Drowning in Data Points

 “Will this be for a grade?”

That was a student’s response when I told my Algebra class about an upcoming test.  My first reaction was to be flabbergasted.  “What do you mean is it for a grade? It’s a test. Of course it’s for a grade!” But then suddenly I understood.

It was October. My students had recently taken six SLO pretests and two 90 day plan baseline assessments on top of three MAP test assessments. Eleven tests. None of which had counted for a grade.

So it actually made a lot of sense that they were asking the question. But, yes, this one counted for a grade. This one was made by me to assess students’ progress on the content that I had taught them. It was a test.  The same kind of test that teachers have been giving for centuries.

The eleven other tests were different. They were assessments given to gather starting-point data. The MAP assessments are nationally normed tests in reading, math, and science.  They indicate where students compare relative to same-grade peers around the country. The initial SLO (student learning objective) and 90 Day Plan assessments collect baseline data prior to instruction in order to be able to measure students’ learning by administering a very similar assessment at the end of the unit, and then comparing the two scores.  The pre-tests aren’t for a grade because the teaching hasn’t yet occurred, so it is unfair to hold students accountable for information they haven’t been taught.

Data is king in education right now.  “Where’s your data?” is a frequently heard challenge to any stated claim.  This can feel very frustrating because as highly-educated and experienced professionals who spend countless hours with students every week, teachers have huge amounts of anecdotal evidence that inform decisions and practices, sometimes in the absence of “hard” data.  So the question, “Where’s your data?” can feel insulting.

But although there are, indeed, four letters in data, I no longer believe that “data is just a four-letter word.”

Read moreDrowning in Data Points

Exploring Racial Bias: Reflecting Inward, Projecting Outward (Part 1)

Sixty-seven percent. That was the number I was banking on. I was running discipline data, and I already knew that 67% was my golden number – the percentage I didn’t want to exceed.

But . . .the results were yielding something different.

90%, 87%, 85%, 90%, 82%, 84%

These numbers weren’t just above 67%; they were way above it.

As I ran quarter after quarter of discipline data, I kept hoping to see something different, a change in the trend, or at least an outlier or two.

But that wasn’t the case. Every quarter, the same pattern emerged: our Black students were involved in disciplinary infractions at far higher rates than any other racial group, and at far higher rates than their representation in our population would indicate – 67%.

Black student responses
White student responses

As Gamble’s Positive School Culture Committee Chair, I had begun this process because we were curious about a blip we saw in the student survey data related to school climate. When we disaggregated the responses by race for the questions that dealt with fairness of consequences, we noted that our black students felt that consequences were less fair than our white students. The rest of the responses were fairly consistent across racial demographics, so it caught our attention when we saw that 52% of our African-American students felt that consequences for misbehavior were seldom or almost never fair; whereas only 34% of our white students felt this way.

It wasn’t a huge gap; it was just bigger than anything we had seen in response to the other survey questions. However, it caused us to pause and reflect on what it might mean. This survey question was about student perception, but we realized that if we disaggregated our discipline data the same way that we had for the survey data, that we would be able to compare reality to perception.

Which is how I found myself repeatedly staring at my computer screen in disbelief and horror as every quarter showed nearly the same thing about our discipline data – our Black students were markedly over-represented.

I shouldn’t have been so shocked. These results aren’t different from what has been widely reported nationally: students of color face harsher and more frequent disciplinary consequences than their white counterparts. In fact, the national data shows a significantly wider discrepancy than the data at Gamble. Proportionally, our data notes that every 1.3% of high-level consequences were assigned to 1% of our Black population; whereas nationally 2.3% of high-level consequences were assigned to 1% of Black students.[1]

Doing better than the national average is not, however, something to celebrate. The cost of these high-level discipline responses is high. We know that suspensions and expulsions lead to a decreased likelihood that students will graduate from high school and an increased likelihood that these students will wind up incarcerated. On average, one out of every three African-American males will be incarcerated during their lifetime.[2]

None of this was new information for me. I just didn’t want any of it to be true at Gamble. I wanted my school to be different. I didn’t want us to be culpable. I wanted my students to be protected. Unfortunately, that’s not what our data indicated

Schoolhouse Rock taught us, “Knowledge is Power.” Now that we had the knowledge, what were we going to do with it?

Turns out, it’s easier to compile the data than it is to address what it shows. There is no quick fix solution.

We decided that the first step was to be transparent — to share the data and to acknowledge our concern about it. To this end it was shared on teacher teams and at PTO; some of our high school teachers shared it with students as well.

Those of us who teach junior high chose not to share it with students. We didn’t know how to craft the conversation in such a way that it would be structured and pro-active, and we didn’t know how to guide our students toward recognizing both the gravity and the complexity of the situation.

So, for more than a year, we did nothing.

Although, I suppose, it wasn’t really nothing. It weighed on all of our minds as, tragically, during the same time frame, police shootings of black males – another example of implicit racial bias – was repeatedly in the public eye.

Eric Garner, John Crawford, Michael Brown, Ezell Ford, Dante Parker, Akai Gurley, Tamir Rice, Rumain Brisbon, Jerame Reid, Tony Robinson, Philip White, Eric Harris, Walter Scott, Freddie Gray, Brendon Glenn, Sam DuBose,  Gregory Gunn, Philando Castile, Terrence Crutcher …

It is not possible to see this list of names and not worry which of my students could join them.

We knew that we had to talk with them about all of this, but the prospect of that was so intimidating. I know there are other teachers, like this one,  who were braver than I. There were teachers all over the country who were having these difficult conversations with their students.

It wasn’t that we didn’t want to have these discussions – we did – we just wanted to make sure that we did it “right” – that we found the right materials, that we structured it well, that we prepared students correctly, that we tied the content to our cycle of study, that we identified the perfect time to have the conversation, and that we did everything within our power to ensure that it was a productive conversation, rather than a damaging one.

While each of these factors is important, waiting for this confluence of perfection was, of course, a subtle kind of avoidance. Waiting on perfect, allowed us to do nothing.

But, finally, this October, we began to find some traction. Our second quarter novel, After Tupac and D. Foster, included thematic undercurrents of racial bias. In light of this, Beau, my teaching partner, also assigned a reading about a study of implicit racial bias in preschool classrooms: Implicit Racial Bias Often Begins as Early as Preschool, A Study Finds by Yolanda Young.

With this assignment, the die was cast. Although we didn’t even realize it yet.

We didn’t yet know how profoundly this beginning would impact the entirety of the quarter, but we did know that we needed to be very conscientious about how we prepared our students for engaging in this conversation. Because we wanted all students to receive an identical message about the expectations for how we talk about these sensitive topics, we arranged the room to accommodate both of our seminar groups at the same time.

As we do before any seminar, we reminded students to keep their comments relevant to the text, to disagree with statements rather than people, to give everyone opportunities to speak, to not form alliances, and to be open to changing their minds.

But this time, because of the emotionally-charged subject matter, we had to provide additional guidance. We had never before explored such challenging content with our students. This type of careful preparation is critically important before embarking with students on any topic that is likely to elicit strong reactions.

