Framing the Debate on Immigration

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Statue of Liberty seen from the Circle Line ferry, Manhattan, New York

I would be willing to guess that most people born in the United States have at least one immigrant in their family. Immigrants are people who settle in a country other than the one in which they were born. This can be said of most of our ancestors. Unless you identify as “Native American,” a member of an indigenous tribe here in the United States, you are likely the descendant of immigrants. Immigration is a permanent and important part of our shared history in the United States. Despite this shared history, every day in my newsfeed, I witness a heated debate about immigration. 

One important piece of that debate is terminology. I see people use the terms, “immigrant,” “documented immigrant,” “undocumented immigrant,” and “refugee” interchangeably. I also see some use other terms, more derogatory terms that seek to dehumanize others, which only work to divide us. Since this post focuses on creating a shared understanding, I will not share those here. 

When we use “immigrant,” “documented immigrant,” “undocumented immigrant,” and “refugee” interchangeably, we are confusing the conversation. It is essential when discussing people coming to our nation seeking refuge that we use the appropriate terminology, otherwise, we have the tendency to group all people and “other” anyone not born in the United States. This leads to fear and isolation, neither of which connects our communities or makes them stronger. 

Here are the basic definitions of the three terms:

Immigrant: A person who comes to live permanently in a foreign country.

Documented Immigrant: A person who comes to live in a foreign country, either permanently or temporarily, having the appropriate legal documentation. 

Undocumented Immigrant: A person who comes to live in a foreign country, either permanently or temporarily, not having the appropriate legal documentation.

Refugee: A person who has been forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster and has been granted legal refuge in a foreign country.  

More importantly, behind each of these terms, is a person – a man, woman or child – with a story. As the teacher at the Newcomer Center at Joel E. Ferris High School in Spokane, Washington, I have the honor of being the first teacher for some of the immigrant and refugee children in our country. In the United States, public schools are responsible for educating all students and cannot check a student’s immigration status or otherwise discriminate on the basis of a students national origin. As a public school teacher, I get to know these students and their families as people, hear their stories and understand their cultures. It’s incredible. These stories are what is missing from the debate I read about each and every day. Here are just a few: 

Sara is a refugee. She came to the United States from Kenya. She was originally from Sudan, but war and persecution in her home country forced her family to flee their nation in order to find hope and life in a foreign country. During their journey to refuge, they walked on foot for hundreds of miles and spent several months hiding in caves. When they finally arrived at the refugee camp in Kenya, they struggled to provide enough food for the family and lacked sufficient water. Due to this upheaval, Sara had severely interrupted formal education. They applied for refuge as a family. After seven years of waiting, they were granted legal entrance into the United States. Sara came as an eighth grader. Despite her limited formal education prior to coming to the U.S., Sara graduated from high school only five years after coming to our country. She entered University and is studying to be a nurse. She applied for and took the exam to become a U.S. citizen as a freshman in college. She is now a U.S. citizen and productive member of our community. 

Jesus was a documented immigrant who became undocumented. Jesus came to the U.S. with his mother, brother, and sister. His mother was working in a law firm in Mexico, but after she discovered corruption in her office, she feared for her family’s safety and decided to move to the U.S. She applied for and was granted a six-month work visa. After moving to the U.S., she had some difficulty finding work that matched her skills, but found a job on an orchard. She attempted to extend her work visa, but was denied. Back in Mexico, her former boss had been arrested, and feared returning home until she knew it was safe for her children. She overstayed her visa, and the family became undocumented. Jesus, the oldest son, wants to attend university to work with computers. He is an excellent student, but is not sure there is a path for him to attend college. He hopes one day he can a U.S. citizen. 

Linda was an undocumented immigrant from El Salvador who became documented. She came to the United States because of extreme violence due to civil war in her nation. Her life and the lives of her family members were in danger, and they had to flee their home. They fled on foot, crossed rivers, road on busses and trains to get to the border. They crossed the border at the southern end of our nation and took refuge with a church, who fed their family, clothed them, and gave them a safe place to stay as they attempted to navigate the immigration process. After countless more Salvadorians entered our nation due to the civil war, the U.S. finally granted them temporary protected status, opening a way to citizenship. After a lengthy and difficult process, Linda received her Green Card, became a permanent resident, and after fifteen years became a U.S. citizen. She works as a Paraeducator, helping to instruct students who are going through similar traumatic experiences.

