At curriculum night last week, I parent asked me to share
what a typical day was like for first grade. I felt like the guy in the truck commercial. My mind
flashed to all the things that had happened that day:

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Tamara Mosar

In the state of Washington if you are an English Language
Learner in-country for less than three years you cannot be considered for
special education services. Unless there is written documentation (key word
there being written)of special education services having been received in the
country of origin or if qualifying tests can be administered in the student’s native
language. There is very good reason for this: English Language Learners often seem
slow to make progress in comparison to their grade level peers. They often
display behaviors inappropriate to the classroom: refusing to answer questions
or make eye contact, hiding under desks, violating other student’s personal
space. All of which should be expected from students not yet able to
communicate in English, who come from cultures where eye contact with adults is
not acceptable, have a different definition of personal space, and often have
post traumatic stress syndrome. So the policy is there to attempt to recognize
this reality for ELLs. To give them time to acquire language and acclimate to
our culture, rather than write them off as SPED.

However the policy can backfire. For example I have a student from Bhutan who in infancy was relinquished by her mother to another family in order to keep her from starving to death like two older siblings. Severely malnourished, this child was taken by the new family to a Nepali refugee camp where after care from camp doctors,the adoptive family notes significant developmental delays. Eventually, according to the family, the camp school places this child in special education courses. When the family arrives in the U.S. the child is placed into an age appropriate grade per policy. Parents alert school personnel to the child's history, request grade level retention, and special education services.  ELD and Special Ed staff attempt to start the identification process but hit a dead end because there are no written records from the refugee camp school-just the parent’s word- that
the student received special education services, and there is no Nepali version of the qualifying tests. Policy regarding qualifying ELLs for special ed apparently cannot take ancdotal evidence from parents in place of written documentation or test in the primary language. Thus, the child was left with only ELD services much to the consternation of the family. 

I now have this student in middle school. A notoriously difficult time to qualify even an English speaking student for SPED services. Especially as this child is studious and compliant-you know, the kid who quietly fails. We may be able to squeak in through a Health Impairment qualification because we still can't get around the primary language testing issue. But it will take time. Time we are running out of. And this is how well meaning policy quietly fails.

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.)

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Tamara Mosar

As I followed the Chicago Teacher Union’s strike, getting
past the noise about evaluations, salaries, the right to organize, it became
evident to me the underlying issues point to a conversation about education in
this country few are engaging in. Namely, are we as a nation still willing to
provide a free “quality” education to all children? Now many will tell me there
are numerous people engaged in the Should We Privatize Education debate. I
know. I live thirty minutes from a state that chose to spend a significant
portion of the budget for teachers’ salaries on laptops for every student from
a certain company. But that is not where I am going with this post.

 I don’t think we can enter the conversation of public and political will regarding continued provision
of public education until as a nation we come to consensus as to what
constitutes “Quality Education”. There have been volumes of back chatter
regarding the impediments to a “quality education”: relentless and rising poverty,
bad teachers, bad administrators, bad parents (just once I’d like to hear bad
policy or bad politicians), community violence, limited if any early childhood
education.

But what is “Quality Education”? Does “quality“ mean all
students graduate? Does it mean if a student graduates they are ready to enter
the workforce? Does a “quality” education mean students are prepared to enter college
without the need for remediation in math and English? Or does “quality”
education mean students can demonstrate mastery of subjects in end of course
exams or standardized tests like HSPE, SAT, AP, or IB? Does a “quality”
education include the provision of health care and social services?   Does “quality” education produce a just and compassionate citizenry?

What say you?  Any
takers for this conversation?

If you skim back through my past posts here, you might notice that I have cast the word "data" with a very specific connotation. I even did a search on SFS for the word "data," and lo and behold, a bunch of my posts–and even more interestingly, a bunch of my comments on other posts were there… and just the snip shown in the search results highlights my apprehension, distrust, reservation, and resistance to data.

While I curse under my breath, I have to recognize: that search? That's data.

I'm having to re-evaluate my own resistance.

As I examine the new teacher evaluation system, I'm in general a proponent of what it contains, but anything that mentions that four-letter-word always unsettles me a little. 

Not long ago I co-presented at a CSTP teacher leadership conference, and one of the points about leadership was to consider how to activate change and to recognize that growth and change cannot happen unless someone is upset. By upset, we didn't mean p'd off, we meant having their status quo challenged in a way that unsettled people enough to get them moving.

I guess that is what the d-word embedded in the new evaluation system is doing to me right now… unsettling me enough to allow me to change. Especially since I discovered Flubaroo.

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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.