their families are protected at night – that I could support.

Dear Grandview, Oh how I miss you!

Yet another year has passed without much attention to the blog. While not an excuse, we’ve moved yet again, and much of last year was spent either getting used to a new community or preparing to move on to yet another.

The hardest part of our move this year was leaving Bellevue and Grandview Elementary. We were so fortunate to be part of the Grandview community last year, and our girls could not have had better teachers. Both Mrs. Skirvin and Mrs. Grever were absolutely fantastic. Our girls grew so much in their classes. Yes, they learned a great deal and experienced “success” on all measures that the schools and state of Kentucky thought were important. More importantly, they grew in their love and excitement about learning. They became more comfortable with who they are, and they learned how to be part of something bigger than themselves.

Now we are in the early weeks of Public School #2. I have to confess that it is very hard to not compare this school with Grandview as much as I realize it is not fair to do so. Grandview is truly unique, and I cannot imagine many schools achieving what they have.

Nevertheless, we cannot help but compare the two schools to some degree – not as a matter of blame, but as a way to try to better understand the context in which we find ourselves. The first issue we’ve had to overcome is the loss of the community school. Everyone walked to Grandview and chatted along the way; they also walked into the school where Mrs. Simpkins, the principal, greeted them, and they were able to say good morning to the teachers. We underestimated the importance of this sense of community. We knew the kids and their parents (or grandparents). We were able to have simple “running jokes” with the teachers that may or may not directly relate to the kids. We were able to handle challenges because we celebrated the mundane together.

Now we are in a school that has combined communities. It is located on a hill (after all, we live in a mountainous area), so there is no feasible way to park and walk into the school. Everyone arrives at the school either by car or bus. I do not know the parents. I hardly know the teachers or the rest of the school staff. The school is a big (albeit new) box in which my children enter each day and upon which they exit at the end of the day. As newcomers to the area, we area struggling with trying to help the girls make friends. After all, we cannot strike up conversations with their parents as we come to school in the morning or while we stand outside at the end of the day like we did before. We send notes home with the other children in hopes that their parents will respond. In addition, we try to interpret policies for homework, school rules, and district policies. Where we may have just asked the teacher or principal in passing last year to clarify something, now we have to rely on assumptions or draft emails in hopes to get clarification from teachers or others

I realize this is common in schools. Most schools are not community schools. Even those that are (and while in Atlanta I was a substitute at a number of them in Decatur), most parents are kept at safe distance on the front lawn most days. I also realize that such connection inside the school could become distracting and keep the teachers from preparing for the day. After all, I was an elementary school teacher and administrator in the past. I realize how precious that early morning time is. Nevertheless, Grandview managed to create a welcoming space for families in the morning. Further, families rarely – if ever – abused the privilege of entering the building. In exchange for their creating this space, Mrs. Simpkins and the teachers created a vibrant community that clearly demonstrated that educating the children of Grandview was a community effort.

My challenge to our girls’ current school – and for all schools stuck on hills (literal or metaphorical) is to create spaces where you can be community schools. I truly believe much of what affects truancy, discipline, etc. (all factors in AYP) could be drastically improved in schools if parents felt more connected. Creating and sustaining shared and welcoming spaces for all the stakeholders in the children’s lives is not so radical. It would take so little in terms of time or other resources. The one dwindling resource most critical, however, would be imagining what is possible.