In the last few weeks, and over the years as well, I've sat on numerous interview panels for the hiring of new teachers. Considering the RIFing taking place all around us, and considering that my district is one of the few who is actually hiring this year (due to retirements, growth, and the fact that my building was operating on a very frugal FTE budget the last couple of years) we were lucky, if that's the right word, to have an influx of candidates.

Like many districts, ours has a very strict protocol for interviews in order to help level the playing field for all candidates. We receive a packet with scripted questions, we rate answers, we share our ratings with our fellow interviewers, and so on. I read the same questions over and over, and listened to a good number of lame, vacuous, sound-byte superficial answers (peppered with some good quality concrete responses, thankfully).

There were questions about the candidates' procedures for planning and implementing lessons, calls for examples of problem-solving with parents and colleagues, requests for the candidate to articulate their rationale for organizing scope and sequence one way versus another, and the obligatory questions about standards, high stakes tests, and current EdTrends. 

I found myself thinking over and over again: how would I answer these questions?

Before long, I also found myself thinking: how would my colleagues answer these questions–now, not when putting our best feet forward to earn a chance at a paycheck?

In the interviews, the candidates I was drawn to were the ones about whom I found myself saying "I like him/her because I can tell that the gears are turning, I can tell there is thinking and reflection going on there." I kept coming back to this: I want teachers who think about what they do.

And no, not all teachers do.

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The biggest signal to all of us that the end is near–at least those of us who teach high school–is the playing of pomp and circumstance.

Last year about this time, I posted my message to the class of 2010, and while I tend to be exceedingly cynical about graduation and some of the other (in my opinion) overwrought aspects of The High School Experience (prom, pep assemblies, spirit week…), I do recognize how significant the earning of a diploma can be for kids.

As I sat through my high school's three hour long ceremony the other night, I was saddened that the ceremony itself couldn't be more about all the kids who were graduating. Instead, we had the typical parade of Valedictorians and Salutatorians. The class and ASB officers got their chance to speak. The athletic teams were honored (again and again, and then a few more times in case anyone missed it) and permutations of the clause "We did it!" were repeated a dozen times by and for kids for whom there was never really any question whether they'd be able to "do it."

Sure, everyone deserves their moment, but as the lists of scholarships for much-deserving students were read, as awards were doled out for high grades and other hard-earned accolades, it saddened me that some of the best stories weren't being told:

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By Kristin

It's been a tough year, and also a good year. 

I always give my students a final letter.  For a few years it didn't change much.  This year it did, perhaps because I'm leaving high school after eight years and returning to middle school, where I'll teach 7th grade LA/SS.  I realize that I have not yet mastered every piece of advice in the letter, so I suppose I need to listen to my own self and get better at some things.  Many things, if I'm going to be fully honest.

It's long – and isn't really a blog post because there's no hyperlink – but here it is, because for all I'm supportive of testing and use of data and I have high expectations that teachers use class time academically, at the end of the day I think I teach this stuff more than I teach reading and writing.  And where's the test that can measure whether or not I did it effectively?

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By Tom

I spent about an hour this morning slogging through an article by Dan Hanushek about the imperative of having good teachers. It's an intriguing read, in which he makes the case that having an excellent teacher will increase the expected lifetime earning by up to $400,000 per student. A lousy teacher, on the other hand, would have the opposite impact. While he allows that "The majority of teachers are hardworking and effective," he argues for renewed efforts to eliminate the least effective 5 to 10 percent. That, and merit pay.

Like I said, I spent about an hour with this thing. Then I taught a full day in a real classroom, where I tried to be excellent. I'm not sure the extent to which I increased the future earnings of my students, but I'd like to think I did some good.

After school got out I went to a meeting. There were seven of us in attendance. In addition to the other third grade teacher and myself, we had the principal, the psychologist, the math specialist, the reading specialist and the ELL specialist. We talked about our students. Our students. Not my students, not the other teacher's students, but our students. We looked at lots of data and talked about the faces behind the numbers. We talked about which of those kids will need more support next year and what that support will look like. 

It seems extremely ambitious for Hanushek to place a dollar figure on something like a teacher's impact on a student's future earnings. I have a lot of respect for data and I appreciate the fact that advanced metrics have allowed us to isolate the role teachers play in student achievement. But I don't see how it's possible to tease out the impact one teacher has on any given student. 

What Mr. Hanushek and others don't seem to grasp is that teachers in this day and age don't "own" their students and the data they generate. We work collaboratively. Remember, there were seven of us in that room, talking about two classes of students. And everyone there played a role in their education and holds a stake in their success.

Furthermore, the students with the highest needs, the ones that need the most support, are the students on whom the most people collaborate. And they're the same students that tend to "drag down" classroom data as it's assigned to a given teacher.

Collaboration is a great thing, and it's here to stay. It's high time the research community accepted it.

