By Tom White

There’s a family at our school from the Ukraine. Each
morning, the mom walks her five kids to our school, drops off the two oldest
children at the flagpole and then walks back home with the three youngest. But
before she leaves, she swings past my classroom to check on Alex. She looks
through the window, catches his eye, and smiles. Then she waves to me and
repeats the same procedure outside her other son’s room. She wants to make
sure they made it safely into their classrooms. Later, when school’s over, she
waits for her two oldest kids at the flagpole, and she smiles at me when she
sees Alex. And I smile back.

The Ukrainian mom does not sign permission slips for her
sons to go on field trips. She’s not comfortable with the idea of letting them
leave the school, so she usually keeps them home on those days.

Last week, while I was collecting permission slips for an
upcoming field trip, Alex asked to spend the day in his older brother’s
classroom so that he wouldn’t have to stay home. I spoke with the other teacher
to make the arrangements and we talked briefly about the family. We agreed that
the Ukrainian mom was “over-protective.”

That’s right. We derisively called this wonderful mom “over-protective.”

This one got to me more than the others. Maybe it was the
proximity to Christmas. Or maybe it was the age of the victims.

Or maybe this time we have to face the fact that we’re
entirely unable to protect our most innocent and our most vulnerable from our
most evil. And their weapons.

Like you, I’m supposed to go back to school tomorrow and
talk to my students. I’m supposed to make them feel safe. I’m sure I’ll think
of something. And we’ll get through the day, and then the week and then the
year.

But I’ll tell you this: I have no idea what to say to the
over-protective Ukrainian mom when I see her at the flagpole.

I’m not even sure I’ll be able to look her in the eye.

By Tom White

The American Federation of Teachers (the other teachers’
union) recently came out with a
proposal to have the National Board develop a pre-service evaluation for
teachers. They believe that by testing prospective teachers before they enter
the classroom, we can elevate the level of our nation’s teachers and thus
improve student learning. For obvious
reasons, the National Board (and by proxy, Pearson, Inc.) would
be more than happy to develop – and sell – another pre-service evaluation. And
they would probably do a pretty good job of it. For their part, the AFT wants
this new test to “raise the bar,” giving induction into education the same
status and complexity as induction into law. I disagree.

Continue reading →

By Tom White

According to a recent
report by the Strategic Data Project out of Harvard University, National
Board Certified Teachers make an enormous impact on their students. To wit: “On
average, NBCTs outperform other teachers with the same levels of experience by
0.07 standard deviations in elementary math.” While that might mean something
to you, I was not the “numbers guy” in my family. That would be my brother
Steve. Fortunately, the Strategic Data Project saw me coming and offered
this translation: “These effects are roughly equivalent to two months of
additional math instruction.”

If that’s true – and I have no reason to doubt Harvard
University – that means that the State of Washington is getting an enormous
bargain. Let me try to explain:

First we have to accept elementary math data as a proxy for
general teaching effectiveness. We also have to assume that the data can be
generalized from Los Angeles, where the study was conducted, to Washington,
which is where I live. I see no reason why we can’t accept either premise. So
we can presume that NBCTs in Washington are having a positive effect equivalent
to two additional months of instruction. Two months of instruction is roughly
20 percent of the school year, which means that NBCTs are 20 percent more
effective than their non-NBCT colleagues.

The average teacher’s salary in Washington is about $50,000.
Let’s assume for now that compensation is provided as an exchange for the
effect teachers have on their students. If NBCTs have a twenty percent greater
effect on students than non-NBCTs, it stands to reason that NBCTs are worth twenty percent more. If I’m not
mistaken, twenty percent of $50,000 is $10,000. Therefore, in a perfect world,
NBCTs should be earning $10,000 more.

They aren’t. In Washington State, NBCTs receive an annual
stipend of $5,090. There are currently 6,173 NBCTs in our state. Paying them each
a bonus costs us a little over $31 million. Obviously, that’s not nothing, but apparently
it’s only half of what they’re worth. Washington State is getting more than its
money’s worth. Twice as much.

That’s what I call a bargain. And it’s something worth
remembering as the legislative season heats up and lawmakers are looking for
stuff to cut.

By Tom

In recognition of "Score Release Day" the writers here
at Stories from School are focusing this week on National Board Certification.
We're recognizing and connecting with the new NBCTs, offering our congratulations
and welcoming them into the community of accomplished teachers.

