and another...

 Unconditionally loved. 

Sunday, February 03, 2013

my rationale

One of the most powerful moments in my teaching career was the day I explained unconditional love-- and a sophomore boy understood it for the first time in his life.

We were playing a "would you ever" type game-- would you keep a thousand dollars if it landed in your mailbox unannounced? Each kid tried to give me a more impossible hypothetical: would you call the cops on me if you knew I was on the run? Would you visit me if I went to jail for murder?

It's important to understand what I do for a living. I teach alternative ed at our local high school. Kids come to alt ed usually because they have suffered some sort of traumatic loss in their childhood. Often times that loss is of childhood itself-- either poverty, substance abuse, pregnancy, divorce, violence, or family tragedy forced them to grow up fast and take on adult responsibilities before their brains were ready. School becomes something to be endured, and often puts up roadblocks to their day to day success. Back when kids could get decent jobs without a diploma, this wasn't much of a problem. In today's world, though, being a high school dropout has severe ramifications, so most public high schools have an alternative ed program to try to help find ways around said roadblocks. So these "would you ever" games are fairly common in my classroom, and they have real value. I teach a lot of  coping skills through these conversations. (Honestly, I teach coping skills more than I teach any credit class, but that's another story for another post.)

So the questions kept intensifying, sort of along these lines:
Would you visit me in jail if I committed a murder?
Yes, sweetie, I would.
You would? But I'd be a murderer?
Yes, honey, I'd be disappointed in your choice, but you'd still be one of my sunshines, and I'd still love you.
Wait a minute, you'd still love me? Even if I killed someone?
Again, I would not be happy with you. I would certainly not be proud of your actions. But I can't stop loving someone every time they do something wrong. I'd make darn sure you paid your debt to society, but I'd come visit and help you through it. It's called unconditional love, and it means just that: I love you, without conditions, forever.
Wow.

The look on his face said it all. At age 15, he did not believe me when I said I love him because of who he is, not what he does. He was certainly floored by that knowledge, but I was just as moved. I grew up in a perfect, rose colored childhood, surrounded by love, support, and opportunity. I knew from the time I could walk that I was loved and valued. How did he not know the same thing? How could anyone grow up not knowing that they would be loved forever? But that day... he did know it. When I look back, I can trace when he started to "grow up" and make better choices to that conversation. Wow indeed.

That moment, among others, helped cement my teaching style. My number one priority is not awarding grades or credits or diplomas: I am here to teach kids that they are worthy of being truly, absolutely, and completely loved, valued and respected. Which does not mean that I respect each choice a kid makes (because I know they make many bad ones) nor do I let them off the hook when they screw up. It is my life's work to help them learn how to make better choices for themselves and then have enough pride in their reputation to have the strength to make the hard choices. I'm not a trophy-for-every-participant kind of self esteem believer-- not even close; but when you can help a kid (and like it or not, teenagers are still kids) stand up a little bit taller because they are proud of who they are becoming, or owned up to a mistake and made amends, or pushed themselves harder than they'd ever pushed before-- well, that's the kind of self esteem I'm trying to teach. Because ribbons fade and tatter, but character endures.

Whether or not a student is able to earn his high school diploma by the age of 18 and graduate with his 4 year cohort, I can teach him things that will enrich his life and hopefully enable him to get that diploma in his 20s, when he is ready. I do not define my success on my graduation rate, no matter how much the current chatter about the problems with schools does. For me, it is when I start to see the subtle changes in how a kid sees himself, and starts to make decisions based on a positive reputation and not a negative one. That will take him much further than any piece of paper could.

Many of my colleagues think I'm too easy on my students and don't hold them to high enough standards, and I can appreciate why they think that way. My classroom does run differently than the other classrooms, but it says so in the title. Until the kid is willing to come to school and try to learn, no amount of rigor is going to make a difference. I don't take their concerns lightly, but I also don't take them to heart. If the general track was what was going to work for them, they'd never end up crossing my threshold. But if I have to make a choice about sacrificing content or relationships, well... without a relationship, no one cares about content.

Yesterday I saw another post about this very topic. I'd never put it into words before, but I realized it is what I do. I can't not do it-- I have been blessed with the ability to love everyone I encounter on some level, so this isn't something I've taught myself to do but something I have just lived my life doing. But I can do this job-- and believe me, there are some very difficult days-- because I am able to love each and every kid just because they breathe. It's a powerful notion, with powerful implications. I'm pretty sure that every kid who has ever entered my room has left it knowing I enjoyed spending time with them-- even when they left as a result of having made poor decisions. If I've done nothing else, I've done that, and that is enough for me.