We instructed students to give each other the benefit of the doubt. To be careful of their words but also to be honest and to risk making a mistake. To recognize that we might inadvertently hurt each other’s feelings and to be willing to share these feelings and question one another as a means of seeking understanding.

And then we began. It felt a bit like jumping off a cliff.

But, like in most things, our students rose to the challenge beautifully, and we had a powerful and engaging discussion. We hadn’t planned to bring up the school discipline data, but in both groups, the conversation naturally led in this direction. When that moment appeared, (and it happened nearly simultaneously in both groups), we openly shared the disproportionate percentages, and explained why they were concerning.

The students’ response was flabbergasting. I was prepared for them to be angry. I was prepared for them to be indignant. I was prepared for them to blame us.

I was not at all prepared for them to discount it entirely.

“That used to happen at my old school.”

“My teacher did that last year. I always got in trouble just because I am black.”

“I have a friend who says that happens at his school.”

And most notably, “Well, that probably happens in high school.”

The closest they came to seeing the data as personally impacting them was by claiming that if it was a problem in our building, it must be something that happens in our high school program and not about junior high … or them … or us.

Their interpretation is simply not true; the data contains no indication that there are differences between grade levels, and I am still dumbfounded as to why they responded in this way. Perhaps, like us, they simply needed more time to process it.

We hadn’t intended to make the concept of implicit racial bias and its impacts the subject of all our seminar discussions for the quarter, but the deeper we delved into the subject, the more there seemed to be to discuss. We decided to run with this idea, and each week throughout the quarter, we seminared on a different aspect of racial bias.

At times, our conversations were uncomfortable.

When reading about “Stop and Frisk” policies, a student asked whether that meant that every police officer who engaged in this type of policing was racist. That’s a touchy question to answer, but it helped us examine the difference between individual racism and societal racism, as well as the difference between overt racism and implicit racism.

During one discussion, a white student courageously noted, “Somewhere, deep down inside, everybody is at least a teeny, tiny bit racist.” This comment elicited strong reactions, but it helped us to turn the lens on ourselves.

On several occasions during the quarter, when given behavioral redirection, students accused us of racial bias. That felt terrible, but these challenges helped us to reflect carefully on our reactions and responses to student behavior.

It was through this process of self-reflecton that I realized that we had made a mistake – we had skipped a step.

Maria Montessori said, “It is not enough for the teacher to love the child. She must first love and understand the universe. She must prepare herself, and truly work at it.” This is one of my favorite quotations, and yet I had forgotten it here.

The teacher must prepare herself. It was not just our students who were impacted by these difficult conversation; we were experiencing this, too. We had been guiding them, but had failed to use our resources to prepare ourselves.

Confronting the societal demon of racism in a mixed-race group of colleagues is a daunting task. We agreed to commit one meeting a month to discussing this topic through the lens of a variety of resources that we would take turns providing. Like we did with students, we established special meeting norms for creating a “Courageous Space” in which to engage is these conversations.

This work is an ongoing process, but so far we have watched Bryan Stevenson’s video Confronting Injustice  and read John Metta’s article “I, Racist and engaged in rich conversations on each.

 None of this is enough. None of it marks our ending place, but taken together, it is our beginning. We have embarked upon this journey. It is a complicated one, and it requires us to be brave. And to be humble.

It requires us to take a hard look at both what is happening around us, and what exists within us. Next week’s post will detail the initial work we did with our students to help them synthesize their learning and their experiences, and to guide them toward activism.

 

[1] U.S. Department Of Education Office For Civil Rights. “Civil Rights Data Collection Data Snapshot: School Discipline.” CIVIL RIGHTS DATA COLLECTION 1 (2014): 1-24.Education Week. U.S. Department of Education, Mar. 2014. Web. 1 Jan. 2017. <http://blogs.edweek.org/edweek/rulesforengagement/CRDC%20School%20Discipline%20Snapshot.pdf>.

[2] Amurao, Caria. “Fact Sheet: How Bad Is the School-to-Prison Pipeline?” PBS. PBS, n.d. Web. 01 Jan. 2017.

 

How Much “In Trouble” Is Too Much? (When a phone call home won’t help.)

 

I was mid-lesson when a knock at the classroom door interrupted my flow. Interruptions were not unusual, but instead of a security assistant asking to take a student to the office, I was surprised to see a man I did not know standing outside my door.

“Is Carlos Junior here?”

“Um, yeah, but I’m sort of in the middle of a lesson here, you are …?” I trailed off looking for some explanation of this visit. Something about the man was unkempt, off-center somehow. There was the oddness of a visitor I didn’t know, and the knock in the middle of a lesson, and yet I had an anxiety which I couldn’t exactly trace.

“I’m his father. I got a call about his grades.” Any apprehension I had at the time was relieved. It made sense. My team of teachers had made some calls to the homes of students who were struggling academically. Here we were, the next day, and a father was standing at my door. Pretty good response time, all things considered. He just didn’t call ahead for an appointment. Still, I wanted to check with Carlos.

I asked the man to wait a second in the hall and I pulled the door shut. I turned, planning to ask Carlos if this really was his father. Carlos was already three strides across the room towards me and the door. He had a look of resignation on his face.

“Hey, um, your dad …” I started.

“Yeah, I got this.” He walked into the hall and shut the door behind him. I resumed class.

A couple of sentences into the lesson, several students’ heads turned toward the door as a heavy thud resounded in the hall, followed by loud profanity from Carlos’ dad.

I quickly opened the door and stepped out. The man had grabbed Carlos’ shirt with both hands and had him pressed up against the wall across from my door. He was mumbling threateningly into Carlos’ face. I made out profanities and school-related words like ‘homework’ and ‘grades.’

“Sir, you can’t do that.” I put my hand on his shoulder, unsure what I was going to do next. He was several inches taller than me, and 40 pounds heavier. Without looking at me, he shrugged my hand away, leaned in, and spat a final threat at his son. He then stepped back and twisted his hands, throwing his son to the floor. Carlos slid on the floor to my right, his left hand on his cheek, then propped himself up with his right hand on the ground. His father was to my left, standing off-balance.

Now, in his struggle to maintain balance, I saw what I had missed earlier. He was drunk. As he took another step toward his son, cursing his poor grades, I stepped in between and the man bumped into me. Behind me, my student said, quietly, “Mr. Jose, you don’t have to…”

At the very moment when I realized I was going to be unable to hold him back, Carlos senior thought better of his actions and stopped leaning into me. He gave me a perfunctory pat on the shoulder that landed more like a shove. “There you go,” he said to me, but not taking his eyes off his son. “You won’t have any more trouble with him not doing homework.”

He spoke past me, “Isn’t that f—ing right, Carlos?”

Not waiting for an answer, he turned and walked down the hall.

Carlos wasn’t going to learn much English that day.

Violence at home rarely is this visible at school. However, incidents of violence are prevalent in American homes. The Centers for Disease Control recorded 683,000 reports of abuse or neglect against children in 2015, with more than 1,600 deaths[i] attributed to neglect or abuse that year. Related studies suggest that as many as 1 in every 4 children experience abuse or neglect at some point in their lifetime, indicating that many cases go unreported.

