By Mark
Assuming no ugly run-ins with Occupy Portland protesters, a number of my fellow teachers from Clark County will be finishing the Portland Marathon this weekend.
My seniors will be finishing their own marathon in a few short months. The finish line, that stage at graduation, is at the end of a run that is strenuous and filled with hills, potholes, and the occasional broken shoelace.
As I struggle to give meaningful feedback on the piles of student writing which keep appearing on my desk, it is growing more and more apparent that we are truly nearing the end of the race. Or perhaps, rather than using the metaphor in terms of distance (since in a real marathon, the distance runners travel is the constant) I ought to consider it in terms of time, since in education, time is the constant and distance is the variable.
In the asphalt marathon, when the runners start they are generally all bunched together. Sure, there are the ones in front who have arrived with preparation, tools and training, good nutrition and certainly some natural talents and dispositions that lend themselves to success in such a grueling race. These ones immediately take off, widening the gap within seconds.
Then there are those toward the back–perhaps the hobby runners, less rigorously trained, perhaps less physically sound, but running nonetheless.
Take a snapshot in the first five seconds, and the distance from the front of the pack to the back of the pack is not all that great.
Come back in two hours, though, and take a picture.
The pack is now strung out over miles upon miles. The record setters are nearing the final leg, the not-so-ready-for-the-big-run folks are as much as ten miles back, if they are even still in the race. This is where my seniors are right now. When I read their writing, the difference between the head of the pack and those trailing at the rear is vast and disheartening. This gap is even greater than it was three years ago when I had many of these kiddos as ninth graders.
So herein is the problem with the marathon my students are running. After thirteen years of running, the spread is tremendous. Since the time, not the distance, must be the "common" factor, the kids walking across that stage in June may have all been running for the same amount of time–but they certainly didn't cover the same distance. The question arises, then: Are we okay with that?
To beat the marathon metaphor a little further, let's consider what we might do to help those runners in the back of the pack to perform more like those runners in the front. We could intervene, offer lessons in energy pathways, nutrition, and training routines. We could take them out of the race, have them run some laps, hit the weights, and get stronger.
Except, that won't work if we want them to be running the same race as the runners chasing the course record.
No, we have to find a way to re-train and rehabilitate the back-of-the-pack runners as they are running. They cannot leave the race, prepare themselves, and then return.
In the current education system, our kids cannot leave the race either. Nor can they just bow out and try a different race later on down the road: My struggling freshmen cannot just quit the race and start over fresh at kindergarten.
In our schools, we can try interventions, but the problem remains that even the interventions rarely change the time line. We seem to have to intervene to try to improve their running while they are running–and in that situation, there's really only so much you can do to improve their running. So, do we want them to adhere to the parameters of the race (in our case, the time line), or do we want them be better runners?
If our goal is the latter, we need to ignore the time line, and even perhaps ignore the finish line, and instead, focus on the quality of the run and the efficiency at which they cover the distance when they are in the race. I don't think we have enough freedom to do this in our current system.
As I think about where I'd like to see education head in the next twenty years, one first thing I'd like to see go is the concept of chronological grade levels in favor of "ready-forward" advancement. This way, when we see a runner struggling, we don't have to shout at them from the sidelines all the things they ought to do differently while they persist in their struggle. Instead, we can pull them off the course, train, nourish, and ready them–then put them back in the race where they pulled out. This intervention means that when they re-enter the race, they are a better runner and can therefore cover more ground. It might mean some finish the race is sixteen years' time, while others might finish in ten.
I recognize that the marathon metaphor is really quite flawed when you pick it over, but I hope you are getting the essence of what I am trying to communicate: the constants and the variables in education need to reverse themselves. When we can focus less on year-to-year chronological advancement from grade to grade, perhaps we can actually get everyone to a more worthwhile finish line.
Simply: how can we expect public education to evolve for the better when the race–the teaching and learning–stops not when it is finished but when the time runs out?
Every child can learn, that’s for sure. And every child should be able to reach standard. That’s essentially what “standard” means. But that only happens when teachers, parents and students are all working effectively.
I love your response to the kids mom, by the way; I’m using it.
I was thinking about that same idea, Tom, when I was meeting with a parent last week. Their child had earned an F on our first assessment. It boiled down to the fact that the child had not followed directions (and then also not taken advantage of my offer to resubmit after receiving re-instruction…but that’s a different story). The parent, however, was distraught: she was worried how her child would feel. I, like grade-A donkey, said “I hope your child feels like reading the directions next time.” That didn’t go over well.
I care about how my students “feel,” but not enough to waste their time or make them think that they deserve a better grade than their performance merits.
The real trouble, though, is whenever we have the guts to point out that not every child is going to be Faulkner or Einstein, we suddenly get the accusatory question “Don’t you think every child can learn?” Emotion trumps logic too often.
I love this analogy, and I won’t try to pick it apart.
I will say this, though; at some point we’re going to have to accept the fact that students don’t come with the same degree of talent.
We accept it when it comes to sports, ballet and music, yet when it comes to academics, we’re locked into the mindset that every student is a potential Faulkner or Einstein.
Great analogy Mark. First, I don’t think kids should move into 3rd grade until they’re at grade level. That means we focus on the first three years, so that we don’t have twelve-year old third graders.
Fully funded pre-K, with all the wrap-around services that are going to diagnose learning disabilities, psychological challenges, and get families involved.
Longer school days for elementary by providing free after school programs. Working families could use them, as could kids who need extra instruction.
Summer programs. For free. Especially in grades k-5. Programs that are math, science, and reading intensive but also fun.
Having just come from the high school level, I see waaaaaaaaaaaay too many resources being poured into kids too late in the race.
We should put all that money into the first few years – have two teachers to a classroom and put everything into it so that kids get to middle school ready to go.