Achieving National Board Certification is incredibly difficult. At
least it was for me. So to all the new NBCTs out there, congratulations! You’ve
done something amazing, not only for yourselves, but for your students.
Celebrate. Live it up.

But I want to focus on a certain subset of National Board
Certified Teachers: the retakers. (Or as the National Board calls them, the “Advanced
Candidates”) As you probably know, the National Board essentially gives
candidates three years in which to certify. Those who don’t certify the first year
can bank their higher scores and redo the parts in which they fell short. And
if they need to, they can do it again the next year.

I am in
awe of those teachers.

Not
because I’m one of them, but precisely because I’m not. When I went through the
process, twelve years ago, I certified – not by much – but by enough. Had I
fallen short, I’m pretty sure I would have turned the page on the whole sorry
episode, chalked it up to unfounded hubris, and moved on. Sort of like my
failed attempt to climb Mt. Baker. (See figure A)

Since
certifying, I’ve had the opportunity to work with dozens of candidates. Some of
them certify and some don’t. And of those who don’t, some try again and some don’t.
Those who try again – who go through the anger and grief of not certifying; yet
ultimately dust themselves off and go through it again; those candidates are my
favorites. I admire their grit; their persistence, their perseverance
and their endurance. And thier humility

Obviously,
everyone wants to certify the first time around. That’s the goal. Not only is
it more efficient, but it’s cheaper. NB certification, however, is an
assessment. And like all assessments, it doesn’t always accurately measure what
it’s supposed to measure. In my experience, the biggest barrier for most
candidates is their ability to clearly communicate, in written form, how their
teaching measures up to the standards. Being a good teacher is one thing; being
able to write about it is something else altogether, and it’s that “something
else” that frequently prevents good teachers from certifying.

But
National Board Certification is more than an assessment. It’s also a very
powerful process of professional development. By mandating self-analysis and
reflection, it makes teachers better, whether they certify or not. It stands to
reason that those teachers who spend two or three years immersed in this process
get more out of it than the rest of us. Not that they’d want it that way, of
course, but still.

So here’s
to you guys. The retakers. The advanced candidates. You tried to climb that
mountain, but failed. Then you tried again and made it. Some of you had to try
three times. You’ve shown persistence, perseverance and endurance. You’re role
models for the rest of us who worry about trying something difficult; something
we might not accomplish.

You’re exactly
the kind of people who should be teaching.

By Tom White

It’s often said that receiving unsolicited advice always
sounds like criticism. That’s unfortunate, since giving unsolicited advice isn’t
usually intended as criticism; it’s usually just one person looking at another
person and articulating where there’s room for improvement. Which, now that I
think about it, is a pretty good definition of criticism.

So it’s in that spirit that I’m about to give advice to the
National Board. Advice that is entirely unsolicited. Keep in mind that I love
the National Board. I love what it stands for and I love what it’s done for the
teaching profession. In fact, other than marriage and fatherhood, National
Board Certification is perhaps the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But
just like marriage and fatherhood, National Board Certification is not quite
perfect.

And they apparently know this. In fact, under their new
leadership, they’ve signaled that big
changes are in the works; changes that will hopefully make the National Board
more relevant to the current educational landscape, while making the
certification process more accessible to today’s teachers, and without
compromising the high standards that are at their core. So here goes:

Continue reading →

By Tom White

It was a beautiful spring day in the great Pacific
Northwest; my third graders had just spent the morning meeting their pen pals
for the first time. After corresponding with them for eight months, we were at
Edmonds Beach during a really low tide, looking at all sorts of marine
creatures and getting pleasantly muddy. Now we were on the ferry, having lunch
on the sun deck with our new friends as the boat sailed across Puget Sound. We
got to the other side, disembarked and milled around on the dock, planning to
catch the same boat back so we could enjoy some more time at the beach before
returning to school.

That’s where the ferry worker found me. “Are you in charge
of this field trip?” He looked concerned.

“Theoretically,” I said. “Why, is there a problem?”

“Yes. It seems the Edmonds dock has been damaged. They need
a new part to fix it. It’ll take about five hours before we can send another
boat back across. I just thought you should know.”

No conversation about the invisible realities that affect
teachers’ lives would be complete without bringing up field trips. There’s
nothing I hate – and love – more than taking my students out into the world for
some hands-on learning.