School reform or reform school?

 Hmm. Been bangin' this drumm for awhile...

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Are we part of the problem or part of the solution?

Since becoming an alternative ed teacher, I've spent a lot of time thinking about poverty and it's role in our schools. Today, I attended a session at the Maine Education Association fall conference that correlated the Govenor's (pathetic) grading system with poverty. Almost completely, the lower a school's free and reduced lunch rate, the higher it's grade, and vice versa. For all our talk as a society about everyone having equal chances at success, we have absolute proof that this is not true, brought to you by a man who claims to believe that everyone can pull themselves up by their bootstraps while in actuality has worked hard to ensure the rich stay rich and the poor stay poor.

It suddenly struck me that the real reason I've been hesitant to accept the shift to a standards based education system is because it's a formalized way to keep the poor at a disadvantage, couched in terms about helping everyone achieve higher standards. This is not to say that I don't believe in the potential of kids living in poverty-- that truth is what keeps me doing what I do-- but I also know that to discount Maslow's Heirarchy under the cover of improving education will, in fact, do the opposite.

For the sake of argument, I'll assume you haven't heard of my friend Maslow. He's the guy who formalized the idea that until your basic needs were met, you are unable to move forward towards self-actualization. When you think about it, this isn't news to any of us: have you ever helped a colleague through their work day as they were going through a family crisis? None of us can focus when we're consumed by a divorce, a death, or any major tragedy, and kids are no different. If you don't know where you're going after school, or if your mom will be black and blue when you get home, or if you'll be moving again in 6 weeks, or if tonight is the night the cops will bust the drug house in the back yard, or if the electricity will still be on or if there will be any food on the table, very little of what policy makers have defined as "essential academic knowledge" will matter much to you. Go back to that work friend of yours who is struggling with caring for an increasingly demented parent: they can barely make a pot of coffee without needing help, never mind make decisions that affect the future of the company. Kids are no different. They know that being able to tell the difference between igneous, metamorphic, and sedamentary rocks is important, but not as important as dinner. And who are we kidding here? They are absolutely right.

The standards movement is all about educational reform. I agree that our schools need massive change, but I think we need more acceptance of our differences and less of a move towards uniformity. We need more opportunity to meet kids where they are at and help them move forward, rather than judging them by whether or not they collect the right number of checkmarks in a 13 year timespan. Because make no mistake, that is really what a performance based diploma will represent-- the ability of a student to prove competency in multiple areas from grades k-12; no leeway for homelessness, no leeway for unexpected trauma, no leeway for anything. Those of our children who come from stable upbringings will be able to do this (assuming, of course, they don't come with a learning disability, which puts them in a different category anyway) but those who do not.... well, they have to work much harder to make it.

Our students come to us these days with all sorts of experiences and realities. In my county, 61% of students qualify for free or reduced lunch. More than half. Yes, more than half the students in my county don't have their basic needs met. They are homeless, hungry, and struggling emotionally to make it through a day. That definitely sounds like a recipe for success in an algebra class, doesn't it? But to label them as environmentally disadvantaged... that would be cruel! Because it's not like classmates can recognize the smell of a a peer who doesn't have access to a working shower, or the emotional breakdown of a classmate who doesn't know if their family will still be there when they get off the bus. To not address these issues head on is to insult the intelligence of our students-- they all know what's happening around them, and we're teaching them through our actions to ignore what they know to be true.

Kids come to our classrooms with all sorts backgrounds, and all sorts of hindrances to their learning. Changing 'credits' to 'standards' only changes the language-- it does not change the reality of what kids are dealing with on a daily basis. Until we really address the impact of poverty on our students, we're playing an intense shell game where kids are paying the price for society's failings. And the governor has set the stage for the kids who suffer and the adults to hold no responsibility. Embarrassing, really.

What we need for educational reform is the freedom to meet students where they are and help them move further. We need to be able to get to know our students as people and as learners, and then tailor instruction to meet their needs. Right now kindergartners are being labeled as behind on their checklist after 2 months of school. Whatever happened to Piaget? Some kids start school before they have even turned 5-- and we immediately smack them with a 'does not meet' label. Gee, I wonder why so many kids hate school?