By Tom

I have pink hair. Not normally, but currently. Long story short, I lost a bet that involved a fund raiser for a great organization called Clothes for Kids. The students at my school raised close to $1000 to help clothe other kids. And to see me with pink hair. It's been pink for two days now, and I've had a chance to do some reflecting:

 - Kids love seeing their teachers humiliated. I'm not sure why. Maybe it involves turning the tables on authority or something. Or maybe not. Who knows, but you've never seen a happier class of third graders than those kids when they found out I was going pink. 

– It's difficult to scold someone when you look ridiculous. 

– Shampoo doesn't get "Manic Panic Hot Hot Pink Hair Dye" out of your hair. Neither does Dawn dishwashing soap, salad oil, orange hand-cleaning stuff or Selsun Blue medicated dandruff shampoo. If you know what works, please comment. 

-There's a vast difference between having students look at you and having students give you their attention. Trust me on this. 

– Earlier this year I was in Pakistan, where I saw incredible poverty on a large scale. It's shameful that in this country, with its vast wealth, we have children holding fund raisers to clothe each other. Shameful, yet wonderful.

– Coloring your hair is complicated and it takes a long time. It took me most of the evening. I'm 49 and my real hair is turning gray. I'm not going to color it. 

– We do very important work as teachers and we need to to take our jobs seriously. If we don't, we're in trouble. But when we take ourselves too seriously, we'll be in even more trouble.

I came across an article about the Federal Way Public Schools (where I had my first job, and I must add, also had a very positive professional experience) which described the current practice of automatically enrolling into AP or IB courses all students who have met minimum state standards.

Thinking back to my childhood, I remember hearing Garrison Keiller's recounting of Lake Wobegon from Prairie Home Companion. At that young age, I didn't follow the satire. Now, that simple line about how all "the women are strong, the men are good looking, and the children are above average," keeps echoing in my mind as I look at what is happening in some districts as they recoil against cultural perceptions that schools are failing, and in their response, create a situation where they can claim all their students are above average. Federal Way Public Schools are not alone in this movement. I see the seeds of it in my own district as well.

The reasoning behind this movement often seems to be that (1) kids ought to be challenged, (2) AP and IB courses are challenging, ergo (3) all kids should take AP or IB courses. Unfortunately, whenever any opposition is offered, that logical fallacy is then too quickly followed by others: "Don't you think all kids deserve a good education? Don't you think all kids can learn?"

In talking to some of my friends and colleagues who teach AP courses in my home district and in other districts, there is tremendous reticence about the enrollment en masse policies which stack AP kids to the rafters regardless of readiness. Several teachers lamented how they were forced to move more slowly, cover less material, and deal with greater and greater numbers of students entering without the necessary skills preparation, dispositions, or work ethic demanded in an effective Advanced Placement course, all of which resulted in less effective preparation of the students who actually were advanced.

Somehow, it feels to me that the mantra of "all students can learn" is taken to obscene proportions with movements like the one described…with all this stemming perhaps from what is referred to as the "Lake Wobegon Affect" or "illusory superiority" where we tend to overestimate our own or our group's capacity or talent by comparison to others ("We're all above average! We're all advanced!"). I am familiar with a few high schools who require all students to enroll in at least one AP class–and I seriously doubt that is the best educational decision for each and every student. The article about compulsory AP or IB enrollment detailed how around a quarter of the students forced to enroll ended up dropping the courses–likely after damage to their GPAs (and thus their post-high school prospects) and perhaps their morale as a scholar. While there parents can choose to opt their child out of the compulsory program, some parents indicated that it had not even been communicated to them that their child would be enrolled in the advanced programming–let alone that there was a way to opt out.

In our fears of falling behind, and perhaps because we fear being ostracized for seeming to imply anything other than "all students can learn," it seems we're now deluding ourselves into believing that not only can everyone learn, but everyone can be the best learner (or at least that all students can be above average).

I'm all for high standards–but the missing modifier in this "everyone is an advanced student" approach is reasonable; I'm in favor of high reasonable standards. In Federal Way, all students who have met state standards are enrolled into advanced courses; when I look at my students who have met standard and passed the HSPE in reading and writing, I see the kids who have met the minimum standard, not necessarily kids ready to take on the rigorous challenge of Advanced Placement Language or Literature–courses wherein I see even my very best students struggling to earn high marks.

If the program in Federal Way works–that is fantastic. But in analyzing whether it works, it is important that people consider statistics beyond simply the number of AP enrollments and tests taken, which coincidentally (or not) is a primary component of certain prominent "best schools in the nation" lists.

By Tom

Three important things happened in Olympia last week.

First of all, the lawmakers passed a budget bill that made tough cuts everywhere, especially in education. School administrators and classified employees had their salary reduced by 3%. Teachers, who already lost 1.1% to the previous legislative session, lost another 1.9% this time around, in order to even things out.