They take an incredible amount of time.

Continue reading →

By Tom White

Last Monday night, many of us watched the Seattle Seahawks
beat the Green Bay Packers with a controversial touchdown pass. Then we watched
it again, and again and again. It was an interesting play; two “referees” saw
the same thing from pretty much the same angle, but while the guy on the left
saw an interception, the guy on the right saw a touchdown. (See Figure A) The guy on the left then deferred to his colleague and they ruled it a touchdown. It was immediately challenged by the Packers. So the refs went off the field to watch it again and talk about it. Three commercials
and 17 replays later, they came back onto the field and ruled it a touchdown.
Seahawks win, 14 to 12.

Four days later, on Friday morning, the faculty at my school
sat down to watch some very different film. We watched Teachscape videos. Our district is
complying with the new teacher evaluation system by using the Charlotte
Danielson evaluation model, and we’re using Teachscape to support it.
Consequently, we get to spend the majority of our professional development time
watching teaching videos and talking about whether the teaching is
unsatisfactory, basic, proficient or distinguished.

Continue reading →

By Tom White

On the way to the grocery store last Saturday I listened to a wonderful essay called “The
Presumption of Decency.” The essential message was that we should presume
the best in people, even if we disagree with their views, and it was clearly
directed at the current presidential campaign. Then on Sunday I read a
column by Eugene Robinson in which he calls for an end to rampant teacher
bashing, specifically to the penchant education reformers seem to have for
blaming teacher unions for the dismal quality of education in our nation’s
poorest neighborhoods.

I couldn’t help but draw a connection between the two and
ask the dreamy question, “What if?” What if both sides of the education-reform
debate stopped fighting and started working together? (And if you don’t think
these two sides are actually fighting each other, it’s time to come down from
Candyland and read Class
Warfare by Steven Brill and The
Death and Life of the Great American School System by Diane Ravitch.)

Continue reading →

By Tom
White

I was asked to switch from third grade to fourth grade this year.
I'm enjoying the change, but one of the realities I'm facing is the increased
emphasis on writing instruction. Third graders learn how to write paragraphs,
while fourth graders learn how to write with paragraphs.
Consequently, I've turned to the five paragraph essay: an effective, flexible starting
point for young writers.

Like it or not, the five paragraph format is effective. There's something
appealing about introducing a topic, expanding on it in three, detailed
paragraphs and finishing with a succinct conclusion. If you can give three good
reasons for holding an opinion, then you’ve got something. If you can’t, then
you don’t. As there was no way I could come up with three good reasons why my
mom should let me play with the lawn darts after my trip to the emergency room,
the darts stayed hidden. Understanding the five-paragraph format is a useful
tool for anyone with an opinion or an agenda.

It’s flexible.
Not only does it work as an essay, but it also comes in handy when writing
short stories. You introduce the characters and setting in the first paragraph,
throw in a beginning, middle and end and wrap up the story with a fifth
paragraph and boom: you’ve got yourself a story. Other uses come quickly to
mind: fairy tales, pourquoi tales, even the standard three-part joke can trace
its roots to the five-paragraph format. Once you’ve mastered the five paragraph
essay, the sky’s the limit.

Although
teachers and assessors may tire of the five-part, formulaic pablum put forth by
fourth graders, working with young writers is a challenging endeavor. Good
teachers know how to use scaffolds; and the five-part format is just that.
Think of it as a literary algorithm. Or better yet, imagine John Coltrane or
Andre Previn in their youth, banging out “Hot Cross Buns” and “Ode to Joy”
while their parents patiently endured those tough times, knowing their future
virtuosos had to master the basics before they could conquer the world. Like it
or not, kids are not born knowing how to write.

There’s no
shame in teaching the five paragraph essay. Not for me, anyway. Writing is
easily the most complicated thing we teach. Students need a place to start;
something they can grasp and understand and then improvise on. It's time to give the time-honored five-parter it's due.