There are academic standards that must be met by all students, and there is no doubt that our system needs reform. But we are once again making subtle changes that make it incredibly difficult for students and families in poverty to succeed-- and pretending that we are doing no such thing. Until we can find a way to support learners who come from stressful surroundings, we'll never meet our own standard of leaving no child behind.

comin' around again

I originally posted this, as you can see,  just about 7 years ago. I taught alt ed for 17 years, all told, 8 of them without another adult by my side. This fall, I'm headed back to the elementary school as a social worker, mostly because I have reached the point where I can't pretend to have the luxury to teach academics. How can I continue to fiddle while Rome burns? The numbers of kids who need emotional support has grown during the pandemic (duh), and waiting until they reach high school isn't an effective plan. Re-reading this post is a welcome gift from the universe that making this change, while scary, is in line with my growth as an educator.

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

All my life's a circle...

Star date: post summer solstice

Which means we are solidly in summer vacation. Praise to all that is good and holy that we made it here. There was a point in the year I wasn't 100% sure we all would.

For many reasons, these were the times that tried men's souls-- and while I may be the sunshine patriot in one measure, I am far from a summer soldier. This was the year that put my teaching to the test, but also helped me shore up my philosophy on what the role of school is. Next year will be different, although likely as difficult emotionally... although now I have a better sense of what to expect, and can therefore prepare to mitigate some of it.

I quickly jettisoned the academic rigor of content standards-- which in this teacher bashing era of standards based education is a radical and risky maneuver. I didn't have much choice however; in addition to being the only teacher (and usually only adult) responsible for providing content instruction in 9 high school courses, I was also working with a group of students who were dealing with significant personal crises. Watching a person implode on themselves is a tragic experience; watching 3 students go through that in one year is devastating on the classroom dynamic. Their situations affected everyone in the room, and triggered other less significant  (but no less serious, because any crisis you are experiencing is real to you, even if it's not as bad as the one the guy next to you is having) reactions in the rest of us. My goal for the year quickly became getting us all out alive. Literally for every one of us to still be breathing air: believe me when I tell you, that was not a foregone conclusion.

Public schools were created in America to provide communities with a well informed populace: how could we expect people to participate in democracy if they weren't able to think? Today, public schools become the place where we try to correct for the potential missing pieces from home while still teaching kids how to think. We claim that all children are equal, and it doesn't matter if you go to an inner city school, a wealthy middle class suburb school, or a poor rural community school: we'll take all the kids, balance for what they're missing from home, and provide the same quality academic education to all kids, Maine to California. That so many Americans have accepted that notion as truth is evidence enough that we aren't being so successful teaching people how to think. The kindergartner who comes on the first day having been read to, played with crayons and practiced writing, and knows that numbers and the alphabet exist and mean something can tackle learning to read. Unfortunately, we have many kids who come to school not knowing how to hold a book, never mind what it is for (I wish I was exaggerating; I have worked at k-screenings. I am not.) The same is true for every level of education: the child who comes from a home with plenty of love, basic needs, and safety is ready to come to school at 7:55 and learn algebra or language conventions or differences in rocks, whereas the child who comes hungry or from a dangerous neighborhood or from neglect and abuse isn't-- at least, not until you deal with what is missing. And in order to deal with the hunger or emotional turmoil, you have to put algebra on hold. So that's what I did.

 Make no mistake about it: I firmly believe all kids can learn, and it doesn't matter who your parents are to achieve great heights. It does, however, require different supports for different kids. It made more sense when I thought about it from my own experience. I had a rose colored childhood without question. My parents are college educated. My dad had a good job and my mom could afford to stay home with us until we were in school. They owned their house, in a good neighborhood. We had ice skates and bikes and toys and food and friends and family. We built tree houses and played in the rain. We did after school activities and had the proper gear required for said activities. We got good grades and graduated at the top of our classes. But when I was struggling with infertility during my 5th year of teaching, I was useless. I couldn't focus, and frankly, had a hard time caring about the quality of my work. I was in crisis. I was the same person, but my personal issue was all consuming. I've watched the same be true of people who were going through a divorce, family illness, or death of a loved one. I don't know why it's so shocking to think that kids who are in some level of personal crisis struggle to meet academic standards, too. And if we're going to really help them become the best people they can be, we have to help them deal with whatever the issue is.

