There were some things I forgot to mention in yesterday's post. One of the things I have noticed is that there are ways to widen our vision of the world. Everyone you meet has a back story and often when you learn that story you can approach that person with a new degree of openness and compassion. I think remembering this can be the hard part.
I always try to remember, everyone is a human being. By extension, human experiences and feelings are not so different across the board. It is often in our perception that seperation and isolation exist. In reality, at one time or another almost everyone has felt "that" way. Everyone has some self-doubt. Everyone has things about them they do not like and everyone has moments of weakness and insecurity. Ultimately, we will all also come to the same end. When our vision adjusts for these truths we are better equipped to face the world and to see others more clearly.
It also helps to remember that everyone has a story. Not only does everyone have a story, but as my huband says, "Almost every family has their hardships to deal with."
I remember that the other day I stopped to talk to the school soccer coach about a player who missed his homework. I commented that the student did a good job but that he played and talked way too much in class. That's when the coach took a moment to give me the kid's story. Apparently the student had just moved from Mexico to live in the U.S. with his dad and sister. The kids are living here without their mom. They get left alone late into the evening every night. The soccer coach pointed out, "At least he has not shaved his head and started wearing dickies like the other kids from his neighborhood because that's where he comes from." What he meant is that the little guy had joined a soccer team and not a gang. That of course melted my heart so I took the kid to my room to give him the make up work. Now, when I see him and his sister I just think about their life outside school and find a well of compassion for them. I really hope that they remain unspoiled by living in this situation.
I guess that we cannot form a real vision of the world without remembering the humanity in everyone.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Altered Vision
My vision has changed since MS first attacked. It has changed several times on several levels since I first got sick.
First, there was the vertigo that came with my first exacerbation. During that time, I saw the room crooked. Everything looked like it was at an angle. Over time, it got worse and before I went to the ER for the second time there was a day I could barely see at all. I also saw double of just about everything. When they went to dismiss me from the ER the seond time the doctor had two heads. I told him this and he became the first person to suggest that I might have MS.
The first time I saw the neurologist my vision was terrible. I could not see things in my periphery and everything was blurry. My eyes never stopped fluttering. Needless to say, I didn't drive for over a month when my vision was terrible.
While my external vision was at its worst, my internal vision was at its best. I had to change the view on my computer just to type and prop my head up on pillows but the writing that flowed out filled me with clarity, even while I could not clearly see the screen in front of me.
When I went back to the neurologist after taking steroids, my vision was beginning to clear but my eyes still fluttered around the periphery. I suspect that they still do.
My vision has changed many times since my diagnoses. Sometimes all I can see is what is beautiful in others. Sometimes I can see what is beautiful in me. Other times, I can only see my flaws and those apparent in those around me or in our world.
My vision of myself has certainly altered. I can even see a difference in the mirror. At times I literally cannot see the details of my face at all. At other times if I look closely I can see new details in my face. I look older around the eyes. Sometimes I look really sick and tired. It seems it takes more work for me to look good and I find myself loathe to even exert the effort to look less worn and tired.
It seems I cannot focus the way I used to both with my eyes and my attention. I tire easily. My eyes don't want to focus on anything that is not directly in front of me. I don't see things well when I first look at them. I must force myself to focus. Things in my periphery startle me. I see shadows of activity but I am uncertain what they are. When I change my direction, I must allow time for my eyes to adjust or I get dizzy and see a blur. Driving seems ok but I worry about being cut off by someone from the side who I don't see well. There are often little blind spots in my vision.
I wonder at times if I am just imagining these shifts (the external, not the internal which is very real) but they seem to be happening more frequently. It seems that working causes the need for me to shift my vision more often than vacation did. I find myself getting dizzy and headachy. My neck hurts. This weekend I found myself dizzy for nearly two days. There seems to be little cure for this except sleep. After sleeping 12 hours, my dizziness faded and yet my eyes still feel strange and exhausted. There is now an almost continual pressure behind my eyes and in my skull. While I labor with the external changes, the internal changes continue. I look in the mirror and wonder about the woman I see.
