By Tom

Last Wednesday I found myself in a conference room as part of a task force focused on implementing Washington State’s new evaluation system in our school district. As the day progressed, I learned five important things:

1. Thank God for the WEA. As the legislation behind the new system made its way through Olympia, our teachers’ union worked feverishly to insure that most of the important details would be worked out at the local level – where teachers themselves would have the greatest chance of being heard. That’s essentially why I was sitting in that conference room instead of teaching in my classroom. The reason why the WEA worked so hard on this front is open to interpretation. If you’re an idiot and/or an editorial writer for the Seattle Times, it’s because the union is greedily trying to maintain the status quo by giving ineffective teachers a greater chance of keeping their jobs. The rest of us understand that no one’s interests are served when teachers are treated like voiceless, dispensable cogs in a system where every decision is made from the top down. Like I said; it’s open to interpretation.

2. People will be losing their jobs. Early in the meeting a principal sitting across the table said something that startled me: “At least a third of my teachers are going to fail under this evaluation system.” I was taken aback, “How can you know that, when we haven’t even fleshed out the details?” “I’ve been in their rooms,” he said, “I know how they teach, and I know how they’ll score on this evaluation.” The WEA, along with OSPI and local school districts have tried to emphasize the potential to tie this evaluation system to professional development, and I’m sure they’ll succeed, to a point. But make no mistake: this system was originally conceived and is currently perceived as a way to facilitate the removal of poor teachers.

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By Tamara

My master teacher is retiring in twelve school days. It is hard to imagine the education landscape without her. Even though we haven't taught in the same building or even subject for years, her presence has always been a reassuring compass.

Like all true master teachers she has seen education fads come and go, the pendulum swing more often than a middle school girl changes her crush. And like all true master teachers she navigated our profession by sticking to the timeless foundation of solid teaching: knowing her students-their interests and aptitudes, well planned units of study that imparted skill while capturing attention without becoming a dog and pony show. Never making excuses for them or letting them excuse themselves because they came from a poor neighborhood and experienced things no one should.

She challenged students to examine what it means to be "Great", never let two sentences start with the same word, and invited them on a journey through western expansion by digging through old suitcases and diaries. If attention ever did wander into trivial activity, she brought it back into focus with a sharp reminder to "Quit FARDING in class! Save the hairbrush and lipstick for the bathroom." I have never witnessed a vocabulary/deportment lesson that held eighth graders in such rapt attention.

It's been over a decade since I had the privilege of student teaching with Mrs. Robinson. I hope in this age of Power Standards, Common Core, and TPEP her brand of solid, foundational teaching remains our ultimate goal.

By Mark

At the close of each year, I always come up with some kind of message–like we all do–to the students who are about to leave my classroom. I posted my message to the class of 2010, ruminated about the significance of the ceremony in 2011, and have been mulling what to share with the class of 2012. Here it goes:

This year I want to address the lies perpetuated by this graduation "celebration." 

I'm talking about the blatant lies and excess flattery penned in cliche'd almost-rhymes in the cards you have been or will be receiving from friends and family over the next few weeks. Thankfully, like much of the homework reading assigned in the last several years you won't be reading those either. I know you'll shake them for cash, check the envelope just in case, then hand them to mom for filing in your memory book.

Let's start with the most seemingly innocuous: "Congratulations, graduate! You did it!"

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By Tamara

It is the end of May. Yet, daily, in every period there are three to five students who need a pencil. Or paper. Or both. Or just need to be reintroduced to their binder which has been languishing in their locker. Since January.

This daily inability/disinterest/motivation (I don't know which descriptor to use here, which is the crux of this post) to come to class prepared is less about there being fourteen days of school left than it is about personal responsibility. A reflection really of what this batch of kids expects from life and themselves. I am worried.

Having spent over a decade teaching in Title I schools, students' lack of basic supplies is the norm. So like most title schools we stand in the gap with a heavily discounted student store and many teachers keep extras in their rooms for those kids who really can't access supplies. So there is really no reason other than conscious choice for a student to come to class without basic supplies.

It is that conscious choosing not to bring the materials necessary to actively engage in learning that has me worried. It is not even the typical "I can learn this by osmosis" attitude. The repeat offenders are presenting as uninterested and unconcerned with learning. Now middle school students are not reknowned for great forward thinking or meta-cognition beyond "I think Justin Bieber is really cute/stupid" (though they do often have moments deep thinking and the hardest questions I have ever been asked have come from seventh graders). They do typically get if-then-because kind of logic. The kind that takes poor kids with difficult home lives to skills center, community college, and beyond. These kiddos aren't there. And I don't know that what I am observing can even be called apathy.