I am lucky to work in a building that believes in the importance of alternative education. I have the support of my colleagues and a principal who doesn't write me up for trying crazy things. But I also work in a building where more and more kids are on the verge of falling apart-- far more kids than I can work with in a day. Poverty is all encompassing-- our kids are poor because their parents and families are poor. There isn't enough work for everyone, and certainly not enough fair paying work. Because we're a rural community, we don't have public transportation so the lack of a reliable vehicle is devastating. As a school teacher, I make more than the median income-- by a significant amount. (You know you live in a poor area when teachers are the rich ones.) Our schools are not meeting the needs of all our kids, and we've been set up by society at large to fail.

Summer break is great for me, my family, my friends... but is often not great for our students in crisis. I'm not going to lie, without it, my job would be significantly harder, because by being on an extended break I can regroup and be better able to handle my job the remainder of the year. I hope most of my kids can do the same... and if not, I hope they just make it back to school in the fall.

That face (7/2015)

It was the same look on his face. The same look that she makes at me when I catch her off guard, and she knows I see the hurt and the self-loathing. A slight tilt to the head, and a huge grin-- but with the saddest eyes you've ever seen. A practiced look that disarms most people and allows you to regain control of the situation, if only because your smile told the other person you're fine. Except you're not. And I am not most people...

I knew things were falling apart again. He called me Monday night to tell me he'd given his girlfriend my number. "Just tell her how I get. Help her feel better." She called me first thing Tuesday morning, concerned he was drinking again. He was. His friends were concerned. None of us knew how to really help. GF started researching. We talked a couple times a day. I waited to go see him; if I went too early, he could feel threatened and I didn't want that situation (for either of us). Friday morning I got a text from his buddy: come get him. So I did. I didn't tell him I was coming, until I got to the shop and he was out with another friend. We gathered his things, squished all we could into my new car (with decidedly less storage space than the old mini) and headed North. She convinced him to go to medical detox-- she's worried about his health-- for which I was incredibly thankful; I don't have the medical knowledge to help him sober up safely, and I couldn't bring him to my house and have my kids and husband go through it as well. I got him registered (a long process, it turns out), only a little bit worried we were taking unnecessarily extreme measures. I knew I couldn't bring him home, and there was no where else he could go--M&D have moved West in their retirement, and both our sisters left New England when they went to college. His GF is in the Northwest (where he is headed this fall). Medical detox bought us time, and ensured his safety.

As I headed back home, it was that look he gave me that said it all. I've been on the front lines with her eating disorder for a year and a half now. It's as destructive as any addiction; there are strong parallels between her story and why she stopped ingesting and his inability to stop ingesting. I've also worked with many kids over the years struggling with one thing or another: I long ago stopped listening to what they say and what they are not saying. Body language tells me more than words, and silence speaks volumes. And that face-- that look, with forced smile and heartbroken eyes-- was when I knew gathering him up and getting him admitted was the only course of action available to me.

I'm not trained in any of this-- not yet, anyway. But I know I have to make decisions that I can live with no matter what the future brings. Neither of them have to like the choices I make, and frankly, they can tell me no at anytime, but they can't control what I do or don't do. Waiting to get him was the right thing, regardless of what his friends may or may not think. Bringing him to the hospital was the right thing, regardless of the guilt I feel not bringing him into my home. Giving her food is the right thing, regardless of whether or not she chooses to eat it.

I don't know what the future will bring: I am prepared for a wide range of outcomes, for both of them. I do know I will continue to love them, and support them to the best of my abilities in the choices they make. It's complicated to love someone who is addicted to something, but so incredibly important to do so: that face they make should be all the proof you need.

a sunnie is born

I was hired after the school year had started. I knew this was the job I wanted, but figured it would be a few more years before it opened. The teacher I replaced had been there for awhile, and his choice to move on left the alternative ed program a bit shell shocked. It took a few days for any of the kids to talk to me, and really the remainder of that year before they trusted me. It was a big change for them to go from a known football player looking male teacher to little old me; frankly, it was a big change for me to get back to teaching after 7 years as a professional mom, so fine by me if it took awhile for us all to get acclimated.

That next year found everyone more comfortable with each other, and somehow or another I started class with something like "Ok, Sunshines, time to get to work". It stuck. I started to refer to the sunnies at home to differentiate between my students and my children. This group of (mostly) rough and tumble disconnected high school boys liked being called Sunshines. They started to refer to themselves as such. Without setting out to do so, I created a cool kids club, complete with a name and an identity.

This blog is a way for me to reflect on my classroom practice, and maybe figure out how I created that club so that someone else can do the same thing in their own school.