First, there was the vertigo that came with my first exacerbation. During that time, I saw the room crooked. Everything looked like it was at an angle. Over time, it got worse and before I went to the ER for the second time there was a day I could barely see at all. I also saw double of just about everything. When they went to dismiss me from the ER the seond time the doctor had two heads. I told him this and he became the first person to suggest that I might have MS.
The first time I saw the neurologist my vision was terrible. I could not see things in my periphery and everything was blurry. My eyes never stopped fluttering. Needless to say, I didn't drive for over a month when my vision was terrible.
While my external vision was at its worst, my internal vision was at its best. I had to change the view on my computer just to type and prop my head up on pillows but the writing that flowed out filled me with clarity, even while I could not clearly see the screen in front of me.
When I went back to the neurologist after taking steroids, my vision was beginning to clear but my eyes still fluttered around the periphery. I suspect that they still do.
My vision has changed many times since my diagnoses. Sometimes all I can see is what is beautiful in others. Sometimes I can see what is beautiful in me. Other times, I can only see my flaws and those apparent in those around me or in our world.
My vision of myself has certainly altered. I can even see a difference in the mirror. At times I literally cannot see the details of my face at all. At other times if I look closely I can see new details in my face. I look older around the eyes. Sometimes I look really sick and tired. It seems it takes more work for me to look good and I find myself loathe to even exert the effort to look less worn and tired.
It seems I cannot focus the way I used to both with my eyes and my attention. I tire easily. My eyes don't want to focus on anything that is not directly in front of me. I don't see things well when I first look at them. I must force myself to focus. Things in my periphery startle me. I see shadows of activity but I am uncertain what they are. When I change my direction, I must allow time for my eyes to adjust or I get dizzy and see a blur. Driving seems ok but I worry about being cut off by someone from the side who I don't see well. There are often little blind spots in my vision.
I wonder at times if I am just imagining these shifts (the external, not the internal which is very real) but they seem to be happening more frequently. It seems that working causes the need for me to shift my vision more often than vacation did. I find myself getting dizzy and headachy. My neck hurts. This weekend I found myself dizzy for nearly two days. There seems to be little cure for this except sleep. After sleeping 12 hours, my dizziness faded and yet my eyes still feel strange and exhausted. There is now an almost continual pressure behind my eyes and in my skull. While I labor with the external changes, the internal changes continue. I look in the mirror and wonder about the woman I see.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Fumbling along my quest
There were moments when I was frozen, stuck in stagnation that knew no floor or no ceiling. I am a blind soul infatuated with the idea that true content can be found. I am in fact fixated on the idea. Perhaps this is a trap, for in this notion is also the notion that I will find what I seek if I just listen closely enough to my innate intuitions.
I have spent so long being driven that now when I come up for air and find that I have somehow changed, I am without root. I find myself on this quest to find my truest self and yet the deeper I look, the more questions are raised. In many ways it was easier to be driven as though I were chased by demons because now that many of my ambitions have been set aside, I find myself asking, "What more is there?" The self I have unearthed seems dreamless. This self struggles every day to get up and do it again and wants nothing better than to get home and snuggle with my pets and my husband. This emerging self does not care for the same validation and recognition that has spurred my actions for so long.
I read the comments on my last blog and feel almost like a fraud. Yes, I am good at what I do, I care about what I do and yet every day on the way to work I have to psyche myself up. In the darkness when my alarm sounds, I want to curl up in a tiny ball, crawl under the covers and snuggle into the darkness. I get to work and during my planning period, I dream of a day where I can curl up on my yoga mat and rest, even for fifteen minutes before I see the kids. I just am not so hungry anymore. I am exhausted by the same obstacles, the same hills to battle. I am exhausted.
The exhaustion is not just in my body, it's in my mind. My ability, no my desire to solve problems is diminished. I just want to fold up my cape and be an ordinary citizen now but I am not sure how ordinary citizens live this long life. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep... The weekend is like an oasis in the distance. Then it arrives and I am spent. I can barely remember why I wanted it so badly.
