An addendum...fight or flight part 2

Cannondale didn't call. I went through with the training. I didn't vomit on my shoes. I did have technology challenges. I witnessed some of the most amazing conversation I have ever seen at this training.

So here's the thing. I work with incredible teachers. On Wednesday, I don't think I knew that. I knew about individuals in the building--there are a lot of people in my building whom I really admire. But I don't think I viewed our staff as a whole that way. I felt like people didn't know me, and I felt like I had a good sense of who a lot of them are. I was definitely wrong on the latter point. And on the earlier one, I think they know me now. By day 2, I was loosening up to the point that I felt like people were really seeing me.

It makes me wonder how often we get pigeon-holded into our classrooms and then pigeon-hole other teachers into what we think is their space. And the school year is about to start, and I know my space is in the back corner, but maybe my open door will feel even a little more open now.

Fight or flight... the courage to teach

In my dreams, I am really fast. Smoking fast. In the water, on the bike, on the run.
In reality, I am anything but. I'm pretty fast in the water--I finished in the top 20% at both the Ironman races that I did. I can get there on the bike with proper training. But I'm a slow and steady kind of gal on the run, and that isn't going to change.  If Cannondale called me tomorrow and said, "Hey, we just happen to be looking for a slow runner with average cycling skills and a decent swim stroke to round out our team of sponsored triathletes," I would quit my job and train full time. I love the idea of being paid to sweat.

Why am I writing about this on a teaching blog?
My fight or flight reaction is kicking in. I'm under pressure (somewhat self-imposed, somewhat externally applied). Options: wrestle the gorilla or start writing letters to Cannondale.

The school year officially starts in two weeks. Two weeks from today, actually. And I have only two students currently enrolled in my class. There will be more, but we have to wait for the students to get their immunizations in order and such. So for this part, it's best to just breathe and wait and know that the seats will be filled and the school year will roll forward.

The pressure is in the training that I'm delivering to our staff this week Thursday and Friday. With permission from WIDA, we are using some components of the CLIMBS course training to train our staff how to better work with our ELLs. I have put incredible care into developing the materials for these two days of training. I've spent hours thinking about transitions between activities and grouping and how to best emphasize the most salient points. I've woken up in the middle of the night thinking of ways to convince the staff that this work is important and worthwhile. I've written, rewritten, noted, printed, copied, and collated papers for the whole staff.

I pulled Parker J. Palmer's book, The Courage To Teach  down off my shelf again and started to read the first page, and I was struck by his own reflection after a bad first day of teaching that it might not be too late for him to find a new career. I didn't read beyond that first page. I just was caught up in the idea that it probably isn't all that uncommon for people faced with challenges to look for an out, no matter how far of a stretch that out might be. (The chances of Cannondale calling me between now and Thursday are not very strong.)

So here is the thing about doing a training like this. It is like wrestling a gorilla. The difference here is that sometimes the gorilla is like a personal trainer that you hire to put you through your workout and sometimes the gorilla is a bit of a wildcard. I feel like I'm not sure which gorilla will be showing up on Thursday and Friday, and that is where my anxiety comes from.

Courage, KKB. Courage. (And keep those fingers crossed for Cannondale's call.)

Why would they? Why wouldn't they? On the Atlanta teachers and testing.

I admit a little bit of glee at the mental picture of Atlanta teachers getting together with a stack of standardized test booklets and a few pizzas and some number 2 pencils to make a party out of changing their students' answers on the state tests. "Pass me some pepperoni. And what was number 22 again?"

NPR was doing a talk show segment today on the testing scandal. The question they kept asking was, "Why?" And to my surprise, I was sitting in the car saying, "Why the heck not?" But let me answer why.

Teachers in public education work in a fundamentally flawed system. And when you work in a fundamentally flawed system, you grow tired of trying to measure up in a fundamentally flawed system to a fundamentally flawed standard that no one thinks that we can reach.

To tell teachers that our "goal" is to reach 100% proficiency by 2012 or 2013 or 2014 is just asinine. Seriously? 100% proficiency? I can tick off the names of several students who will prevent that national goal from happening. And they won't prevent that goal from happening because they are trying to prevent it from happening, they will prevent that goal from happening because they didn't hold a pencil until they were 12 years old. So the idea that they would be proficient in reading and math at grade level in their second, third, or fourth language within a year or two of arriving in the country is just asinine. 

Then there's the AYPs. Our school has 18 benchmarks that we have to meet. Other schools have 2 or 3; it all depends on the population of the school. And here comes that magic number again, 100%. You have to hit 100% of your benchmarks to show adequate yearly progress. And it is an all or nothing deal. You can hit 17 out of the 18 benchmarks, and you still won't make AYPs because of one sub group. So hell, even if we are making progress, then we aren't making enough progress. What the hell kind of a system is that?