It is important as we address immigration in our nation that we understand the difference between documented and undocumented immigrants, and refugees. It also is important that we be compassionate and empathetic to the circumstances under which most people leave their home countries in search of refuge in the United States. While refugees are granted entry to the U.S. due to violence and persecution in their home countries, it is clear that many documented and undocumented immigrants also seek entry into the U.S. for equally dire reasons that are not yet recognized for refugee status. No one wants to leave their home. It is not easy and takes a toll on themselves and their families. But what would you do if your children’s lives were in danger? Moreover, what I have come to learn the most as the Newcomer Center teacher is that immigrants and refugees who come to this nation are dedicated, focused, and determined to give back to this country. They are committed to becoming productive and successful members of our communities and they succeed in doing so. 

*Names and minor details such as locations in each story were changed to ensure identify protection.

Teacher Leaders: Letting Our Light Shine

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Education, Professional Development, Teacher Leadership

Early in May, the Washington Teacher Advisory Council hosted a conference with the title Vision and Voice: The Future Is Now. Award-winning educators from all over the state gathered to share ideas and learn from one another. The conference was packed with high-powered teacher leaders that I admire- educators with blogs I love, whose podcasts I listen to, whose advice I have taken, and whose encouragement has bolstered me. We even kicked off our first evening with a keynote from the newly minted National Teacher of the Year, Mandy Manning. What an amazing experience to be among my educator heroes!

As I reflect on that event, I am so grateful to all of the amazing teacher leaders I have encountered over my career, and I know that their impact on my own practice has been immeasurable. I never fail to be inspired. I always learn. I return to my classroom reinvigorated and ready to shine my own light.

I teach English, so I my love of figurative language should come as no surprise. When I think of “light” as a metaphor for learning– from the proverbial “light bulb” moment to “lighting a fire,” these images work for me. As an educator, I’m all about creating light, spreading it, and feeling its warmth.

But there can be more to it than just bringing your light to your classroom and sharing it with your students. If you have talents to share, if you can inspire others, then you may see it as your responsibility to become a teacher leader. You’ve heard the phrase, “Don’t hide your light under a bushel,” right? We have the responsibility to give back to our colleagues, our communities and our profession whenever we are able.

That phrase about the bushel sticks with me. So often, as a professional, as a woman, as a child of poverty, I was in situations in which I was expected to know my place, to stay quiet, to comply and fade into the background. Something inside me has always rebelled at this, some idea that I can do more good for others if I stop dwelling on my own insecurities or a twisted sense of modesty or humility. (See Imposter Syndrome Ted Talk)

In a letter to her younger self, Hilary Clinton tells how her sixth grade teacher told her not to hide her light under a bushel basket. She passes this advice on to other young girls in this Teen Vogue article.

So what is this “bushel basket” all about? It’s from the New Testament. In the King James version Matthew 5:15 says, “Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.” Now, historically, a bushel was a container for goods, such as grain, that became a unit of measure. So this is a bit weird in modern terms. But you get the idea. In this context, the light could be your faith, but it can also be your wisdom, your learning, your spark. Why hide a light?

 

Beyond that, if you have it, share it. An old Italian proverb says, “A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.” We educators know that sharing our wisdom, our learning and our knowledge is the greatest gift we have to give. When it is needed, we must be ready to share. And we lose nothing in the sharing of it.

It’s relatively easy to go to our individual classrooms and share our knowledge. Teacher leaders take it a step further: staff trainings, mentoring, coaching, conference presentations, blogging, etc. That light that such teachers share grows exponentially.

We all have different talents, viewpoints, strategies and solutions to share. There are many paths to leadership, as varied as the individuals themselves. Some lead by supporting their colleagues on a day-to-day basis. Others take their show on the road, spreading their light leading professional development or giving keynote speeches. Some blog or participate in chats on Twitter. Some take a path that leads them out of the classroom and into administration, but, as long as their hearts are still in the classroom, they lead as teachers.

Now let me take this a step further. Where there is light, there is darkness. And let’s face it; there have been some dark moments in our schools recently. There are dark issues faced by our students and our colleagues. To fight the darkness, we need to rally behind the light. We teachers can do so much to help our students as they face the future, as they become the problem-solvers of tomorrow. As Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., famously said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” (from his “Love Your Enemies” speech) 

 

Don’t we have a responsibility to lead? To lead our students, and perhaps also our colleagues and communities? Find your way to bring the light. As Oprah Winfrey says, “You have to find what sparks a light in you so that you, in your own way, can illuminate the world.” (from the finale show) 

As for me, I’m all in on this light metaphor. I’m going to let my light shine, and, furthermore, “I am on until I am dead, like a light bulb,” as Henry Rollins once said. (from Henry Rollins: Still Angry After All These Years, LA Weekly)

So, get out there and shine, my teacher leader friends. You are needed now more than ever to strengthen our profession and guide our students through troubling times.

Remember:
“Nothing can dim the light which shines from within.” – Maya Angelou

 

Letter to a T-shirt in the Bookstore Window:

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Current Affairs, Education

Dear T-shirt:

I agree with you we should Celebrate STEM! But I could do without the exclamation point.