At the back of my mind is the thought, "There must be something more." I have been reading "Yoga and the Quest for the True Self" by Stephen Cope. In the part I just read he was at a meditation retreat and he found that during the practice his mind kept drifting to the furniture that he wanted to decorate his house with. The teacher told him to "cut out that chicken shit." He later realized that we come to see ourselves as the identity we have forged. He had decorated his house with thoughts like, "This house reflects who I am etc..." Cope then went on to note that we come to see ourselves almost entirely through how we believe others perceive us. I think that this must often lead us into delusions about our worth or lack thereof. We may build an identity for ourselves that is entirely based on calculations of how others will view us. I fear now that much of who I thought I am was based on a calculation about what others expected me to be.
I am not wrapped in self-pity, I am reflecting that I do not even know myself. I wonder about what I really want, where I see myself in the future and what I value and so far I have no answers. There seems to be a part of me that would like nothing more than a large change in how I spend me time. There is a part of me that wishes I never had to work again but on the other hand, so much of what I believe is based on the idea that I am happiest creating things. Sometimes my creations are my students. I guide them from one place to another. It used to bother me that few people seemed to notice my successes but now I find that I would rather stay under the radar and dream of all the things I hope the kids will learn under my tutelage.
I long to be still but then when I am, I find that I am nagged by the notion that I should be accomplishing something. I am not sure how we can seperate ourselves from our actions or our creations. So long I have sought and yet I do not know how to find what I seek. I fumble on, sometimes in darkness, sometimes in light and still I wonder--
I have spent so long being driven that now when I come up for air and find that I have somehow changed, I am without root. I find myself on this quest to find my truest self and yet the deeper I look, the more questions are raised. In many ways it was easier to be driven as though I were chased by demons because now that many of my ambitions have been set aside, I find myself asking, "What more is there?" The self I have unearthed seems dreamless. This self struggles every day to get up and do it again and wants nothing better than to get home and snuggle with my pets and my husband. This emerging self does not care for the same validation and recognition that has spurred my actions for so long.
I read the comments on my last blog and feel almost like a fraud. Yes, I am good at what I do, I care about what I do and yet every day on the way to work I have to psyche myself up. In the darkness when my alarm sounds, I want to curl up in a tiny ball, crawl under the covers and snuggle into the darkness. I get to work and during my planning period, I dream of a day where I can curl up on my yoga mat and rest, even for fifteen minutes before I see the kids. I just am not so hungry anymore. I am exhausted by the same obstacles, the same hills to battle. I am exhausted.
The exhaustion is not just in my body, it's in my mind. My ability, no my desire to solve problems is diminished. I just want to fold up my cape and be an ordinary citizen now but I am not sure how ordinary citizens live this long life. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep... The weekend is like an oasis in the distance. Then it arrives and I am spent. I can barely remember why I wanted it so badly.
At the back of my mind is the thought, "There must be something more." I have been reading "Yoga and the Quest for the True Self" by Stephen Cope. In the part I just read he was at a meditation retreat and he found that during the practice his mind kept drifting to the furniture that he wanted to decorate his house with. The teacher told him to "cut out that chicken shit." He later realized that we come to see ourselves as the identity we have forged. He had decorated his house with thoughts like, "This house reflects who I am etc..." Cope then went on to note that we come to see ourselves almost entirely through how we believe others perceive us. I think that this must often lead us into delusions about our worth or lack thereof. We may build an identity for ourselves that is entirely based on calculations of how others will view us. I fear now that much of who I thought I am was based on a calculation about what others expected me to be.
I am not wrapped in self-pity, I am reflecting that I do not even know myself. I wonder about what I really want, where I see myself in the future and what I value and so far I have no answers. There seems to be a part of me that would like nothing more than a large change in how I spend me time. There is a part of me that wishes I never had to work again but on the other hand, so much of what I believe is based on the idea that I am happiest creating things. Sometimes my creations are my students. I guide them from one place to another. It used to bother me that few people seemed to notice my successes but now I find that I would rather stay under the radar and dream of all the things I hope the kids will learn under my tutelage.