By Tom White

As I understand it, the primary form of professional development in Japan is something called Lesson Study; a model in which a team of teachers collaborates on the planning and delivery of a lesson. One lesson. The whole team decides on a topic, picks a lesson and then plans it. Once the lesson plan is complete, one member teaches the lesson to a group of students while the rest of the team studies how the lesson plays out. Their focus is on the students’ interaction with the learning activity. After the lesson, the entire team compares notes, analyzing and reflecting on the lesson. This debriefing session usually evolves into a revision of the lesson, to be taught by a different teacher and observed again by the rest of the team. Only when they’re satisfied with the lesson does the team move on to a different lesson.

It’s important to note that during the observation and the debriefing, the focus is always on the lesson, not the teacher. Furthermore, the lesson is always referred to as “our lesson.” And rightly so, since it was crafted by the team, not the teacher who presented it. This makes lesson study an extremely “safe” way to get teachers out into each other’s rooms and talking about teaching.

I love Lesson Study. I’ve used it in my own school and I’ve help get it going in other schools. What I particularly love is the focus on The Lesson – the most underrated element of teaching; the singular point in which the teacher, the school and the curriculum come into direct contact with the student.

The primary purpose of Lesson Study is the creation of good, tested lessons. That’s why they do it in Japan, where Lesson Study originated during the post-war years. Lesson Study in America also yields quality lessons, but in my experience, the real benefit is the incidental learning that goes on throughout the entire process. As teachers discuss every part of the lesson, they each call upon their experience and training to come up with ideas to share. They listen to each other and debate the possibilities, all the while refining and expanding their own philosophies and teacher tool-kits, thereby benefitting the rest of the thousand-or-so lessons they teach each year. It’s extremely
powerful, especially with a mixture of young and “seasoned” teachers.

Despite all this, Lesson Study hasn’t really caught on in America. This doesn’t surprise me, and I can think of at least three reasons why it hasn’t – and likely won’t – take root in this nation.

First of all, Lesson Study is too gradual for our country. Productive, professional discourse notwithstanding, Lesson Study’s output of two or three quality lessons per year is simply too glacial for a nation that prefers “school reform” over slow, sustainable improvement. We don’t want our low-performing schools to simply “get better;” we want them to “turn around.” Unlike Japan, we want Results Now. In regards to professional development, Japan joined a gym, while America invented liposuction. Ironically, Japan – plodding along with Lesson Study – has become an educational superstar, while American schools, despite our Results Now mentality, haven’t changed a whole lot over the past twenty years.

Besides that, I don’t think there’s enough trust in this country between groups of stakeholders that teachers, working without an administrator or without an “expert” are actually “working.” I recently worked with a group of teachers in Washington D.C., facilitating the formation of two Lesson Study groups. The biggest concern they had was protecting the process and their work from their principal, who they felt would want to either influence their lessons or turn the “study” into another form of evaluative observation. This makes sense, considering that principals are under intense pressure to increase test scores. PD time is precious, and it’s hard to justify squandering it on something that won’t yield immediate, measurable changes in data.

Finally, Lesson Study is simply too simple and too cheap for America, a nation that doesn’t take any professional development model seriously until Corwin Press has had its way with it. It’s not that you can’t find a book about Lesson Study – you can; but you can also reread the first paragraph of this post and save yourself $24.95. It really is that simple. Lesson Study is the minimalist’s model of professional development. The haiku of PLC’s, if you will. In fact, the teachers with whom I was working in D.C. had, within the first hour, and without so much as a binder, figured out the basic process and begun adapting the model so it would work in their school. By the second hour, they had formed their two groups and were working on a set of norms that would guide their meetings. By the fourth hour, one group had starting planning a lesson in which their students would use primary documents dealing with the Iroquois Confederation to write historically accurate recipes using the foods available to the Native People. The other group was working on an activity in which students would look at global patterns of lactose intolerance and make connections to the history of colonialism.

Very cool lessons; but what was even cooler were the conversations they were having: What constitutes a primary document? What’s the operative difference between guided and independent practice? What’s the biology behind lactose intolerance? Why is there so little health data from
Somalia? Should we let the students try to make sense out of a color-coded map before or after we tell them what the colors represent? What exactly is an anticipatory set? How could different tribes eat such different foods and still get adequate nutrition? These discussions, focused on both content and pedagogy, happened without either an expert or an administrator.

Lesson Study is the epitome of high-quality, job-embedded professional development. It’s simple, powerful and effective. It gets teachers talking about their craft and it gets them into each other’s rooms to watch each other teach.

It’s perfect, and it will never catch on in this country.

It’s too bad.