Abuse and neglect are two of the types of incidents that are collectively referred to as “ACEs”, or adverse childhood events. These experiences contribute to the likelihood of a series of negative outcomes for the individual involved. The negative outcomes can include increased chances of addictive and self-harming behaviors as well as physical conditions including heart and liver disease. Ultimately, an accumulation of ACEs correlates to an increased chance of early death. Needless to say, ACEs can interfere with a child’s learning and academic progress.

Tackling ACEs is the work of communities and schools together, and the focus of many books and blog posts already published and yet to come. There is a lot to learn, and many specific steps to be taken to address this growing body of knowledge.

However, individual teachers in their classrooms need strategies for handling situations that might trigger ACEs.

In that moment, in the hallway, I believed Carlos Senior was the enemy.

Later, it occurred to me that he was an ally – of sorts. With a phone call home, I could get Carlos swift and strong consequences, or more accurately, punishments, for his performance in class. Now even the threat of a phone call home might serve as a sort of motivation for him to improve his behavior in class.

This is the decision that some teachers are comfortable making. Hanging this phone call over a student’s head for misbehavior in class makes the threat of physical force a reality. It puts this tool “back in the belt” of a teacher; she can now wield force indirectly. Some teachers might find this power tempting.

However, teachers should never place a hand on a student to do anything other than to greet, console, or encourage them. Corporal punishment is against the law in Ohio (in public schools) per House Bill 1, passed in November 2009, and in 30 other states[ii], for sound moral and educational reasons. Physical consequences often sever, rather than strengthen, the relationship between child and caregiver. Worse, they muddy the real consequence of an action, leaving a child to guess what the adult might find to be important, rather than to understand the significance of a missed assignment or a single poor grade.

Teachers should not cause harm to students, even if they do it indirectly.

The question teachers have to answer is this: if you are reasonably certain that your phone call will lead to a child being hit, should you call? That is, what do you do when a phone call home will hurt, rather than help?

This question places a teacher in an almost impossible place. Parents are, of course, the most important figure in the life of a child. Decisions made by the parent are legally and unquestionably binding on the child, from a quick swat on the rear to the edge of what might be rightly considered physical and emotional abuse.

The relationship between a parent and a school is crucial to the success of the student. A parent who feels the school is supporting their child and providing a safe and rigorous learning environment, matched to the needs of their child, will go to great lengths to reinforce the schoolwork and schedule, and will be a crucial ally in the formal education of their child. Also, the parent needs the teacher as a partner in the growth, development, and socialization of the child. This is an important bond that must be strengthened by the teacher and administration.

So we must avoid the temptation as teachers to call the parent and use the parent’s disciplinary consequences as an extension of our own.

Outsourcing the consequence to the parent is similar to asking another teacher to provide the discipline in your classroom. This abdication of your authority sends an important message to the student that is the opposite of the intended message. It doesn’t say that you are strong, it says you are weak. Over-reliance on this tool will also send a message to the parent that you can’t manage your classroom or their child, and will make the parent more likely to believe their child when they blame the problems on the teacher instead of themselves.

On the other hand, we must also avoid the simplified response of refusing to call at all. This prevents the physical harm, of course, but it remains our professional obligation to communicate with parents. Balancing our obligation to call with the needs of the child is a challenge we must master.

Here are steps you can take in this situation to reduce the likelihood of a child being hit, emotionally abused, or neglected, while still reinforcing the parent/teacher/student triangle.

 

Establish clear and consistent classroom procedures

First, the teacher must work to develop a strong bond of communication and trust with the student. Clear and consistent processes in the classroom, communicated and reinforced multiple ways, will help a student feel comfortable with the routines. Setting a single way to hand in work, and a specific day and time to have the work completed, will increase chances of the work being completed and turned in on time and in the right way.

Additionally, the teacher must provide a way for students to make up work or catch up independently. This allows students to take ownership when the inevitable happens. Students will miss an assignment. A busy morning will leave a student at school without the work they already completed. This, in fact, happens to human beings. Having a fair and consistent way to address common human mistakes helps a student be confident in their ability to make up the missing work, and less likely to need parental intervention.

 

Establish clear and consistent communication with parents

It is easy to fall into the trap of only calling home when there is a specific behavioral or academic concern in the classroom. Phone calls home can be time-consuming and quite a chore, especially when everyone involved knows that the phone call is bad news.

A common solution suggested to teachers is to also make positive phone calls home.

That is the life of the educator. Doing more work didn’t fix the problem? Double the work! That should do it!

Sure, positive phone calls home are helpful in strengthening the triangle of parent, teacher, and student, but more work is not always the solution. Working smarter is the answer. Chances are, your school already offers lots of indirect ways to engage with families. Open house nights, ice cream socials, sporting events, and conference nights are part of the life of a typical school. Teachers are often required to be at these. Use these opportunities to ask questions of parents, just as you would a student who was new in your class. What do they do for a living? What do they like to do in their free time? What was their favorite class in school? Making a personal connection will come in handy when you need to leverage the relationship to deliver helpful information about their child.

 

Before involving the parent, talk with the child

Most often, big problems in the classroom start as small problems in the classroom. A failing grade is not caused by one missing assignment but several over time. The teacher’s patience is worn thin not by one misbehavior but by days of repeated disruptions or disobedience. It is wisest to first address this individually with the student.

Asking a student to identify the source of the problem is almost always the quickest way to a solution. Responses can range from an admission of wrongdoing, “I just didn’t finish my work last night,” to awareness of an emergency at home, “We were at the ER with my little brother until really late, and I didn’t get any homework done.” Sometimes these conversations reveal a student who is struggling to complete work independently and who needs advice on setting up a schedule, study area, and self-discipline.

Sometimes, as in the case of a student like Carlos, a parent has demonstrated a frustratingly limited approach to motivating their child. The teacher must, in this situation, develop a connection with the student in order to create an internal sense of motivation. Building a caring relationship, and smoothing the pathway to academic and personal success does not mean eliminating expectations. It means helping the child prioritize challenges in their life, put school as part of the solution, and take the necessary steps to navigate their precarious position.

 

When making a call home to address misbehavior, be very precise

Despite our work as a school to provide a positive vision for a child to grow into, I still have teachers approach me and say about a child, “He never …” Regardless of how that sentence ends, it is not true. This is the kind of sentence that drives a wedge between student, teacher, and parent. Rarely is the phone call home intended to fix a mortal flaw in a child’s character. The call that includes this sentence reinforces the idea that the teacher sees the child in a sort of irreparable state of unsuccessfulness. It can only go two ways from there, and both are counterproductive.

If the parent agrees that “He never…”, then the parent and teacher have formed a sort of belief system aligned against the growth and learning potential of the child. An adolescent is already predisposed to feeling attacked and to severing bonds from their parents, so this alliance will only reinforce ill feelings within the child, rather than fostering a sense of problem-solving and improvement.

If the parent disagrees with the statement, then the teacher finds herself on the wrong side of the growth equation, seemingly resolved to the idea that the child cannot learn. Being perceived by a parent as believing their child is unteachable or inherently problematic undermines the teacher-student relationship completely. The adolescent, so eager to prove her independence, will nonetheless cling tightly to a parent who is allied against a teacher and a bad grade. This develops in a child a skill set to avoid consequences and externalize control over grades and other life outcomes. This is completely counter-productive to the goal of education.