I long to be still but then when I am, I find that I am nagged by the notion that I should be accomplishing something. I am not sure how we can seperate ourselves from our actions or our creations. So long I have sought and yet I do not know how to find what I seek. I fumble on, sometimes in darkness, sometimes in light and still I wonder--
Monday, September 1, 2008
Why I teach
Since I was a little girl I wanted to change the world. I have never been able to tolerate the sight of human suffering when I know there is nothing I can do to ease it. That is one of the main reasons I rarely watch or read the news. The sheer pain of the many is more than I can stomach. This does not mean that I am looking away. It means that I prefer to focus on problems I can solve. This is ultimately why I teach. It is rare that the efforts of one person touch a large sphere but the efforts of the many can make real changes. The best thing one individual can do is to inspire changes in others. This can then have a sort of domino effect where ones actions can begin to effect the actions of many people toward great actions. When a leader with truly great humanitarian intentions is able to inspire millions of people to make positive changes, these changes begin to occur as in the case of Ghandi, or Martin Luther King Jr. (my heroes).
I realize that I am no Ghandi but I also realize that I have a natural gift for teaching. I am not a patient person but when I teach, I really can be. I have a great ability for meeting the learner wherever they are and helping them to achieve their potential on any given day. It is not clear how or why I have this ability but it seems that perhaps I was really meant to teach. It does not seem to matter what I teach or who I teach but it is in the role of teacher that I find what is best in me.
Lately I have found it hard to reconnect with what I love about teaching but there have been glimmers. Every day I stand and guard the east hallway of my school during hall sweeps first block where late students are sent to the cafeteria. Every day I see this little (ok, big) fat kid get swept up. He is always breathless and I keep thinking about how he tried so hard to get to class on time, unlike the kids I see sauntering by with their electronic devices and their group of friends. Every time I see him I wonder about him. Does he have friends? What is his life like? Why is he so fat and breathless at such a young age? He never sees me but I almost cry when I imagine that his life might be really hard and sad. Seeing fat kids always makes me feel sad. Strange as it may sound, that is also why I teach. I teach for the kids that are outcast and alone. I teach for the kids who may not see another person smile at them all day except for me.
On Friday my 10th graders read a story called “The Circuit” by Franciso Jimenez. The story helped me remember again why I teach. The narrator of the story was a little Mexican boy who belonged to a family of migrant workers. The family moved from farm to farm picking things. They never knew where their next job would be and the little boy never had a place to call home. He and his siblings often could not attend school for months and they had to hide from the school people so the family would not get in trouble. During the picking season, the little boy worked seven days a week, 12 hours a day. School was his beacon of hope. It was a vacation and an opportunity beyond his difficult life. When he finally got to go it was November. He was behind, had almost forgotten English and he could barely read. He had no friends but the teacher supported and helped him. Near the end of the story, he went to the music room to try playing an instrument and the teacher heard him and offered to start teaching him to play. When he got home, his family was packing up to move again.
I could hardly believe it but I found myself crying about the little boy’s story. My students looked at me in surprise as I cried and read. Finally, through my tears I told them, “This story is so sad. This little boy could be one of you or someone in your family. It is so sad that he wanted to go to school and couldn’t. This is exactly why I am a teacher.”
I was embarrassed by my tears but I also hoped that the story and my emotion would have an impact on my students. I hoped that they would recognize what they really have because this story is the story of the life of so many migrant and illegal immigrants in the United States. At the time, it was hard to gauge their reactions but I noticed that they all did their work afterward and were very well-behaved.
The next day I read their reactions to the story and what do you know, their comments ranged from, “That story was so sad” to “I know a kid like that.” I also got comments like “That is the best story we ever read.” This made me realize something. Even if their comments were designed to illicit my approval, they are actually listening to the things I say. I guess one teacher can really make a difference. Deep down I always knew that but sometimes even teachers need to remember why it is we teach.
I realize that I am no Ghandi but I also realize that I have a natural gift for teaching. I am not a patient person but when I teach, I really can be. I have a great ability for meeting the learner wherever they are and helping them to achieve their potential on any given day. It is not clear how or why I have this ability but it seems that perhaps I was really meant to teach. It does not seem to matter what I teach or who I teach but it is in the role of teacher that I find what is best in me.
