All My Care

I remember the first time I received a C. In fact, it was the only C I ever earned on a report card, and it was in 3^rd grade for handwriting. I recall feeling disappointed and vowing to never allow that to happen again. As a teacher, I dwell in a different space. While I was completely invested in what grade I earned, I do not have that level of investment in my students’ grades. Do not mistake this for apathy. I care beyond measure. However, I could care less if Suzy gets an A while Veronica gets a B. My care lies in the understanding of what those letters convey to first to the student then to those vested in the student outside the classroom. Beyond the letter, I care about the level of happiness, engagement, curiosity, and thought that every student experiences in my room. But, the powers at be mandate that I must rate, score, and judge learning and assign a value. Those grades are supposed to represent something, but do they really?

Most schools utilize scores on a scale of 0 to 100. One might argue that if a student scores one of these, the message is clear. But I would argue not even scores that represent all or nothing actually represent that. I will begin with 0. Does that score mean Julie knows nothing about which I’m assessing? Or does this mean she did nothing? Did she learn nothing, or did she simply show nothing? On the opposite side, does 100 represent knowing everything about something? I teach language arts, so if I score a paper at 100 (which is infrequent), does that mean everyone will see it as perfect? Of course there is the matter of context. In order to properly understand what a score is trying to convey, one must understand the learning objectives that were being assessed. As a parent, I must confess that I don’t often look at my child’s score and then inquire of the teachers about the learning objectives. Instead, I simply assume they know 87% of something. That’s my judgment. I’m guessing my students’ parents do same thing. But is the percent score actually a percent of something? Most of the time it’s not a % complete- that’s definitely frowned upon, but if a student leaves a question blank- for whatever reason- then it sort of is. For as much as we try to quantify student learning, I think we just don’t. 

For this reason, I am skeptical of grades. Also, I do not and will not give zeros. Yep. I said it. Slavin (2012) breaks down why zeros are essentially the death penalty of grades; they are black holes that suck the potential out of typically already struggling students. That’s the opposite of my job! I’m in this to cultivate, grow, foster, mentor not tear down, punish, or belittle. I get it. If a student does nothing, how can I ethically assign any credit? I can and do because the scale system is fundamentally flawed, and thus I have more ethical problems with participating in breaking down the morale of kids than giving credit where none was earned. Moreover, I give assignments because I believe something in the task will make them a better thinker. So I figure out a way to get the student to do the tasks. Rarely do I enter a “student never turned in.” Instead, I track them down at lunch and give them the work until it’s done. I contact parents. I consult colleagues. I conference with the student. And I give them a why. I care about that.

About grades, I could care less. As long as my students know where they stand, I’m good. Recently, a parent approached me in the community and told me, “Mrs. Drake, my daughter was just talking last night about how she has never thought so hard in a class before.” Now that, I care about. I want to push these kids to think wildly- to ponder- and discover the wonder of thought. My mom will tell you that when I was first learning to speak, my favorite word was why. Funny, it still is. If you write something, and your reader is left wondering why, you weren’t done explaining. If your child tells you they want to be a truck driver, don’t judge, ask why. Getting kids engaged in metacognitive activities opens their cognitive processes and allows possibility. As a nation, we need that. We need thinkers who see possibility in complex problems. Scoring them won’t help that, but teaching them will. And that’s definitely all I care  about. 

Slavin, R. E. (2012). Educational psychology: Theory and practice (10th ed.). Boston, MA: Pearson Education.

 

Lessons I Learned from My Kid

In an effort to gain perspective on classroom environment, I quizzed my 13 year-old son. Naturally, he had very little to say as this is summer, and he is in denial about having only four weeks left until he returns to school. However, when I asked him what his ideal classroom situation was, he answered a room where he can select his own seat. Thinking there might be more he wanted to add, I waited a few moments. True to his adolescent male self, that was all he had to say about that. I then followed up with what was the most fun he ever had in a class. His response was interesting. He said, "I hesitate to say this but in most ways Mr. S because we did so many cool things but not him because he was so bipolar with me." I knew exactly what he meant by this, which I will detail later. Then I asked what his second favorite class was. He answered his social studies class because "Mr. D was crazy," which he explained meant funny, offbeat, unpredictable, and engaging. This conversation illuminated a few things for me that tied neatly with this week's discussions on classroom management.