Instead, the home contact addressing poor performance should be very precise. This means that the observed behavior, be it failure to complete work, poor work quality, or disruptive or disobedient behavior, should be described within specific guidelines. The teacher should include a description of the observed behavior, when and where it occurred, and how many times. Then the effect of that misbehavior should be explained. Suppose that there have been seven homework assignments, and the student has not turned any of them in. Instead of saying, “he never does his homework,” it is more accurate to say, “we have had seven homework assignments, and he has turned none of them in. As a result, he currently has an ‘F’ in class.”

 

When making a negative call home, offer a specific solution

The call is not over when you have described the misbehavior. A parent might not know exactly what to do with this information, leaving them frustrated in their desire to help their child be successful. Leaving a solution fully in the hands of someone who does not understand the workings of your classroom and gradebook does not make sense. This is equivalent to your doctor saying, “Looks like you have a stone there, on your kidney. That’s going to be uncomfortable.” As the educator, it is important to tell the parent a specific solution to the misbehavior.

In the homework example, the teacher might continue, “as a result, I have assigned your child a detention with me Tuesday after school. He can make the assignment up there, and maybe finish Tuesday’s homework too.”

By providing a specific solution, the teacher makes sure the parent does not feel responsible for providing the consequence. No additional stress or responsibility, just information. It helps in this situation to be able to add information from the conversation with the student. “In fact, when I spoke with your son, he said he couldn’t stay after school on Wednesday because you work late that day, so he and I thought maybe he could stay Thursday with a different teacher.” The effective teacher prefers to accomplish this consequence in person with the student, to address the misbehavior and repair the relationship. However, this teacher makes exceptions and accommodations to allow the child to experience control and personal efficacy.

 

Help frame the student in a positive light in the parent’s eyes

Parents react so strongly to their child’s struggles because we identify closely with our children. We get angry when they struggle just as we celebrate when they succeed. School is a place where “winning” and “losing” is often framed – and perhaps accurately – as a metaphor for future success in life. No parent, not even a teacher or a principal, is above this identification with their own child. The stakes are breathtakingly high.

Calling a parent to indicate that their child is exhibiting signs of academic failure can trigger a strong reaction in the calmest parent. How much more so if the parent displays passionate reactions? This passion is not a weakness or a failing of the parent, and should not be regarded as such. This is an area to capitalize on.

Use each conversation to explain the strengths of their child. Seeing their child in a positive light prompts a reaction of pride and cooperation within the parent. They can see the good there too. Creating a shared vision for what is possible with their child is a powerful groundwork for a conversation.

Doing this over a series of conversations sets up the opportunity to walk a parent down from the edge of an intemperate response. If the parent accuses the child of being irresponsible or worse, the teacher can provide a different perspective. “Well, I agree that he should have done the work at home. His willingness to make up the work after school shows that he is growing in responsibility.” Without minimizing the concern about the misbehavior, a teacher can re-frame the frustration.

 

If violence is proposed as a solution, speak out against it.

Finally, the strongest step a teacher can take in this situation is to speak out against violence. If they offer, or threaten, to strike their child to create a change in their behavior, you have to advocate against this. In fact, teachers are mandated reporters of physical abuse; it is our legal obligation to protect students. Informing the parent that striking their child is unacceptable to you, and counterproductive to your shared goals, can possibly change their actions, and serve to make a child’s life remarkably better.

This is challenging. Sample phrases can lead you in a direction that is comfortable for you. One approach would be to state your preference that the punishment not be related to your call. “Mr. Wilson, I really wish you would not do that. I would hate to think that my call home got Carlos hit.” Or you can provide information, such as informing the parent, “You know, the reason they outlawed striking students in school is that they found that being hit actually harmed their academic performance.” Or simply repeat the solution you arrived at earlier. “Mr. Wilson, you know, we have already scheduled a make-up time. I know you are frustrated, but let’s see if that works.”

On occasion, it is necessary to make a stronger statement to the parent. In a personal conference, rather than a phone call, we can assert our position and our shared values. Life is precious. The child is precious. Hitting a child, or using profanity and psychological abuse as a motivator, devalues that child. It undermines our work as educators, and it uses fear as a motivator, which, as Kohlberg demonstrated is the least advanced reason to do a given action.

Ultimately, a parent will do the best they can do in a given situation. Giving them, and their children, the tools to find their way to success without resorting to abuse will lead to better results. And the evidence shows that making this change can lead to a longer and more successful life.

As teachers we are obligated to work in the best interests of our students. Tackling these sorts of problems makes the difference between teaching only the students who arrive ready, and making every student ready. When we persevere and solve these problems we distinguish ourselves, and send a message of faith in the students who most need to hear that message.

 

 

[i] Child Abuse and Neglect Prevention, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, accessed November 10, 2017, https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/childabuseandneglect/index.html .

[ii] Valerie Strauss, “19 States Still Allow Corporal Punishment in School,”  Washington Post, September 18, 2014, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/answer-sheet/wp/2014/09/18/19-states-still-allow-corporal-punishment-in-school/?utm_term=.0bcca744cfa0 .

Gators Give Back: Building Meaningful Community Service

Josh Vogt stepped into my office and handed me a calendar. “Umm, thank you,” I offered.

“October,” was his only instruction. I examined the annual Day by Day calendar published by the Greater Cincinnati Coalition for the Homeless. As instructed, I turned to October, expecting to see a photograph of our students. Instead I saw a picture of a group of people I did not recognize, taken downtown near a local homeless shelter. “Bella.” I looked closer but did not see the student he named, and I looked up at him.

“Bella TOOK this picture. This is her picture, from the Mayerson experience this summer.”

The evident pride on his face was well-earned. Josh has worked diligently with students in our school to help them become aware of the social and economic factors that contribute to poverty in our community. For four years he has led a Peace and Justice intersession at Gamble Montessori which includes an overnight “shantytown” experience, where students construct a cardboard shelter and sleep in it overnight on our school grounds. He had, most recently, given up a summer week, 11 hours a day, to partner with our students, the Mayerson Foundation, and Cincinnatians experiencing homelessness. The goal was to humanize the problem, and help students understand the difficulties faced by the poorest of the poor. But what he wanted was this – not to have students merely become aware of the problem, but to have them be part of the effort to fix it. Bella was contributing meaningfully to the conversation.

Students sort materials at a local service organization.
Students sort materials at a local service organization.

For a generation, students in high schools have been doing community service in increasingly formal programs. Nearly every high school in the Cincinnati area has a community service requirement that centers around accumulating a certain number of service hours over a high school career. The Mayerson Foundation, which generates and implements “innovative approaches to important issues” in Cincinnati, has helped promote a culture of community service in more than 30 high schools and districts around the greater Cincinnati area, and is a leader in structuring programs designed to promote community service and related service learning. Nationwide, about a quarter of our population participates in meaningful community service annually, though there has been a slight decline since 2011.[1]

Community service, can be broadly defined. In school, often it is a teacher who sets up an opportunity for individual students or an entire class to participate in an activity designed to help a person or organization. This can take many different forms. Gamble students have planted butterfly gardens and removed invasive plants, they have repaired fences to keep out predators and spent time with traumatized animals to prepare them to live with a new owner, and they have worked with toddlers and the elderly.