Don’t get me wrong, I like science, technology, math and the like. I seriously like electric light, heat, washing machines, and toasters. I just think your exclamation point is a bit much. And, yes, I am an English teacher and hold my own biases, but I, honestly, am as interested in dark matter as I am in doppelgangers. I love physics, but just can’t do the math. What I’m concerned about is the implied hierarchy, or prominence the exclamation point insists upon.

The exclamation point is not often used (or is discouraged) for good reason. It has power. Implies strong feelings or shouting. It is an exclamation. An imperative. All of this implies STEM should or has the right to eclipse other subjects. What would happen if you were surrounded by fellow T-shirts with similar emblazonment? Celebrate Art! Celebrate Humanities! Celebrate Social Sciences! That’s a lot of imperatives.

Truth is, I like you, shirt, I really do, and I’m concerned about you. I actually think the exclamation point is not good for you either. I don’t think everyone should learn Calculus. Or learn how to code. Or learn how to scan a poem, for that matter. I don’t think everyone should do all of these things, because everyone is not necessarily suited to them. Dabbling is great, as it allows for discovery, and everyone should dabble (hence my reading in theoretical physics, and my coding classes, etc.) as it helps cull us into the people we will become (or are constantly becoming). I guess what I am saying is that everyone should get to explore each element of education as they wish, and that I wish our culture could mellow out about it. STEM isn’t a celebrity, why treat it that way linguistically?

I recently read that in Finland students get as many hours of music instruction as they do math. It is just the way things are; the subjects are integrated—as subjects are naturally. For a grand example, see Malcom Gladwell’s Revisionist History episode called Divide and Conquer where he makes a case for Texas’ right to become five states thus multiplying their influence in all elections is already granted by congress all because of a semi-colon.

All this cultural campaigning for STEM is odd to me as it is already central to most school curriculum and this campaigning mostly means to make it central to funding and student interest. It helps create access for students, and I respect that. I also dream of an education system that stops trying to prepare students for “jobs we can’t imagine” (what else has education always done?) and just educates them in a way that allows them to become the best version of themselves, and apply transferable cognitive and physical skills to whatever task is before them. I believe if we make students interested enough in their world, and give them skills to discover things independently and collaboratively, we’ll have all sorts of weird and wild Einsteins.

I love the weird and wild Einstein. I love him because he played the violin, translated poems, loved to sail. I love him because he came up with his theory despite most academics not wanting to work with him, that he just could not let his curiosity rest and drum away hours at the patient desk, and that most people don’t understand his theory and revere him as a genius anyway. I love that he saw through that, that the ticker tape parades amused him and were not something he felt he deserved. I love that he had trouble connecting to his son. He was a man and the humanity of him is loveable. I love that I’m fairly certain he would have similar concerns about your exclamation point, T-shirt, that he would argue everything is connected, and relative, and the things most imperative to our culture and our education are not tied to any subject, but to the humanity that lies behind our growing, learning, and living.

Sincerely,

English Teacher
(wearing an Emily Dickinson T-shirt with a line portrait of the poet and the quote “Forever is composed of nows.”)

An Open Letter to a Supportive Family

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Education, Life in the Classroom, Parent Involvment, Weblogs

Dear Supportive Family,

When your boy came to me, he was a small guy. Restless as he paced outside the circle of the adults convened in the hallway discussing him, his past, what his future may hold. His eyes flicked our way and he offered only curt words and shoulder shrugs in response to the questions asked in a way that told me you were hoping he would contain himself long enough for me to agree to give him a try.

I stepped back out of our circle, stopping his swirl around us. I looked over him – at him felt too strong. “Creed, would you like to be here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t? No? Okay, well if you don’t then there is no point in us talking about it.”

“What, I didn’t say no. I said know.”

“Know what? Know that you know it is a no?” A small smile from me. Would he catch on?

I knew it wasn’t no. I just needed to connect and get a feel for him. Your kid had some serious baggage he was dragging along behind him – violent outbursts, ADHD and a lack of friends were just a few of the items tossed in. Was I willing to spend the energy and time to help him unpack it? Was I willing to bring your child into my classroom, one that had been humming along quite nicely all year? He was a “choice-in” student from a neighboring district. I could say no. You knew that.

His head tilted as he puzzled at the silly word play. Eye squinted for a second and then the flash of “Aha!” that couldn’t help but come out as a flash of a smile. I couldn’t say no to that kind of smile, that mind. I agreed to a one week “trial” where I would then meet with you to give my answer.