1. Students want a say. His list of demands for an ideal situation was surprising brief- allow me to sit where I want. This truly surprised me in its simplicity. It also affirmed my own classroom practice of allowing students to select their own seats as long as they can keep themselves focused. Schools are so highly structured and allow so few choices, we teachers ought to remember that allowing choice when possible will go a long way in keeping them in it with us.

2. Students crave consistency. My son's relationship with Mr. S was often a challenge for all involved: him, Mr. S, his classmates, and my husband and I. Clearly, my son found the relationship with Mr. S difficult because he never knew whether his own behaviors would be acceptable on any given day. I am not a parent with blinders on; I am fully aware that my child can be high maintenance and doesn't always do what's expected of him. However, if sometimes he is allowed to slide and other times he receives consequences of varying severity, these behaviors would be intermittently reinforced and essentially perpetuated. Having worked with this teacher previously, I know my son was not alone in this experience with this teacher. One time, when I was covering his classroom, his students were literally laying on the tables. It was clear he struggled with how to keep the environment loose enough to keep students engaged but structured enough for learning to occur for all students. Therefore, we teachers must possess a level of awareness that predictability in equitable treatment goes a long way in establishing trusting relationships. In addition, we can teach them without being friends with them.

3. Students learn when content is interesting. While my son loves science and math and therefore would love the activities in Mr. S's class, he does not love social studies. In fact, he would tell you it's a complete waste of his time. However, I found it fascinating that he named Mr. D's class his second favorite, and he maintained an A in the advanced class all year. I believe this happened because even though the actual material wasn't interesting to my son, Mr. D made it that way by allowing himself a level of vulnerability that manifested in silliness, engaging stories, modeling how to step out of the box to think, and being fearless when it comes to showing your authentic self. So our reality as teachers is simple: with so many students, not all will be interested in our material all the time. However, we can reach even the seemingly most unreachable by opening ourselves up and letting others in.

Is Humanity Enough?

One of my principals once said, “Even though it may seem like some of them may have been raised by wolves, we still have to teach them!” This quote was ever present on my mind this week as I pondered the question of relating to at-risk students. How do you relate to someone with whom you don’t immediately share commonalities? Is it essential to have something in common to relate to someone? Is the common thread of humanity enough?

Based on the readings and many of the postings, I feel like authentic learning happens when a trusting relationship is established between the teacher and the students within the confines of a trusting environment. Some students enter a classroom and automatically trust the adult and their peers; they are open to experiences, eager to learn, and have adequate supports at home. Establishing a rapport with such students can be relatively easy.  However, more and more, students come to having experienced life in ways that make learning a lower priority than having other needs met. Maslow theorized a hierarchy of needs whereby basic necessities like food, shelter, and clothing are imperative before higher order needs can be met. Many standards mandated by school boards are simply unessential. Therefore, if a student comes to school without the basic needs being met, he or she will be incapable of truly participating in the learning process. Schools have some supports in place to fill in some of these needs, but just the uncertainty of the essentials can negatively impact the psyche of a child and become a substantial barrier to learning.

So for these students, teachers must “go the extra mile” and identify ways to build a relationship. If a child feels safe, this removes one major barrier to learning. Another way to build that trust is to identify ways in which the teacher can potentially empathize with the students. Personally, as a child of contentious divorced parents, I can relate to many students who are forced to move frequently, deal with marginal incomes, and struggle to fit in with peers who seem to have so much more than they do. As a young teacher, I thought it would be best to keep these experiences to myself; however, as I have grown, I feel openness has afforded me opportunities to reach student who otherwise would be skeptical of my relatability.  Naturally, there will be students who experience things that I did not; things that are much more challenging and perhaps even life-threatening. In those times, I feel like I can only demonstrate compassion, lend a listening ear, and be an advocate for my students who need me most.

So is humanity enough to relate to each other? I say yes. It does not matter who raised the kids because, deep down, I feel we are all responsible for them anyway.