Then there is the actual testing system itself. We don't test kids at the beginning of the year and then test them at the end of the year to measure progress or to check the quality of our teaching. No. We test kids at the end of each school year. And the test measures whether or not they are meeting standards at grade level. Who cares if we've taught a kid to read better than he had the year before? Who cares if we've taught a kid math that he didn't previously understand? If he isn't at grade level, then we're not making progress.

And did I mention that we measure apples against oranges? We don't look at the class of 2015's progress from one year to the next. Nope, we compare one seventh grade class of students to an entirely new class of seventh grade students. Whose progress are we showing by doing that?

And don't even get me started on the unfairness of the testing for students for whom English is a second or third or fourth language. That is an entirely different post.

Back to the Atlanta teachers and that pizza. Why? Because the system is broken. And sometimes, when you are working in a broken system, you lose your way. I've never compromised my integrity when it comes to the state tests, but I do understand the weariness of working under a broken system and wondering if anyone else knows that it is broken. More absurdly, I wonder why we are always talking about all the problems with the system, and no positive change is happening.

Root canals, replacement teeth, and refugees

We had a dentist come in to our school at the end of the school year to check out kids who otherwise would not have access to a dentist. Only students who had filled out the paperwork were able to see her, and five of my students were on the list. Of the five students, two were fine. One had so much plaque and tartar on his teeth that the dentist wrote a referral for him to go see another dentist for a complete cleaning. And then there were my two girls. I'll write about one here today.

One student had a vertical crack in one of her front teeth that ran from up in her gum all the way down to the bottom of the tooth. This wasn't a subtle crack. It had bothered me from the beginning of the school year when I first saw her smile because I thought it must be painful. And here is where I made my mistake; my American self didn't want to ask questions about her mouth because for Americans (or at least Midwesterners, I'm not sure about the rest of us), it isn't polite to discuss others' medical issues unless they raise them in conversation. And here is where I made my other mistake; I assumed that the International Center was taking care of my students' medical issues. I was wrong on both fronts. I should have asked.

Here is the story. My student was running through her house in Thailand three years ago when her brother tripped her. She fell. Hard. And hit her mouth on the ground and broke her tooth. From top to bottom. With no access to a dentist, the family's approach was to have her suck it up. Fast forward two years, and her family moved to the United States as refugees. The International Center concerned themselves with getting the children the necessary shots to attend school and getting the family settled in to an apartment, but their support stopped there. Despite the fact that my student has Medicaid that would  cover her dentist trips, she wasn't taken to a dentist. And I had her in my class for a full year before I thought to investigate.

There are many details to share. After the dentist came to our school and saw that not only had my student cracked her tooth from top to bottom but also horizontally up under the gumline, she was horrified that the girl hadn't seen a dentist. We needed to get her to an office so that they could get that tooth out.

There are rules about teachers transporting students. We can't. So, I contacted the International Center. No return call. I contacted them via email. No return email. I contacted them again via phone. Nothing. I went to my principal and asked him to grant me an exception to the rule. He couldn't. He was trying to protect me from myself (thank you, litigious society). We contacted a dentist. He could see her right away. We needed transportation. And my student's mom needed to come to sign papers.

My principal intervened and contacted the International Center. Suddenly, we had movement. They would provide transportation. And a translator. And I would be allowed to go to the dentist with my student provided I drove myself and didn't provide them transportation. Fantastic.

My student needed to have the tooth pulled. The dentist needed an oral surgeon to do it because the damage was that extensive. And after having the tooth pulled, she could have a replacement tooth built. The problem? That meant at least four more dental appointments. Two problems there: 1) The International Center SUCKS (there, I finally said it!) when it comes to following up on these kinds of things. 2) Mom speaks no English, and we needed a lot of translation and support. And, frankly, my student's mom saw the whole thing as a hassle and not a necessity.

So the International Center managed to get her to the oral surgeon to have the tooth pulled, but then they dropped out of the picture altogether again. Sigh.

I've now spent two days at the dentist with my students this summer with two more days to come. I've worked out transportation for them and their families. I've dealt with telephone translators. I've been amazed at the trust their families have put in me. I've been amazed at the generosity and patience of the dentist who is working with my kids. And I've been angry that they have been neglected for so long and that my hands have felt so tied to help them.

Here is where I get to the part of the blog where I REALLY get on my soapbox:
1. The International Center needs to do their job. Or maybe redefine their job. But these kids have been neglected, and regulations in the school system have our hands tied. So when we identify a need, they need to support. And I'm tired of making excuses for them.
2. These families need community partners. They need cultural translators who can help them identify resources in the community that they can access. People don't want refugees to come and be a burden on the United States, but they also don't want to provide them the resources needed to make a successful transition from living in their culture to living in ours.
3. We need to start thinking about creative solutions to these problems. And we all need to be on the same page.

Two cups of coffee later, and I know I'm going to want to come back to revise this writing. I don't mean to make this about the International Center and their many failings. Rather, I mean to make this about my students. And their needs. And how we, as a community, need to do a better job folding these kids and their families in to our community.