Day one, hour one. Your Creed flipped a desk in anger. He was sent out into the hall to copy a paragraph about “Impulse Control.” Hissing in anger, he slammed out the door. Hard. I heard his clipboard skitter down the hall. It was an hour before he walked back in with the sheet crumbled and torn, but scribbled upon. He tossed it in my general direction.

Not working for me. A new sheet; clean, not crumbled nor torn. Begin again.

Seething, he snatched it from my hands – tearing it.

“Give me another.”

“I will. After you finish the one you just tore.”

And so it went for the week. I pushed your child as hard as I could without losing him all the way. I wanted to see what I was getting into.

The day of our meeting arrived. I had no idea what Creed had gone home and told you about our “adventures” at school. All I knew was that for him to grow and change, it would take ALL of us adults to be on the same page. I laid out a contract of behavior that focused on Creed’s behavioral needs and my specific methods for helping him.

But, this contract was different. I also required you to pledge your support of the actions I would be taking to help your child learn to manage his actions and emotions. There would be no way to effectively help him make the deep changes required if I were constantly worried about what your reactions would be. Stern words? Repeatedly rewriting a sheet done too sloppily? Actually holding him accountable? I needed you on board. There would be no coddling, no excuses.

My deal? I would not be calling you with every poor behavior your child had. As a matter of fact, I would not be calling unless Creed was a danger to himself or others or had his first day where he just fit in like any other kid.

Flashes over the two-and-half years since:

Breathe Creed
Punch the wall
Glare back tears
I will NOT breath!
Have it your way Creed…
Hissed
Gritted teeth
Shaky
Breath
Deep relief

Caged in his own mind. Pacing.
Sliding down the wall, eyes covered,
“I am getting taken off all my medications.”
Try not to look stunned.
This has been Creed medicated?
“If you feel like ever hurting yourself, you have to tell someone.”
Fat tears of fear and shaking small body,
“I’m so scared.”
First phone call home.

Metaphorical fists up!
Put down your fists Creed.
A friend?
One. For a moment.
An unfortunate, mild incident
NOT sorry!
Put down your fists Creed.
Tried anew
Kicked the new.
Quick, hard
Anger!
Sorry!
No. Sorry?
Yes.
Emotional regulation is so hard!

Reams of “Impulse Control” sheets
scribbled and rewritten.
Clipped, unclipped, clipped again from the clipboard
Pencils sharpened, dulled, re-sharpened
“I am coming to the realization…”
Thoughts of what it means to discipline self,
imprinted on his paper and his mind.

“Mrs. Cruden, you and me are a lot a like.
I am a Bugatti engine,
trapped in a lawn mower’s life.
You are a Porche engine,
trapped in a mini-van’s life.”
So right your child was.

Grinding, grinding, grinding
Discipline,
as if he were my own.
Believing in what I am doing,
believing in Creed.
We believe.
Change is happening.

A day
regular and sunny
nothing out of the ordinary.
Months in the making.
“Oh God, what did he do?”
“Nothing. Today was just a regular day for a regular kid.”
Breath sighed out. Relief.
That was my second phone call home

Younger grades at his feet.
Talking science in a lab coat.
Goggles askew, hands wildly waving!
He is alive!
Your Creed… is a teacher!

Appendix out.
His classmates are worried.
Big sloppy, “Get Well!” cards.
Hand delivered to your home.
His face is that of loopy joy.
Your child has become a class beloved.

Dapper in a button down
Tie straight
Flowers in hand
Taking a sweet girl to the 8th grade dance
Smiling picture posted on FB
Creed has arrived.

It must have been hard to trust in the process and keep belief in the importance of learning self-discipline. As promised, there was no coddling, there were no excuses; from any of us. Your support enabled me to do my job – all of it. Teachers across America crave what you gave me – the gift to teach. For that I thank you.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Cruden

P.S. Soon Creed will walk across the stage and graduate 8th grade. In his mind are the keys to his Bugatti engine. Enjoy the ride! Maybe send a few postcards along the way…

In Loco Parentis

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On the morning of April 20, 1999, I stood inside the Student Union Building at the University of Puget Sound and watched the images on the two TVs with captions blaring “School Shooting in Colorado.”  At first, I wondered what a “school shooting” even meant – back then, this phrase was not a part of our everyday lexicon.  Then I wondered what school it could be.  Finally, it slowly dawned on me that this was my high school, Columbine High School, from which I had graduated only ten months earlier.   Those were my friends, running out of the school with their hands up.  Two days later, I flew to Colorado to be with my community. I attended vigils, memorials and funerals.  I sat with grieving and scared friends. I hugged teachers and neighbors.  