Secondly, when it came down to the end, the Legislature rejected the Tom/Zarelli RiF reform bill that would end the practice known as Last In-First Out. They may have decided that the carrot works better than the stick; we’re better off supporting teachers in their efforts to improve than making it easier to fire those that haven’t improved. Either that or they decided to wait until we actually have a four-tier teacher evaluation system in place before passing a law that’s predicated on the use of that system. Or they may have decided that passing a law that almost every teacher hates while cutting the salaries of those teachers might just be a bad idea. Who really knows what they were thinking.

The third important thing, though, is what’s truly remarkable: Washington’s National Board stipends survived the budget axe. Granted, they did move the payout date to July, effectively eliminated the 2011 bonus, but the fact that the program wasn’t suspended entirely surprised a lot of us, even those of us who worked hard to keep it off the chopping block. The non-elimination of the National Board stipend represents a long, exhausting , and ultimately successful effort by NBCTs to convince the Legislature that it was right to promote National Board Certification ten years ago, when the state had money, and it’s just as right to promote it now, when the doesn’t have money.

This is remarkable because it signifies the emergence of the NBCT community as a major player in education policy in our state, both within the teachers’ union and beyond. It’s been building steadily over the past decade, driven by a unique and coordinated collaboration between the Washington Education Association (WEA), the state’s education office (OSPI) and the Center for Strengthening the Teaching Profession (CSTP), a non-profit focused on amplifying the voice of teachers and teacher leaders in education policy. OSPI has focused on National Board candidate support and the training of candidate facilitators. The WEA has focused on National Board pre-candidacy support and pro-National Board lobbying efforts.

That’s right, the WEA. The teachers’ union. For the past ten years, the WEA has devoted an enormous amount of energy and resources to promote National Board Certification, for no other reason than because the organization values good teaching. It has also actively recruited NBCTs to leadership positions within the WEA. And for obvious reasons: NBCTs have proven their capacity to complete a complicated project, but most importantly, as accomplished teachers, they have the credibility to lead. There are now a significant number of NBCTs serving as local association presidents, including Tacoma's, one of the largest district in the state. 

And now we see the consequences of that agenda. Thanks to the WEA, OSPI and CSTP, the Accomplished Teacher community, which represents about 5% of the total teachers in Washington State, has become a real player.

So now what?

I think the true test of any movement is what happens after and beyond self-promotion. And off the top of my head, I can think of three important things that the NBCT community should focus on. (and yes, I realize that “focusing on three things” is an oxymoron.)

1. Become involved in the implementation of our new teacher evaluation system. It was piloted this year, which means now we get to work out the kinks and make it work throughout the state. This is important work; work that needs the talents and credibility of our most accomplished teachers. And having the WEA on board won’t hurt, either.

2. Help restore an effective and sustainable mentoring system. At some point we’re going to start hiring new teachers, and when we do, they’ll need mentors. This is an area that’s taken more than its share of financial hits, to the point where in many school districts there really isn’t anything left. That’s a shame, and it’s something the Accomplished Teacher community is in a perfect position to address.

3. Other stuff. Education thrives on innovation and hard work, both of which take time. Time beyond the school day. If the talk in my faculty room is any indication of the general mood among the teaching force, well… let's just say there's some angst in Washington's classrooms. People are talking a lot about "working to contract" and very little about "taking on new projects." That's not helpful. Some of us will need to step up and carry a little extra for the next couple of years.  Accomplished teachers will need to do a little more than their share of accomplishing until things get back on track.

So congratulations, NBCTs. We’ve arrived as a real force. Cool. Now get busy.

We all know how parent partnerships are so critical to the education of our students. We also all know that not all students go home to less than ideal situations.

I'm lucky that my parent interactions have been generally positive. I tend to try to work with the kid as much as possible before getting a parent involved, whether the issue is academic or disciplinary (which means that by the time the parents are fully involved, most other avenues have been exhausted). Even still, most of my parent partnerships are positive.

However, I've started becoming a little more direct about what I am willing to ask from my "parent partners." I might be overstepping some boundaries, but I figure that after ten years of parents asking me to create extra credit assignments in the last weeks of the year so their little precious can make up the points they squandered earlier in the semester, I might as well try a bolder approach and start making requests of what should be going on at home…not just from the kid, but from the parent as well.

For example, I told a pair of parents last year that they needed to have some backbone and take away the video games and skateboard away from their son. 

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By Tom

Back in the 80s I drove a 1966 Plymouth Valiant. It was slow, ugly, comfortable and simple. When I looked under the hood, there were about four different items and even I could figure out what each of them was supposed to do. Now I drive a 1996 Geo Prizm. Looking under that hood is like looking into a human brain. There are at least 175 different items and I have no idea what any of them do. I’m not even sure which thing is the engine.

Cars have changed. So has teaching. Specifically, I can think of three major changes happening right now that are having – and will have – a major impact on how teachers do their jobs.

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