Lately I have found it hard to reconnect with what I love about teaching but there have been glimmers. Every day I stand and guard the east hallway of my school during hall sweeps first block where late students are sent to the cafeteria. Every day I see this little (ok, big) fat kid get swept up. He is always breathless and I keep thinking about how he tried so hard to get to class on time, unlike the kids I see sauntering by with their electronic devices and their group of friends. Every time I see him I wonder about him. Does he have friends? What is his life like? Why is he so fat and breathless at such a young age? He never sees me but I almost cry when I imagine that his life might be really hard and sad. Seeing fat kids always makes me feel sad. Strange as it may sound, that is also why I teach. I teach for the kids that are outcast and alone. I teach for the kids who may not see another person smile at them all day except for me.
On Friday my 10th graders read a story called “The Circuit” by Franciso Jimenez. The story helped me remember again why I teach. The narrator of the story was a little Mexican boy who belonged to a family of migrant workers. The family moved from farm to farm picking things. They never knew where their next job would be and the little boy never had a place to call home. He and his siblings often could not attend school for months and they had to hide from the school people so the family would not get in trouble. During the picking season, the little boy worked seven days a week, 12 hours a day. School was his beacon of hope. It was a vacation and an opportunity beyond his difficult life. When he finally got to go it was November. He was behind, had almost forgotten English and he could barely read. He had no friends but the teacher supported and helped him. Near the end of the story, he went to the music room to try playing an instrument and the teacher heard him and offered to start teaching him to play. When he got home, his family was packing up to move again.
I could hardly believe it but I found myself crying about the little boy’s story. My students looked at me in surprise as I cried and read. Finally, through my tears I told them, “This story is so sad. This little boy could be one of you or someone in your family. It is so sad that he wanted to go to school and couldn’t. This is exactly why I am a teacher.”
I was embarrassed by my tears but I also hoped that the story and my emotion would have an impact on my students. I hoped that they would recognize what they really have because this story is the story of the life of so many migrant and illegal immigrants in the United States. At the time, it was hard to gauge their reactions but I noticed that they all did their work afterward and were very well-behaved.
The next day I read their reactions to the story and what do you know, their comments ranged from, “That story was so sad” to “I know a kid like that.” I also got comments like “That is the best story we ever read.” This made me realize something. Even if their comments were designed to illicit my approval, they are actually listening to the things I say. I guess one teacher can really make a difference. Deep down I always knew that but sometimes even teachers need to remember why it is we teach.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
The Illusion of Control
It is hard to escape the trap that we are somehow able to completely control our destiny. Time and again I catch myself slipping into the idea that I can control my disease or that I got ill because of something I did. This is just not how the world works. All we can really control is how we handle the hand we are dealt.
I spent a long time trying to figure out why I got MS. Then I spent some time deciding how I was going to stay well. I have also spent a great deal of time contemplating my future.
When I started this blog I posed several essential questions. One of them was whether diet and exercise can improve ones prognosis. I was quick to adopt the idea that a person can hold MS at bay with diet and exercise. I still believe that both these things are important to ones overall well-being. A healthier body can better deal with trauma and illness but it also has begun to dawn on me that diet and exercise alone are no guarantee of health. I realize that one cannot entirely predict or control the course of the MonSter.
Strangely, I am not disturbed by these realizations. I was unable to control my diagnosis and I am unable to control everything about my future. That’s ok with me now. There are many things I can control.
I can control how much I exercise. I can control what I choose to do and not do. I can control my diet. Most importantly, I can control my mind. I can control how I deal with bumps in the road. I can spend a lot of time worrying about the future or my next possible or probable relapse, or I can embrace my present where I am finding a way to juggle my responsibilities. I think it’s important that I do the things I want and need to do now when and while I can.
I think it is possible that I could be one of the lucky ones, one of those people who suffer little at the hands of their disease but I also realize that the statistics are against me. There are very few people with lesions who truly never have another relapse but they do exist. I always used to believe that nothing like this would ever happen to me but it did.
On the other hand, if I was unlucky enough to be one of the only people I know who got this diagnosis, I also might fit into another unlikely percentage and never really deteriorate as a result of my disease. The good news for my own mental state is that I can accept my fate either way. This does not mean that I am not going to keep doing yoga, eating right and minimizing stress. It means that I realize that even by doing these things I may not be ensuring a symptom-free future. I accept that control is indeed an illusion but that is ok.