I am now exactly twice as old as I was on that day in 1999.   So for half of my life, I have lived with the idea that schools are not always a safe place to be.  But for fifteen years of my life, I have worked in schools as a teacher, coach, supervisor, mentor and volunteer.  For six years of my life, I have sent my daughters to schools.  I will always be a part of schools and they will always be a part of me.

So what does being a Columbine alum mean for me as a parent?  It means that I send my daughters to school with a blessing every single day.  It means that I have to hold back my fear and tears when there’s a fire alarm when I’m volunteering in my daughter’s preschool class as I imagine what their experience would be like if this were the “real thing.”  It means that my stomach turns when my daughters play “lock down” as part of their imaginary play.   It means that I wonder when they’ll understand that the event they read about in their history books happened at my high school.

And what does being a Columbine alum mean for me as a teacher?   After all, this is a blog about being a teacher, where “policy meets practice.”  One might assume with the ongoing school shootings and the talk about how teachers might play a part in stopping them, that I might have given this some serious reflection, that I would have a detailed plan for what I would do in such an event.  But I don’t.  Honestly, I am way more worried about the immediate and real dangers of poverty, sexism and systemic racism that deeply affect my students’ everyday experiences.

But there is one thing I know as a teacher, one policy that I know will be true if it’s ever the “real thing” at my school.  In loco parentis.   Latin for “in the place of a parent.”   This is the idea that teachers and other responsible adults will act on behalf of the student when the parent is not available. There have been two occasions in my career when my schools had legitimate lockdowns.  My parental instincts kicked in.  I jumped into full mom mode, calming and protecting my kids.   It was only after the events were over and I was by myself that I could fully reflect on and pour out my emotions and fears that had been triggered in those moments.

Every day, I am thankful that I send my daughters to teachers who care for them in my place for the 6 ½ hours that I am away from them.  Every day, I try to love on my students with the fierce love of a parent: I push, challenge, console, support, feed, and advocate for all of my students.   And every day, I hope that the doctrine of in loco parentis is engrained deeply enough that I will know how to act and what to do should the nightmare of April 20, 1999 ever echo in the halls outside of my classroom.

Another School Shooting

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Current Affairs

I read those words and felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

A girl at Santa Fe High School in Texas said she wasn’t surprised. “It’s been happening everywhere,” she said. “I felt — I’ve always kind of felt like eventually it was going to happen here, too.”

After the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, and after all the student–led protests, it felt like we might be building some momentum. Just this week I got an email from David Hogg, one of the student organizers for the Never Again movement, asking if I would help with high school voter registration at one of our district’s high schools.

I was feeling optimistic. Not for the immediate future. But at least for a few years down the road, when these kids start to vote. (And run for office.)

But for now, the thousands of high school students who just want to go to school safely get outvoted by the handful of unhappy students with guns.

The news stories impact the kids at my school.

Just a week ago an announcement come over the intercom, “All students on the playground must come into the building.” Moments later we heard, “We are going into lockdown.”

After school I heard stories from other teachers of high anxiety with their students. One teacher dealt with the rising panic by having the kids barricade the door to the room they were in. One fifth grade teacher had a student who threw up. There were tears in multiple classrooms.

Even our little kids watch the news. They know what’s out there. They are afraid.

When the announcement came on, my kids went into high alert. So I talked to them as I moved around the room. “I’m checking to see if there is anyone in the hall. Nobody. You all know I keep my door locked so all I have to do is close it. I undo the roll of paper to cover the window so no one can see inside.

“Oh, by the way, check this out.” I pushed the wooden wedge under the door and kicked it tight. “That’s an extra lock.”

They laughed. “It’s old school, but it works!”

“What about the other door?” a student asked as I moved across the room.

“It’s always locked,” I answered as I rolled down the paper strip over its window too.

As I was taking care of the doors, one of my boys—on his own initiative—closed the shades on all the windows in the room.

Then I went back to the front of the class and said we could go back to the lesson we had been working on.

Kids said, “Wait! Aren’t we supposed to get under our desks or hide or something?”

I reassured them that the announcement hadn’t said anything about a dangerous individual. And it started with getting kids off the playground.

One student said, “Yeah, at one of my schools we had a lockdown because a bear got on the playground!”

I nodded. “And I worked at a school where we had a lockdown because the neighbor’s bull got loose and it got onto the playground.”

We got back to work. Even my high-anxiety students did fine.

A few minutes later, the lockdown ended.

Shortly after the Florida shooting In February, we had a lockdown drill at our school. I wrote a brief note to parents after the drill:

We had a lockdown drill yesterday. I explained how we keep the doors locked and the windows covered. I said in a real emergency the most important thing for kids to do is to listen and follow directions.

It’s my job to take care of them.

Then I reminded them all that I have been thinking about students’ safety and planning and preparing for how to keep them all safe since before they were born.