This passion for involving students in giving of their time and talents to others is beneficial. The community gains an energetic and impressionable army of workers, who often drag friends and family into the work. Students gain a sense of accomplishment and begin to see the scope of the work of adulthood, and the real problems faced not just in other countries but by those in their own backyard. It develops a sense of self-efficacy in the student, who can see themselves as a helper instead of someone who needs the help of others. It fosters grace and courtesy, as we teach lessons about the environment, the elderly, and people experiencing homelessness, and students become comfortable with manners in a variety of new circumstances.

Additionally, developing a habit of volunteering can actually lengthen one’s life, as older folks who volunteer regularly are shown to live longer than those who do not, when controlling for other factors[2]. Finally, we know that adolescents crave meaningful work while resisting busy-work, and tangibly helping a person or an agency as part of a larger cause helps satisfy this urge to make a real impact in their own community.

So volunteering is good. How do we get students to buy in?

Until now, the answer has been: make them do it.

word-cloud

Gamble Montessori looked at other schools’ requirements and settled on an average number of hours from neighboring schools. High school students were asked to compete 50 hours of service a year, for a total of 200 hours required for graduation. Middle school students had a slightly reduced requirement of 30 hours each year.

From the beginning, student involvement in our community service requirement was uneven. Only a few of our students, born into families with strong community service ethics and the means to support this passion, met the requirement each year. Others struggled to make the required total, and sought flexibility in the rules of what we would call service. Teachers found themselves broadening the definition of service. Soon the student lists included raking leaves for grandparents, to dishwashing at home, and we even accepted spending time at home with siblings while parents were at work as community service. Other students failed to meet even this newly broadened standard, and we found ourselves in the position of asking if we were passionate enough about our commitment to service that we would prevent a student from graduating if the requirement was not met. We answered by quietly ignoring the requirement.

The odds seemed stacked against getting all of our students to meet this expectation.

The hours and evidence were hard to track at high school. We tried monitoring it through our advisory, but with infrequent meetings in a class where we typically did not keep grades, the tracking was uneven and unreliable. There was also the issue of keeping and verifying evidence. It was suggested that we centralize it and the task was assigned to one teacher assistant at the school. This seemed to be working until the paper records were entirely lost in a building move. Finally, with the help of a counselor – available through use of a temporary grant – we purchased a program for helping the students track their own hours online. After about a year of implementation, we had trained most of our students in the program, but found that the additional step of self-recording appeared to have diminished our community service participation.

Frustratingly, we also had to confront the reality that some of our students were among those who benefited from charitable giving in the Cincinnati area. More than 70% of Gamble Montessori students are living in poverty, as measured by their eligibility for free or reduced price lunch. Several of our students qualify for assistance under the McKinney-Vento act, designed for students who have experienced homelessness.

This showed up several years ago, when teacher Gloria Lane was working with students to identify a place where they wanted to do some service. One of our 8th graders reported to his teacher that he wanted to work at a particular church that was far from his home. When she asked why he would choose a site that would be hard to get to, she told me that he shared with the class, “They brought presents to my little brother last year. They were really nice.” We explored the irony, or perhaps it was something worse than mere irony, of asking students living in poverty to give their time and resources to helping others. While the spirit of giving was strong (it is my observation that often our poorest families are the quickest to give and the most generous), it felt unfair to make the same demand on our neediest families.

The final nail in the coffin came through the observation made off-hand by a staff member, perhaps Josh himself, at a meeting where the service requirement was being discussed. “It’s another step in the school to prison pipeline. We’re making them do community service hours to get out.”

Ugh.

Sure enough, the perception among some members of our society is that community service is assigned in response to committing misdemeanors. Service as a consequence is so pervasive in our society that local United Way agencies maintain a list of agencies that provide opportunities for people needing to complete court-ordered community service. So our requirement, instead of creating an internal desire to do service for others, was instead inadvertently associating school with crime and punishment in the minds of some of our students. This could reasonably be seen as a powerful motive for some of our students to resist the requirement.

Still, we knew that the act of service is important for students and the community, and we sought to find the right program to build this habit. We had been trying to provide technical solutions to a larger, cultural (or adaptive) problem. We needed a revolution.

Students work to prepare a celebration and exhibition of the work of local visionaries and voices.
Students work to prepare a celebration and exhibition of the work of local visionaries and voices.

Recently, through our partnership with Clare Blankemeyer of the Mayerson Foundation, Gamble teacher Josh Vogt took a revolutionary new approach to service at the school level and created a program he called “Gators Give Back.” While we still have some of the same tracking and participation issues – technical problems that we hope can be resolved – it is a brilliant answer to the larger, adaptive problem of addressing the desire to participate by creating a real relationship between the student and the work.

In Gators Give Back, the hours and hours of potentially disconnected service, possibly spent at dozens of agencies addressing a range of problems, or raking leaves and babysitting, are replaced by a single focus area chosen by the individual student.

The difference between the old program and Gators Give Back is stark, evident right from the first service activity through the finalization of their senior project. At each high school grade, the requirement is distinct from the old “counting 50 hours” expectation.

Ninth graders, instead of being asked to provide evidence of 50 hours of service, select one opportunity from a list provided by the Gators Give Back committee. They are encouraged to attend with a classmate. Then, responding to a prompt, they write a reflection on the experience, which they share with their classmates.

Tenth graders are asked to dig a little bit deeper. Again encouraged to do this in a group of two or three, they must attend the same agency two or three times, gaining an awareness of the social impact and importance of a particular topic. This time, instead of writing a personal reflection, students are asked to take on the role of advocate. In a letter to a public official, they are to explain what they have learned about their chosen agency and the need it meets, and then suggest ways the public official could assist in the area of need.

Our close partnership with the visionary Mayerson Foundation is an essential component of the 11th grade requirement, philanthropy. Our juniors take stewardship over $1,500 dollars provided by the Mayerson’s Magnified Giving program, created by local philanthropist Roger Grein. Over the course of the year, they investigate the work of the agencies they already know firsthand, reviewing grant proposals that are written directly to the students from competing agencies,  and researching the needs of the agencies and the community. They invite the agencies to bring proposals to the group. Ultimately, using criteria they have devised, they award the $1,500 to a deserving agency in a triumphant end-of-the-year ceremony.

Noticeably absent from these first three years of the program are the reliance on counting hours, and the likelihood of students experiencing a range of different and uneven volunteering experiences.  Instead, students in the Gators Give Back program find themselves serving and reflecting and learning about a particular area of concern, while thinking about multiple aspects of the service. Whereas a student in the former program might have spent hours folding clothes donated to a local shelter, a student today gets an experience with a trusted partner like Visionaries and Voices, then explains the problem to someone in a position to help, and steps into the role of the person in a position to help.

The Gators Give Back manual provides a list of possible agencies and areas of need, and provides templates and prompts for the writing, as well as key definitions for terms such as service learning and advocacy.

Students in our program gain a nuanced understanding of the relationship between societal needs, face to face assistance, and the agencies and systems that can either ameliorate or exacerbate the conditions that make the service necessary.

