Part of the ruminations included moments of deep despair, survived only by deliberately ignoring the larger system within which I labor and focusing on the details of each day. It means setting aside an awareness that "official dogma" is in direct conflict with the necessary components for real learning.
Schizophrenia. When being honest about what could be done in relation to what we are often asked to do there is a clear division. At times it is impossible to hold the two images at once. It's crazy-making.
And then, in an effort to avoid writing, I clicked through some missives my brother shared, one being Pope Francis' Christmas address. And here is one of the 15 ailments the Pope sees in the Catholic Curia:
Suffering from 'existential schizophrenia.' "It's the sickness of those who live a double life, fruit of hypocrisy that is typical of mediocre and progressive spiritual emptiness that academic degrees cannot fill. It's a sickness that often affects those who, abandoning pastoral service, limit themselves to bureaucratic work, losing contact with reality and concrete people."Yep. That would be it. Thinking too hard about education means living a double life. I'm a hypocrite. Let me count the ways.
1. Despising the tests that I neither trust nor find a reliable measure of ability (to do what? take a test? on an esoteric bit of old information that students will quickly forget? On a computer that's as far from the real world as you can get?) while simultaneously making sure that every student passes both the reading and the writing test.
Devoting hours to collecting and pouring over data, directing human and financial resources to remediation time and rah-rah "you can do it" sessions to insure that every child passes because they cannot graduate without those passing scores, and I desperately want their 13 years in school to mean something--though it is my firm belief that the tests mean that their degree means less and less....
2. To hating, absolutely despising and decrying grades while simultaneously using them as both carrot and stick to engage students in their work.
Seriously, what is an "A"? An abstraction for.....I'm not even sure any more.
My students are fully round people. Some break the rules in creative and disruptive ways, and we should encourage that. After all, how will change come about if we don't have rule breakers? Others rise above difficult lives, come to school everyday, work hard, but still just don't 'get' what intellectual pursuit is, what it means to wrestle with ideas. In fact, some students openly avoid any equivocation in their lives. They want to comply, to have something they can count on day after day. They don't want disruption. Is compliance an "A"? Is risk-taking?
3. Two days before break I proctored re-takes on our state tests. Every one of the hundred or so students in the room was a 'failure,' having already failed one or more of the tests. Some would return the next day to try, yet again, to pass more tests. Of course the idea that you can fail the test one day and pass it the next, sometimes by a 30 point margin, begs the question: what is this test anyway?
Every computer in the building was employed and our Media center was a hush of test-taking seriousness--as it had been for the previous six (soon to be seven!) days.
The kids were incredible. Polite. Patiently waiting while teachers helped them reboot computers, find scratch paper and calculators. Raising hands to tentatively ask "Am I allowed to go to the bathroom?"in the midst of the repeat of a sometimes four-hour long test (just one of many). Not a peep when they were reminded that their addiction to cell phones would have to be curtailed. Hushed voices, serious, focused faces.
I wanted to scream: Walk out! Fight back! You're better than this! Hell yes, you can go to the bathroom, and if they won't let you, throw some furniture! You! You're the kindest student I've ever taught. You! You're hilariously funny! You! You're athletically gifted. Celebrate that!
But I did not. I helped and encouraged them to do their best.
I marveled at how well they have learned what we have taught them: This test, on this day, is all that matters. Your worth is being measured now.
The kids have got it.
4. While working on a strategic plan for our district we listed our beliefs. And I believe them--every one. But, sadly, I do not think that we will realize our vision of helping every student find their purpose, talents, and skills in this world before they leave our system.
There are too many forces we cannot control. Over half our students live in poverty. Their parent(s) need jobs that pay enough to put affordable roofs over their heads and healthy food on the table. Some need even more than that. The children need safe places to grow and explore before their "official" schooling begins. All children need a variety of hands-on, playful experiences and a chance to get off their block. Otherwise all of school is just an abstraction to which they have no connection. Some of our students have never see the other side of town, much less a hiking trail or an escalator.
Without these supports in place the yardstick that measures success deems them failures before they ever step foot in our buildings. And once they arrive there we begin to sort them into 'awesome" and 'abject failure,' perpetuating a dismal view of the world.
But I signed on because if we list and fight for what we believe maybe we can get the wider community to believe it too.
So a New Year's Resolution is in order when going about the daily work of teaching children. I will follow Pope Francis' directives and strive to be the apostle of education. He urges us to avoid the 'funereal face':
"In reality, theatrical severity and sterile pessimism are often symptoms of fear and insecurity. The apostle must be polite, serene, enthusiastic and happy and transmit joy wherever he goes."Less hypocrisy. More joy. That is the tonic for teaching schizophrenia.
Next blog: Moments of joy.