(And you should know the district is continuing to plan and implement additional security measures.)

They’re not just your babies.

Jan

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Teacher Appreciation Week: Don’t Read the Comments

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Current Affairs, Education

Happy Teacher Appreciation Week!

Make sure to enjoy this week, so don’t read the comments under any article, post, tweet, or Facebook share that in any way references teachers, teaching, or public education.

There is growing evidence that engagement in social media, including even the comment sections under mainstream media articles, can have a significantly negative impact on mental health. For people like me, whose twenty-year ebb-and-flow battle with clinical depression has made me unnecessarily sensitive to the venom and hate online, settling into some mindless social media perusal after a rough day at work ends up nudging us into the kind of downward spiral that for far too many culminates in bona fide burnout.

It is important during this teacher appreciation week that we also appreciate each other…both online and in person.

Often we take the time to (rightfully) single out those teachers who made a difference in our lives. For me, names from the 80s and 90s like Mary Jo Jones (science and math teacher), Jennifer Stenkamp (English teacher), Dale Crawford (FFA Advisor) and Elizabeth Shelley (English teacher) will always come first to mind. There’s also Wendi Kuntz and Jan Franke, whose support during my student teaching made me the educator I am today. There’s Fran Oishi, my amazing first-year-teacher mentor from my days in Federal Way. Appreciating the teachers of our past is important.

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Old School Buildings and Infrastructure Investment

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Education, Education Policy

All teachers get good, over time, at being resourceful. We learn to scavenge for what we need to do our jobs. We get comfortable with discomfort, with working with less-than-optimal environments (in some particularly bad cases, “less-than-optimal” would be a laughable understatement). This is not limited to any particular state – from what I’ve read lately, and what I’ve experienced teaching in different states (NY and WA), this is a nationwide public school reality.

A spotlight has been directed on our lack of investment in school buildings, equipment, and furniture. As teachers in West Virginia, Oklahoma, Arizona were striking in the beginning of this year, a wave was building: educators around the country have been sharing about ways that school buildings are failing kids and failing teachers. We saw Baltimore students huddled in coats and mittens in their freezing classrooms, a story that originated with a tweet by NFL player-turned teacher Aaron Maybin. This attention led to a GoFundMe campaign that raised more than $84K for space heaters and outwear for Baltimore students – obviously not a long-term fix, but evidence of public support for better classroom conditions.

Personally, I’ve taught in classrooms with broken furniture, no whiteboard, no projector (in a visual arts class!), broken floor and ceiling tiles, leaking ceilings, and above-80-degree or below-60-degree temperatures. One school had a staff of 40+ that shared a single, one-toilet bathroom, while 300 students shared 2 bathrooms of 3 toilets/each (and plumbing problems were frequent).

I have dragged a stained, fraying area rug from a school trash pile and dyed it with I fabric dyes that I found in an old cupboard – it was my “circle time” rug for 2 years. I have pushed students in wheelchairs over tangles of extension cords and directed electric fans at students looking particularly overheated. I’m active in my local Buy Nothing facebook group, where neighbors share items they’re giving away – I’ve gotten art materials and classroom furniture that way. My assistant principal found a pair of computer speakers at Goodwill for me.

But I am so commonplace in this – every educator does this, often more, to try and meet students’ needs. I have seen special ed teachers and paraeducators, in particular, go to unimaginable lengths to make classrooms and environments safe and accessible for students with disabilities.

Rachel Cohen of the Washington Post points out that this is a long-standing problem of Federal vs. State, as far as infrastructure investment. “U.S. school buildings are 45 years old on average. But these problems disproportionately affect poor communities. In older cities, particularly industrial ones, schools average closer to 60 to 70 years old.”

Cohen brings up an idea put forward by Mary Filardo, the director of the 21st Century School Fund, “suggest(ing) school districts should…be able to leverage up to 10 percent of their Title I funds for capital expenses — currently, the federal money distributed to high-poverty districts can go only toward operating costs.”

While I don’t like that this would mean less funding – vital, in my experience – for operating costs, I do agree that the cost of infrastructure improvements in schools should be shared between Federal and State governments.

Locally, Seattle is putting levy funds – special election-based tax funds – towards improving Seattle Public Schools facilities. In 2016, the Buildings, Technology, and Academics IV Capitol Levy (BTA IV) passed by 72% of the vote, allocating $475.3 million toward school building construction, to be received and used between 2017-2022. Three existing buildings will be re-opened after improvements/updates to address growth in SPS enrollment. In a district as large as SPS, it can be hard to reconcile the good news of this kind, with the reality of so many day-to-day inadequacies in our classrooms and school buildings.