Senior year, the service project becomes more involved, intertwining with senior project in a segment aligned with the Youth for Justice curriculum. The work is far more involved, requiring several components, and deepening the student’s involvement in issues and solutions.

The senior must select a service topic that relates to their year-long project, often with a connection to their intended career or area of study in college. They must seek out a mentor who is knowledgeable in that area, who will guide them in learning about the topic and making suggestions for meaningful action. Then, importantly, students must begin to implement that solution. At this level, we initially had a minimum requirement of hours, as well as a minimum number of contacts with the mentor, but in practice we found that many of our students had so many contacts during the process that tracking them seemed artificial, and the requirement has fallen by the wayside.

Our seniors are responsible for tracking this progress, and for presenting the work as part of their senior project. This step helped address the accountability issue that existed when community service was a standalone hours-counting project. Enmeshed with their senior project, the work becomes more personal, and directly tied to graduation. Senior Project is a non-negotiable for graduation at Gamble.

I attended one successful project, a domestic violence awareness walk organized by Tariah Washington. Replete with catered food and special-order t-shirts bearing her slogan, the walk drew 50 people who marched and carried placards around our school neighborhood before eating and hearing the presentation Tariah prepared.

Jack and friends join a student-created march against domestic violence.
Jack and friends join a student-created march against domestic violence.

The Gators Give Back program is revolutionary because it tackles the kinds of problems that have been plaguing community service programs in high school since their inception. Students are not providing hours of disconnected service in multiple places. Instead they are building meaningful connections with issues of need in their own community. Now, hopefully, students find that service is inextricably linked to a required graduation component. They cannot hope to duck under the gaze of an individual tracking their hours, as the largest portion of the work is part of senior project. Now: impoverished students who may find themselves served by an agency can see a role for themselves beyond receiving or giving temporary help, instead working in the role of advocate and benefactor. This gives them practical skills that they can use in their own situation to make a sustainable change in their own family’s situation. Now: our program is not aligned with the mandatory, punitive community service programs in the justice system, counting hours until release.

Josh related to me a longer version of Bella’s story.

“Bella is one of those students whose life was literally changed by serving others. I’ll never forget that during the summer program, she was strongly advocating for eliminating spikes on concrete that some businesses put on the ground to discourage people experiencing homelessness from sleeping there. One of the StreetVibes vendors we were working with was actually sticking up for the businesses, but Bella did not back down. Another of the vendors raised his hand and said ‘No, man, I agree with her’ and the other vendors started clapping!”

Through service, advocacy, philanthropy, and mentored service learning, students in the Gators Give Back program transcend typical service. Instead they are empowered to act in an area that is meaningful for them.

As a school we have more come a long way, but there are still improvements we could make. This service paper could be incorporated as requirements in English and social studies classes. The letter they write in 10th grade meets a specific requirement for the ELA standards, and working on this in class for a grade would reinforce the requirement, improve the writing, and provide additional support for the student and the work in the school.  Advocacy certainly meets high-level expectations in American History and Government classes.

This is how we are doing service at Gamble.

How can you promote service, advocacy, and philanthropy at your school? What have we missed?

 

[1] https://www.nationalservice.gov/pdf/07_0506_hbr.pdf

[2] https://www.bls.gov/news.release/volun.nr0.htm

Decisions, Decisions … Determining How to Decide

“I just really want my Team Leaders to decide and tell me what to do.”

Evan’s statement hit me like a ton of bricks.  He had just asked me a question about fee payment and student participation in field experiences. Instead of answering, I had turned his question back on him, asking for his opinion on the issue.

His response felt so familiar, except this time I was on the other end of the exchange.  His words reminded me eerily of my own statement to Jack many years ago in a similar situation, “Please just tell me what to do, and I will go do it.”

Evan didn’t want to give input.  He wanted to be provided with a clear directive.  I had hesitated in my response, thinking that I needed to gather information and take peoples’ opinions into account.

No, I didn’t.  This wasn’t a complex issue.  It was a bit tricky because our past practice didn’t match our stated policy, but we had a policy.  I could issue a directive, and, as Evan had gently noted, that was my job.

So, I did what he asked. I made a decision aligned with our policy and shared it with all members of the team.  Done.  Handled.

But when it rains, it pours, and within a week of this exchange I found myself in a second, very similar decision-making situation.

This time, I was separately approached by both the art teacher and the agricultural education teacher asking for assistance with management of my students during their classes.  I readily provided suggestions, but with their large class sizes, I knew that what they really needed was a second set of hands.  Because I lead a team that includes a paraprofessional, I was in a position to offer this help.

The quickest and easiest solution was to respond to these requests for help by offering the use of Minet, our paraprofessional, during these two classes; however, I was concerned.  There are a lot of other specialist teachers in our building who also work with my students.  Were they having similar challenges?  Should I solve the problem that was right in front of me, or should I dig deeper to see what else might be out there?  I was worried that there were teachers who were similarly frustrated, but who had not thought to ask for support.

In addition, while I serve as the team leader, there are seven teachers who are impacted by the use of our paraprofessional.  To assign her to work in another classroom meant a loss of her support for these teachers during their planning time.  Should I involve these teachers in the decision? Did I need to gather their input before moving forward?

A brief conversation with Jack helped me to conceptualize what I needed to do.

Really this issue involved two decisions:

  • Assigning Minet to support elective classes during our team planning time
  • Building a schedule to best support these elective classes

For the first, I decided that, like in the fees and field experiences situation, I did not need input from my team before offering up the assistance of our paraprofessional in elective classes.  The primary function of any school staff person is to support students.

I felt confident that assigning our paraprofessional to help support behavioral stabilization of our students was the right decision, even though it would result in the teachers on my team losing some assistance.  In addition, it was aligned with building policy and past practice.  While gathering input from the team could serve to reinforce and garner support for my thinking, it also could lead to unnecessary debate, and it would certainly cost everyone precious time. This seemed like a needless muddying of the waters, so I made this decision unilaterally.

However, in looking at how to build a schedule to allow Minet to best support elective classrooms I felt like I made a nearly opposite decision.  Rather than cleanly deciding, I sent the issue back to the specialist team, and I asked them to guide me in how to best assign the use of this support. In this case, I explicitly asked for input and debate when I had intentionally chosen not to do this exact thing with my team just moments before.

In a single situation, I was implying that team input both mattered and didn’t matter. On the one hand, with my team, I was operating in alignment with my frequently stated concern, “Don’t make us debate it among ourselves,” while, simultaneously, I was asking the specialist team to do exactly that, to debate it among themselves.

I felt strongly that in each circumstance the decision I made was the correct one. But why? What made the difference?

I was certain that is all made sense somehow, and yet it also seemed to make no sense at all.

I was reminded of a conversation on social media in response to my recent post exploring leadership. The discussion was really between Jack and his former principal and mentor, Bob Suess, but since it was conducted on my Facebook page, I was privy to it.

Bob, in his wisdom, said this, “A leadership model that informs leaders of the correct approach to every possible issue in every possible situation … doesn’t and never will exist.” While I know the inherent truth in this statement, I found it to be both frustrating and relieving, in equal measure.