I spent a long time trying to figure out why I got MS. Then I spent some time deciding how I was going to stay well. I have also spent a great deal of time contemplating my future.
When I started this blog I posed several essential questions. One of them was whether diet and exercise can improve ones prognosis. I was quick to adopt the idea that a person can hold MS at bay with diet and exercise. I still believe that both these things are important to ones overall well-being. A healthier body can better deal with trauma and illness but it also has begun to dawn on me that diet and exercise alone are no guarantee of health. I realize that one cannot entirely predict or control the course of the MonSter.
Strangely, I am not disturbed by these realizations. I was unable to control my diagnosis and I am unable to control everything about my future. That’s ok with me now. There are many things I can control.
I can control how much I exercise. I can control what I choose to do and not do. I can control my diet. Most importantly, I can control my mind. I can control how I deal with bumps in the road. I can spend a lot of time worrying about the future or my next possible or probable relapse, or I can embrace my present where I am finding a way to juggle my responsibilities. I think it’s important that I do the things I want and need to do now when and while I can.
I think it is possible that I could be one of the lucky ones, one of those people who suffer little at the hands of their disease but I also realize that the statistics are against me. There are very few people with lesions who truly never have another relapse but they do exist. I always used to believe that nothing like this would ever happen to me but it did.
On the other hand, if I was unlucky enough to be one of the only people I know who got this diagnosis, I also might fit into another unlikely percentage and never really deteriorate as a result of my disease. The good news for my own mental state is that I can accept my fate either way. This does not mean that I am not going to keep doing yoga, eating right and minimizing stress. It means that I realize that even by doing these things I may not be ensuring a symptom-free future. I accept that control is indeed an illusion but that is ok.
For your brief entertainment
All I have in me today is posting a few more cute animal pics. I'm not feeling so great so I'll post something interesting as soon as I feel better.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
No Child Left Behind , I Guess
Lisa from Brass and Ivory left me a comment asking what I thought about our nation's illustrious "No Child Left Behind" act so I decided to sound off here.
Surprisingly, I think that much of the actual ideal behind NCLB is solid. It is in the implementation and interpretations of NCLB that the problems have emerged. The act requires that teachers be "highly qualified." That means they are either certified in their content area or have completed 24 hours of college study in the subject they teach. There is nothing wrong with that. Having qualified, educated teachers in every classroom is a good thing. The greatest problem is that there is a shortage of these people and many opt out of working in low-performing schools like the one where I teach. This is especially true in math and science. We can never find people certified to teach math who want to work in our school because of our undesirable location, reputation and test scores. We always seem to end up with people who have never spent a day as a classroom teacher in their lives. Still, we hire them on an "emergency license" because we have no choice. Then, theoretically they get coached and supported but you just can't throw a teacher into the kind of school where I teach. Their inexperience is quickly evident. They have little or no control of their students. Students can rarely even hear the teacher in this environment, let alone learn. These teachers are not trained in fancy extras like "sheltered instruction" (to help ESL kids)or "differentiated instruction" (to help facilitate level-appropriate work in multi-level classes). Classes are packed to the gills (30 or more to a room) and there is rarely even another adult available to help out. So while NCLB is designed to promote equity, it actually makes the inequities more glaring.
Let me explain my last statement. At the inception of NCLB, there was a grand vision that all kids, regardless of school, race or socioeconomic background would all perform at or above grade-level. Again, not a bad sentiment at all. In order to ensure this, "standards" were created nationally and at the state level to guide teachers regarding grade-level targets. Then, it was mandated that each state offer a yearly exam to measure student progress. In Colorado we got CSAP, the bain of our existence.
I am not against the idea of standards. I am also not against standardized assessment. It is the way that assessment affects low-performing schools that upsets me. Schools are given a CSAP "grade" each year based on student performance. If a school performs too low for three years in a row, it gets taken over. In an age of "school choice," the families that can afford to, send their kids to high-performing schools outside their neighborhoods if a good neighborhood school does not exist. Busing ended here several years ago and now we are watching our urban schools sink back into racial and socioeconomic segregation. High performing schools continue to attract more affluent families while low-perfoming schools serve those who have no options. Our scores are down this year and my school now is 100% free and reduced lunch.