In an environment of scarcity, it’s also hard not to resent the newer buildings in the district, even while I know that the funds can’t go everywhere all at once. The most we can do is to be patient, and to advocate for more funding (locally, as well as state and federal), particularly for schools serving students living in poverty and students with diverse access and safety needs from their learning environments. Last year (in my old school), a group of Microsoft workers toured our building. They remarked on things that we had long since stopped seeing: water damage on the walls, cones around playground drains that don’t drain, exposed holes in acoustic-tile ceilings. It reminded me that sometimes my acquired skills in “making do” go too far – we can get used to unacceptable environments when we lose hope that change will happen.

While I try to raise my expectations of my classroom and school building, I’ll continue to scavenge and be resourceful. In my hunt for district and regional policy information regarding school facilities, I also came across this: guidelines for safety in art classrooms! It’s a good learning resource and a reminder that an optimal academic environment requires a safe and accessible space for everyone, and I can start with my own room.

 

Project, Products, and Publishing (or All’s Well That Ends Well)

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Assessment, Education, Life in the Classroom, Literacy, Parent Involvment

Assessment. That’s a loaded word these days, particularly in the last months of the school year. But, what is it, really? Is it the state test? Is it an essay? Is it multiple choice?

Of course, the answer is yes to all of that, but there is so much more. We could get into the semantics of what is summative or formative assessment, and what type/mode/format of assessment is more valid or reliable or necessary. However, today I am interested in discussing one particular sort of assessment: publishing.

What I mean by “publishing” is this particular definition: to make publicly or generally known.

The Washington State English Language Arts Standards reference it:

W.9-10.6 Production and Distribution of Writing

Use technology, including the internet, to produce, publish, and update individual or shared writing products, taking advantage of technology’s capacity to link to other information and to display information flexibly and dynamically.

Ooh…and “to display information flexibly and dynamically!” That really gets to the heart of the matter, there. How do we assess this? How do we teach our students to publish? to create products? to display information flexibly and dynamically? And then, once we do teach these skills, how do we assess them?

My answer to all these questions is project-based learning. This last week, while my seventh-graders were busy toiling over their answers on the Smarter Balanced Assessment, my ninth-graders were wowing the public with their “Shakesfair” projects. Both of these assessments are valid. Both give me information that informs my practice. Both can really stress a kid out if they don’t have the skills or support. And, both can bring a sense of pride and accomplishment.

Animatic Project for Shakesfair 2018

The difference is that one can also be an entertaining and educational way to connect with families and the community. It can inspire creativity, and it can celebrate individuality. It can encompass so many aspects of a child’s intelligence, skills, and talents. I can tell you without a doubt that the projects my students create prove their understanding of the material we cover in class. They also extend the learning, showing the reading, writing, communication, and research skills I am teaching them. These are valid assessments, and they also “display information flexibly and dynamically.”

On the down side, projects can be a royal pain. They are messy, hard to manage, and time-consuming. They require a teacher to set firm guidelines and offer support in ways he or she never imagined, like problem-solving last-minute tech issues for an Animatic animation, or finding creative ways to serve non-alcoholic English trifle to hundreds of guests. While projects bring out the most creative and imaginative attributes of most students, they bewilder and frustrate others, often those with special needs. To avoid these pitfalls, projects take tons of preparation, patience, and dedication.

I am committed to assessing my students with projects several times a year. Sometimes these are project-based learning activities, and sometimes they are just projects. To understand the difference, check out the handy table here. Some of my project-based assessments are small, such as one day tasks chosen from a menu to show understanding of a text through multiple pathways. These are simple and not too terribly messy or complicated to score. Each grade level gets a couple big projects, too. Some are group projects, some are individual, and some are flexible. They choose. Student choice is paramount for successful projects. For all projects, I have carefully crafted rubrics and timelines and rules established over time. Of course, that was all accomplished through trial and error, pursuing a good idea and learning how terribly complicated it really was!

That said, project-based learning is not for every teacher. It takes a willingness to face the issues head on. It takes a lot of patience to guide students through the discomfort they often experience when they actually have choices. It takes a lot of nerve.

Now the nerve is what you need when you get to the publishing part. That part requires the PUBLIC. The public is your audience. They see the whole big, beautiful mess, with all of its warts and all of its wackiness. You have to be willing to let your students shine or fizzle in a public format. And that is very, very hard.

Historical Recipe Project

At our 14th Annual Shakesfair, my students were shining. Well, mostly. We had Renaissance Era a slightly messy smorgasbord of food – trifle, roast chicken, meat pies – served by enthusiastic students. We had music researched and played heroically by young musicians, and there was a variety of artwork created by students who surprised their classmates with their hidden talents. Others shared creative writing based on Shakespeare- short stories, poetry, and songs. Several this year chose analytical writing, critiquing plays and films and examining themes. A select few gave slide show presentations, and there were the always popular models of the globe theater. Students from previous years came in and begged to show the films they produced when they were freshmen, and we all enjoyed seeing their first attempts at film-making once again.