If the leadership answer key doesn’t exist, then I can stop spending so much energy searching for it; however if it doesn’t exist then I will also remain eternally unsure relative to what to do when.

But Bob didn’t leave me hanging, he also said this, “With all the variables, one might recommend that, given a+b+c+ . . +h, one should most likely choose approach or strategy m, r, or z, but leadership cannot be reduced to a mathematical formula. Leaders must always draw upon their own professional and personal knowledge, observations, and understanding to select the approach the best fits that particular situation.”

I know that what he wanted me to take away from this statement is that every situation is unique and there is never a singular right answer that fits every instance. But he also threw me a lifeline in referencing that while there may not be a formula, there may be patterns, and a series of most-likely, best-fit options.

So I went back and examined the leadership decisions I had recently made and explored my own thinking relative to each.

I was able to make a unilateral decision regarding the fee payment-field experience issue because we had a policy. I found my written record of this policy in our minutes, and I acted in accordance with it. It wasn’t the warmest, fuzziest feel-good response to the issue, but it was clear and clean. Why would I waste people’s time gathering input, when we had already established policy?

Similarly, I was able to offer the use of our paraprofessional without collecting input from the team because the decision had a clear answer that aligned with our building value of putting the needs of students first, and we had implemented a similar procedure in the past.

I asked myself why I didn’t feel the same level of clarity about simply assigning our paraprofessional to the teachers who had asked for assistance. I realized that it was because I felt like I didn’t have all the information. There were potential missing pieces related to what may have been unspoken needs from other teachers in the building.  This is why I sent it back to the specialist team for further review.

Based on this self-reflection, I began constructing a series of questions to ask myself when working toward a decision.

  • Do I have all the necessary information?
  • Do I have the authority to make the decision?
  • Is my proposed solution aligned with institutional values and practices?
  • Is my proposed solution a clear, best solution?

I threaded this mental exploration together with information from Conversational Capacity and A Failure of Nerve, (which Jack and I have written about previously here and here) and ultimately, I developed this flowchart, which I have dubbed a Decision-Making Tree.

Decision-Making Flowchart. Click to enlarge.

Decision making is hard.  There are often many variables and a variety of solutions, each with a separate set of pros and cons.

While, I am aware that any tool like this runs the risk of making the complex task of decision-making seem like a simplistic process, I also am a strong believer in clear processes.  The more frequently we can use process and procedure to guide us, the more efficient we will be in our work and the less often we will be caught up in personalized conflict.

In addition, a clear process can help propel us to action.  It can take courage to pull the trigger on making a decision.  It’s always easier to have someone else do this for us – after all, then we cannot be held solely accountable for the outcome of the decision.  It often feels better to decide by majority vote or by consensus because that creates shared responsibility, but this does not always yield a better result. In light of this, leaders are charged with making clear, executive decisions when appropriate.

On the flowchart, if the answers to all the questions in the left-column are “yes,” then the leader is in a position to unilaterally go ahead and make a decision. Doing so may feel uncomfortable, or even downright scary, but ultimately this saves everyone in the institution both time and potential discord.

These types of unilateral decisions also create a kind of psychological safety in an institution, as they lend clarity to responsibilities and expectations, and indicate what the non-negotiables are. In education, we often talk about the importance of establishing boundaries for children.  This is no less true for adults. We all need to clearly understand what is expected of us and what the procedures and values of the organization are.

Similarly, it is important to share expectations around how a decision will be made.  Will it be made unilaterally by a leader informed by input from others?  Will it be made by a vote from a decision-making body?  Does it require consensus from an entire group?  In Conversational Capacity, Craig Weber discusses the importance of knowing this prior to beginning discussion on an issue.

Regardless of how the decision will ultimately be made, it is often, although not always, necessary to gather input from a variety of sources. Weber reinforces the importance of engaging in challenging conversations through the implementation of both curiosity (actively asking questions about potential opposing views) and candor (clearly and directly stating thoughts and concerns).

I, like many others, am prone to focus exclusively on the merits of my own proposed solutions and neglect to intentionally seek out the thoughts of those in opposition.  Having a piece built into the flowchart that focuses on requesting feedback from those likely to be opposed, as well as those likely to be in agreement, serves as an important reminder for me to take this step when necessary, even if it yields discomfort in the discussion.

If Weber’s contribution to the flowchart is the importance of hearing all relevant arguments.  Friedman’s is in the potential perils of consensus. In A Failure of Nerve, Friedman expresses concerns about consensus weakening the value systems of institutions by requiring compromise.  His argument is that the process of seeking consensus requires the finding of a middle ground. This necessarily pulls people away from the more powerful higher ground, and allows those misaligned with institutional values to control the conversation.  Friedman calls this “sandbagging.”

Consensus can certainly be a powerful decision-making tool; however, in light of Friedman’s arguments, I suggest that consensus be used infrequently and only for issues that address cultural shifts for the institution as a whole.  If a leader is seeking consensus because it feels good and avoids a conflictual outcome, this is likely not a powerful enough reason to implement this strategy.

Weber expresses concerns about the potential perils of consensus-seeking as well: “Remember, balanced dialogue is not about talking until everyone on the team reaches agreement; it’s about helping the person making the decision make the most informed and effective choice possible. … Once you have enough information on the table to help the decision maker make an informed choice, move on to the next issue.” (172-173)

Regardless of how a decision is made, once it is determined, it needs to be implemented.  But be prepared.  It is nearly guaranteed that a decision, once made, will be questioned by those it impacts. Perhaps this questioning and challenge is part of the human condition. While it is true that not all decisions are good ones, this cannot be determined until a period of implementation has occurred.

For this reason, Jack asked me to embed a stop sign in the flowchart.  (He won’t admit it, but I think it’s there for me.  I have a propensity to question every decision, and to actively seek flaws in any plan. I’m certain that I challenge him far more than he appreciates.) Jack wanted this symbol to serve as a reminder of firmness of intent – a resistance to wavering under challenge.

In thinking about my own tendencies, I considered what message I need to hear that would be resolute against weakening resolve, but would also honor my voice. I identified three important components to an effective response to challenge:

  • A clear articulation of the decision
  • A summary of the most important rationales leading to the decision
  • An indication that the decision could be revisited after a given time if it proved to be problematic

Decision making is often both difficult and complicated.  And yet leaders are required to make myriad decisions every day.  While I know that Bob is correct in saying that there is no answer key and there is no singular right way, having tools to guide us can make things simpler.

In some ways, perhaps Bob and I are saying much the same thing. In his closing remarks, he noted that ultimately a leader must, “move the institution and its members in the right direction, day by day, week by week, month by month, and year by year. Only by looking back over a longer period of time does one ever fully appreciate the distance travelled. I always liked the analogy of the organizational leader as the individual walking next to an elephant and guiding its direction by gently tapping it with a stick.”

This sounds very much like what Jack calls, “playing The Long Game” – gradually getting that institutional elephant to move in the direction one wants it to go. I, too, am invested in shepherding the elephant, but I’m near certain that it will move more quickly, and with less duress, if there is a well-defined path, and if the guiding prods are clear and consistent.

There may be no answer key, but there are some answers, and there are strategies to support these responses.  Examining how to make decisions under what type of conditions can make the monumental task of decision making easier.