Each year an enormous amount of money gets spent on the CSAP program. I feel that this money could be better utilized by fully funding NCLB. No one knows exactly what full funding would look like but when I am queen of the universe, there are several ways I would spend the money.
As queen, I would make classes of 30 into classes of 15. I would make sure that there were more homogenous classes with fewer different levels in one room. I would hire aides for every classroom that needed them. I would offer remediation classes to those who needed remediation in a specific area instead of worrying about how that might hurt test scores (I actually think it might help). Schools would not receive a public grade or report card. Test data would just be shared with teachers, students and administration in a district so they could see how they needed to improve. I would split property taxes at the state level instead of the district level so that those who live in poor communities would have as much money spent on their education as those in a wealthier area. All teachers would get the coaching and support they need. We would have enough texts for every kid in the room. Administrators would have more support so they could support us and no teacher would ever feel isolated or ignored.
Perhaps not all of the ideas in NCLB need to be tossed out. I would hedge that the system just needs to be funded and adjusted.
Surprisingly, I think that much of the actual ideal behind NCLB is solid. It is in the implementation and interpretations of NCLB that the problems have emerged. The act requires that teachers be "highly qualified." That means they are either certified in their content area or have completed 24 hours of college study in the subject they teach. There is nothing wrong with that. Having qualified, educated teachers in every classroom is a good thing. The greatest problem is that there is a shortage of these people and many opt out of working in low-performing schools like the one where I teach. This is especially true in math and science. We can never find people certified to teach math who want to work in our school because of our undesirable location, reputation and test scores. We always seem to end up with people who have never spent a day as a classroom teacher in their lives. Still, we hire them on an "emergency license" because we have no choice. Then, theoretically they get coached and supported but you just can't throw a teacher into the kind of school where I teach. Their inexperience is quickly evident. They have little or no control of their students. Students can rarely even hear the teacher in this environment, let alone learn. These teachers are not trained in fancy extras like "sheltered instruction" (to help ESL kids)or "differentiated instruction" (to help facilitate level-appropriate work in multi-level classes). Classes are packed to the gills (30 or more to a room) and there is rarely even another adult available to help out. So while NCLB is designed to promote equity, it actually makes the inequities more glaring.
Let me explain my last statement. At the inception of NCLB, there was a grand vision that all kids, regardless of school, race or socioeconomic background would all perform at or above grade-level. Again, not a bad sentiment at all. In order to ensure this, "standards" were created nationally and at the state level to guide teachers regarding grade-level targets. Then, it was mandated that each state offer a yearly exam to measure student progress. In Colorado we got CSAP, the bain of our existence.
I am not against the idea of standards. I am also not against standardized assessment. It is the way that assessment affects low-performing schools that upsets me. Schools are given a CSAP "grade" each year based on student performance. If a school performs too low for three years in a row, it gets taken over. In an age of "school choice," the families that can afford to, send their kids to high-performing schools outside their neighborhoods if a good neighborhood school does not exist. Busing ended here several years ago and now we are watching our urban schools sink back into racial and socioeconomic segregation. High performing schools continue to attract more affluent families while low-perfoming schools serve those who have no options. Our scores are down this year and my school now is 100% free and reduced lunch.
Each year an enormous amount of money gets spent on the CSAP program. I feel that this money could be better utilized by fully funding NCLB. No one knows exactly what full funding would look like but when I am queen of the universe, there are several ways I would spend the money.
As queen, I would make classes of 30 into classes of 15. I would make sure that there were more homogenous classes with fewer different levels in one room. I would hire aides for every classroom that needed them. I would offer remediation classes to those who needed remediation in a specific area instead of worrying about how that might hurt test scores (I actually think it might help). Schools would not receive a public grade or report card. Test data would just be shared with teachers, students and administration in a district so they could see how they needed to improve. I would split property taxes at the state level instead of the district level so that those who live in poor communities would have as much money spent on their education as those in a wealthier area. All teachers would get the coaching and support they need. We would have enough texts for every kid in the room. Administrators would have more support so they could support us and no teacher would ever feel isolated or ignored.
Perhaps not all of the ideas in NCLB need to be tossed out. I would hedge that the system just needs to be funded and adjusted.
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