I have thirty freshmen this year and well over a hundred visitors joined them. Parents, grandparents, staff, upperclassmen, and members of the community came and viewed their work, displayed “flexibly and dynamically.”

It was an exhausting time. The project overlaps with a full month of our Shakespeare unit, but the last week is a flurry of activity. And, to top it off, I was proctoring the 7th grade assessment for three hours on the day of the event, with no prep time. Luckily, my students in my afternoon classes chipped in to help set up, and clean up was well-managed and fast. I have a system.

To those brave and crazy enough to take on project-based learning, I am here to tell you that it is worth it. You will never forget the creativity and enthusiasm of your students, and the praise of their families. And, neither will they.

Ubiquitous Globe Theater Project

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Do you assess with projects? Tell me how your students publish their work and create products to share.

Going Upstream

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Education, Education Policy, Uncategorized

“Two things that are going well and one problem you would like to see changed. You must write a solution to the problem – otherwise you are simply complaining. Complaining in life will get you nowhere. Finding solutions to your problems will get you everywhere. Never forget the farmer! Go!”

Almost verbatim, this is how I begin our weekly class meeting. My students quickly jot down joyful things and happy thoughts; focusing on the good in their lives, their school, their class and their friends. But they do not forget the farmer – the one who stops pulling his drowning sheep from the river and runs upstream to puzzle out the reason they are in the river to begin with and then solves the problem.

Recently I was in a teachers’ meeting and the special education teacher was running through some data on our students. She mentioned my own five-year-old who she has worked with on phonograms throughout the year. “My word, she really is such a curious child! Always full of questions! Such strong gains!”

I smiled – a little proud, but mostly just relieved and thankful. This wild little chatterbox had come to us at the age of three with a diagnosis of being developmentally delayed in language as well as both fine and gross motor skills. She was so small and so very silent.

The summer she and her sister came was a summer of intense wildfires in our area. It was a summer of great worries and hopes. She was both. Our school started late that year due to an evacuation of the town. I had barely begun to adjust to her playing quietly underfoot before she was enrolled at the preschool in our school’s building and I was back in the classroom. I was not sure I was making the right choice.

The first day she came home with clay in her hair, blue paint on her new pink dress, her hair flung out of her ponytails and a new, shy smile I had never seen. Her preschool experience changed the very foundation upon which she stands today. The quiet one was left behind on the nap mat that year. She is now reading words, writing, playing with others, and is so full of questions. Why? Why? Why? (Sometimes I think we live with a baby seagull.)

The majority of the data in that meeting reflected strong gains throughout the building. A moment of celebration and “YES!” should have followed. But, our principal was unusually somber. She broke the news…

Our community’s preschool, a preschool funded by the Early Childhood Education and Assistance Program (ECEAP), was going to be terminated at the end of the month. ECEAP is designed to serve the educational needs of preschool-age children of poverty, those with developmental delays, and those deemed to be “at-risk.” We certainly have students who match these requirements; we simply don’t have enough of them to warrant the expense of a preschool in our rural community any longer. “If there is another ECEAP provider within 40 miles, and you have fewer than X number of students, funding will no longer be provided.” ECEAP’s hands are tied. It is what it is. And yet, miles is time and money; 40 miles on a bus…that’s an eternity in a preschooler’s mind, and the difference between “barely surviving” and “possibly thriving” on a tight budget.

Preschool matters, and it may matter most for those children at-risk. According to GreatSchools, the brain is undergoing major anatomical and physiological changes that can affect student learning throughout the rest of the child’s school years. Beyond building the capacities required for reading, writing and mathematical reasoning, it is a time for children to grow in their abilities to interact with others, self-regulate emotions, practice focusing attention, and learn the skills of interacting with peers. It was disheartening to be told our community’s children would no longer be able to readily benefit from the experience of preschool.

Two things that are going well? My daughter can write, identify and provide sounds for all of the letters of the alphabet as she strings them into short words. My daughter is not sullen nor silent, but full of the joy of curiosity.

One problem? There are others who will no longer have the opportunity she has had in our rural community. Where will they experience the noise and joys of learning?

The solution? Go upstream! We need to leverage our collective influence to impress upon decision-makers how significant and important early education is. Our students are on a continuum of growth, starting long before the “first day of school.” Early childhood education affects us all and its impact may be greatest on our most at-risk children; all of them – not just those lucky enough to live in close proximity to ECEAP services. Many of your future students, the ones coming down the stream to you already, are counting on it.