It's more a perfect storm of learned helplessness, lack of opportunity, and almost nonexistent value for obtaining knowledge…about anything. I don't believe any of them want to grow up to be stupid. But they certainly don't want to grow up to do anything requiring they come prepared, on time, or with a sense of curiosity. I fear our best intentions have created this storm. These kids KNOW if they hold out long enough we will give them the answer, and the pencil and paper too.

So I am wondering: which acronym in the Ed Reform alphabet soup is going to address accoutability?

By Mark

By nature, I am a pessimistic skeptic. I am a glass-half-empty-because-it-is-cracked-and-leaking kind of person. But, if there's one thing I believe, it is that a person should, no must, be willing to adjust his or her beliefs when faced with new information. 

Thus, though I was a TPEP skeptic at first, as I have learned more, my attitude has shifted.

Thus, though I was a PLC supporter at first, as I have learned more, my attitude has shifted.

I think resistance to a new acronym, doctrine, or mandate is healthy and important. The "new" must be vetted, examined, deconstructed, and challenged in order to become worthy of acceptance. The key there, though, is that if something new can be proved to have merit upon close and level-headed inspection, then it can and should be accepted.

Yet, it is staggering how much energy some people invest into resisting: resisting change, resisting what is new, and even resisting learning that might threaten or contradict their initial knee-jerk and not-fully-informed reaction to the "new."

Case in point: making copies.

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By Marge’s Son

In 1966 I started kindergarten. The bus stop was in our front yard, and my mom put me out there with the other kids to wait. “Stand here,” I was told, “and when the bus comes, get on it. When the bus gets to the school, get off and someone will tell you where to go.”

The bus came, but I didn’t get on. Instead, I went back in the house. My mom was there with the rest of my family, and when she saw me I could tell what she was thinking, “This one clearly needs more supervision.”

Which I got. All through school my mom was on top of things. Getting me to bed on time, getting me up on time, making sure my clothes were clean, my lunch was packed and my homework was done correctly. She drove on field trips, stayed home with me when I was sick and baked cupcakes on my birthday. She didn’t do anything huge; she did all the small things that go into raising a child. She did all the stuff that every teacher wants every student’s mom to do.

Twenty years after the failed bus ride I was a very young teacher. I was living at home, trying to save money for my upcoming wedding. My little brother was home from college and we decided to go skiing. It was a Wednesday night and my mom saw me heading out the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Me and Steve are going skiing.”

“Steve and I. And isn’t it a school night? Are your lessons planned for tomorrow?”

Always the mom. Always worrying; never fully convinced that I would succeed without supervision. And always right.

Throughout my career I’ve had to measure every parent of every student against the standard set by my parents. Some have come close. They’ve done all the little things. They get their kids to bed on time, get them up on time, make sure their clothes are clean, their lunches are packed and their homework is done correctly. They come on field trips, stay home with their kids when they’re sick and bake cupcakes on their birthday. They do all the small things that go into raising a child. All the stuff that every teacher wants every student’s mom to do.

Twenty years after the ski trip I was up on a stage at a huge convention center in Washington, DC, receiving an award for teaching. As I stood there, I saw my mom in the crowd. She looked relaxed; as if realizing that a lifetime of supervision – of parenting – had finally paid off.

This is for you, Mom. Thanks for everything.  It’s also for the rest of the moms, who make what we do possible.

By Travis

Writing did not come easily to me. In junior high, I would watch my friends energetically write, their pencils dancing away, creating works of great literature, or at least semi-coherent pieces that would garner a passing grade. 

Writing eluded me. I knew what writing was and I was an avid reader, but the power to mold words and phrases into something worthy was beyond me. It was akin to magic.

Science and math were my subjects. I tolerated English because I enjoyed reading. Then in my senior year, my American Literature teacher changed my life.

Mr. Blair was a short man, solidly build. The use of "stout" would fit most welcome on his person. He wore casual clothes as he was also a coach in a variety of sports. Golf shirts and jeans. He did not have the appearance of an amazing teacher. I walked into class on the first day and had him figured out: sports guy who loved worksheets and end of chapter questions. I would nail this semester. 

I left that first day both wrong (totally wrong) and happy at being wrong (a unique endeavor in my early adolescence).

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