“That Thing Where You Tell Us What We’re Good At”

At my Kenyon College commencement address, Lamar Alexander, the Secretary of Education under George H. W. Bush, quoted Alex Haley: “Find the good, and praise it.” At the time, it meant little to me. Although it is the only thing I remember from the entire speech, I have no idea why I remember it. I was not impressed by having Mr. Alexander as our speaker — he simply represented conservative politics to me. I was not excited about his role as Education Secretary, since I was definitely not going to become a teacher. Additionally, I was not a person who was naturally drawn to seeing the positive in things, so I didn’t think this phrase was even particularly applicable to me.

Except somehow it was. “Find the good and praise it.” I still remember it after all these years, and there is little that has impacted my teaching more. It seems like such a simple practice, and yet it is not nearly as easy as it sounds.

Read more“That Thing Where You Tell Us What We’re Good At”

They All Failed The Test. What Do I Do?

Dear Young Teacher,

The other day you asked me an important question, and I gave you a bad half-answer (or no answer at all, really.) Please accept my apology, and allow me to fully answer your question.

You asked me, essentially: “More than half of my students failed my test, what should I do?” You also gave me some additional information. It seemed important in the moment, and it sounded persuasive, or perhaps it was meant to bias me in one direction. You said, “they had enough time to study, “and you added that “they did not complete their work,” etc. I think I knew what you wanted me to say. And I choked.

Perhaps you offered that additional information about their lack of preparation as prevention against the scariest possible answer, which meant undoing tomorrow’s lesson plan, and starting from scratch.

More likely, you were speaking as you have heard your own teachers speak in the past. You wanted to send the same message you received as a student: hard work is important; the grade you got is the grade you earned.

And maybe your question was, “Am I teaching poorly? Am I doing a bad job?”

There is a right answer, actually several, and I did not give it, or any of them.

Read moreThey All Failed The Test. What Do I Do?

The Long Game

-by Jack M. Jose

It was the end of the second Monday in March, the time of year when we are all so focused on spring break and just getting through, that we forget about the “long game” of creating confident, competent students. The Teacher:Teacher mentoring meeting had just begun. The plan is for veteran teachers to light the way with enthusiasm and optimism so new teachers feel supported. Today I looked around the table and I felt sympathy for George Washington examining his troops at Valley Forge. My teachers – ESPECIALLY the veterans – looked defeated and lost.

I made a critical error. I asked, “How’s it going?”

washington-valley-forge-granger

Did I mention? It was early March.

It is easy to forget this in the heart of winter, or even at the end of first quarter, when March means the promise of spring and a year soon coming to a close. In October, March looks like a promise.

However, March is a uniquely challenging time in schools.

Read moreThe Long Game

The 7 Gateways: The Search for Meaning and Purpose

At many schools, the last day of the school year tends to be kind of a wasted day – a day spent packing up boxes, watching a video, or talking about summer plans.  Attendance is often sparse as many students chose to begin their summer vacation a day early.

In Gamble’s middle school classrooms, however, the last day of school serves as both our fourth quarter cycle wrap-ups and our wrap-up for the year as a whole.  Rarely are students absent.

Last year, on the last day of school, my students wrapped up our “Change” cycle with a school-wide carnival fundraiser.  You can read about it here.  While the carnival was truly an amazing experience, holding it on the last day of school made me a bit worried.

Would we be able to clean up everything in time to hold our traditional end of the year ceremony?  Would we be able to capture students’ attention after such a high-energy experience?  Would we, as teachers, be able to shift the tone and focus of the day after the exhaustion of managing a carnival for several hours?  After all the fun and excitement, would students even be interested in sitting down for a closing circle?

As usual, I shouldn’t have worried.

Many students approached me throughout the day and asked questions like, “Are we going to have time for a closing?” “We are going to end in circle, right?” and “We’re not just going to dismiss from the carnival, are we?”

Read moreThe 7 Gateways: The Search for Meaning and Purpose

Student-Led Conferences

Originally published February 8th, 2016.

-by Krista Taylor

Montessori philosophy uses the “Golden Triangle” to represent the strength and importance of the relationship between teachers, students, and parents, but Gamble, like many other urban schools, struggles with lower levels of parent involvement than we’d like.

It is important to remember that many parents experience anxiety about involvement in their child’s school. This may be because of negative school experiences they had themselves, worries that either their child or their parenting skills will be critiqued, or concerns about their ability to understand the academic instruction that is being provided.

I didn’t fully understand the depth of this tension until I attended my first parent-teacher conference in the role of a parent. Despite the many times I had sat on the teacher side of the table, and regardless that my child was doing well, and I understood what the conversation was going to be about, I was nervous.

What exactly would the teacher say about my child?

If my child is experiencing challenges, how will that reflect on me?

How can I both make a good impression and serve as an advocate for my child?

As a teacher, there are strategies to alleviate some of this discomfort, which then in turn, allows the parent or guardian to engage fully with school staff to support the academic and developmental growth of the child.

Proactive Conference Strategies

  • Begin each interaction with something positive about the child
  • Assume that the parent or guardian is doing the best that they can; however do not assume that they already know how to address concerns.
  • Do not label a child; rather describe the behavior you have observed
  • Open the door to further communication
  • Remember that you are teaching other people’s children; that every student you serve is someone’s child, and they have chosen to share this gift with you.

All schools hold parent-teacher conference nights. In Montessori programs, these look different. Our conferences are Student-Led Conferences, so called because the student leads the meeting. It is the student whose performance is being discussed; therefore the student is in charge of the conversation.

At Gamble, we require all students to hold these conferences at least once, and often twice, a year. This is part of the school contract that our students and parents sign upon enrollment. To manage this, we hold two conference nights each quarter, rather than the required one. Since students lead the conference, multiple conferences happen simultaneously, with teachers checking in at each table to provide information and clarification.

Templates guide students in running the conference. The templates vary according to program, teacher, and grade level, but generally include the following:

  • how to formally introduce your parents and teachers
  • preparing materials for presentation
  • identifying strengths
  • noting concerns
  • setting explicit goals for moving forward.

This process allows the child to self-report on how things are going at school, and to take responsibility both for what is going well, and for what is not. Additionally, when information is shared together, and everyone hears the same message at the same time, it creates a sense of collaboration between the student, the parent, and the teacher – strengthening that “Golden Triangle.”

It is yet another component of “what we do here,” and another way to develop a school culture of belonging. This is illustrated by the conference we had with Deon and his mother last spring.

Deon had been highly disruptive in the classroom – he had more than 40 logged disciplinary offenses for the year. This was a difficult conference to hold; it was challenging to find anything positive to say. It could easily have turned into a conflict, but because of the way we conduct conferences, the outcome was one of unified support. Deon’s mother ended our meeting with a request for a group hug, and with these powerful words, “We are all on the same team – Team Deon.”

Parents can be a teacher’s greatest allies. Every interaction a teacher has with students’ parents or guardians can serve as an opportunity to strengthen the relationship, even if the conversation is a difficult one.   Conference nights can be powerful for all parties involved; never miss an opportunity to connect with a child’s family, to be a member of that child’s “team.”