My EKS

A friend asked me recently if my daughter, who is is home-schooling my grandchildren, was following the TEKS, the Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills, which are the state standards for what students should know and be able to do at the different grade levels. I told my friend, "No, she isn't," and that I didn't follow the TEKS back when I home-schooled my kids either, and it didn't hurt them a bit.

I know the TEKS were written to create a standard of learning in schools across the state, but it's also tied the hands of teachers who have to cram in all of the many TEKS in their respective subjects, including writing lesson plans that document what part of the TEKS every lesson is actually teaching. If some students don't grasp a concept, the teacher has very little time to stop and make sure that mastery takes place-- because they have to cover all of the TEKS within a limited amount of time, so there is even less time for in-depth, sear-it-on-the-brain learning.

A lot of my education growing up involved memorizing something temporarily for a grade, or turning in assignments for grades, and then promptly forgetting much of it. Good grades, other than my only D in Chemistry, came easy for me in the 1st-12th grades, but I don't remember too many classes really sparking an interest in learning or giving me a good understanding of why I was learning all of that stuff. I can count on one hand the teachers and classes that really challenged me, and I remember very few classes that forced me to make the connection that school was preparing me for life. I just thought it was just this necessary millstone around my neck that I had to endure before I got out and really started living. And I still see this attitude over and over again in so many students in school today. The light comes on after they get out of school, sometimes years after, and usually when they run smack dab into their educational shortcomings.

One of the most important things my children learned before they went to public school was to take responsibility for their learning. They knew how to read directions and how to dig something out of the textbook, whether the teacher was teaching or not. They didn't have to wait for the teacher to spoon-feed them.

So no, my children weren't exposed to the TEKS until they hit seventh grade, but they still went to the tops of their respective classes when they entered public school. And I wasn't that great of a homeschool teacher. I'm just saying that the TEKS aren't the end-all when it comes to preparing children for life. I think the education world tends to complicate the process of teaching and learning. It speaks a language few understand outside of the education environment. Its requirements tend to run kids through the education system like cattle in chutes, hoping they catch what they're supposed to catch as they are prodded along the way. And once they've graduated, no one bothers to look and see if the TEKS actually took or not.

It's not that the TEKS are bad, it's that the students don't have the right motivation and mindset to learn, TEKS or no TEKS.

As for my EKS for life, I believe the following (and they are in no particular order of priority):

• Kids need to know how to communicate well-- reading, writing, speaking, listening, and understanding.
• Kids need to know how to find good sources for information they are seeking; they need to be able to evaluate that information-- to recognize propaganda and biased information versus the truth; they need to know how to check a source for trustworthiness.
• Kids need to know history well enough to not make the mistakes of the past; that the source for history isn't learned through Hollywood or groups with a biased agenda to change it. 
• Kids need to learn about our Constitution and Bill of Rights, and to learn how important it is to defend those rights.
• Kids need to know how government works, and that they are an important part in making their communities, states and country function well. 
• Kids need to learn to be contributing, self-reliant members of our society, and that they are responsible for their family's care-- the old and the young.
• Kids need to know math well enough to survive and thrive in whatever field they choose, and especially in managing their personal lives.  
• Kids need to know how natural science works, and that we are the caretakers of this extraordinary planet on which we live.
• Kids need to know how to use technology well and wisely.
• Kids need to learn compassion and charity for those less fortunate than themselves.
• Kids need to learn to respect those who are different from themselves, and that our freedom defends those differences.
• Kids need to learn good character, especially honesty, kindness, courage, dependability, perseverance, how to work hard, gratefulness, generosity, patience, & self-control.
• Kids need to learn responsibility from an early age, and that it's okay to make mistakes, but it's not okay to not learn from them. 
• Kids need to be exposed to not only physical sports and activities that they may or may not continue to participate in after school, but especially to the arts-- music, art, drama, etc.-- that actually opens their minds to creativity and enhances learning in other areas. 
• Kids need to know that they are of great worth, and they have a purpose for being here.
• And it was important to me for my Kids to know their Creator personally and to learn about Him and his Word, that this place didn't happen by chance, and that there is so much more to life than meets the eye.

I don't want to write myself a long and strict list of guidelines I'm bound to follow in order to achieve these EKS because that limits learning-- like a really tight corset limits breathing. Okay, bad analogy. What about-- learning is limited because the TEKS and the STAAR test are just two of five plates every teacher is required to juggle every day in their job, and only one of those plates involves actual teaching...

Okay, maybe the corset comparison is easier to understand. It's not that teachers aren't working hard enough-- they're working so hard, and the expectations and stress is so overwhelming at times that it's driving many of them out of the field. But the TEKS is only one of many corsets that the teachers are strictly bound to follow, and they aren't allowed the freedom and time to teach their students-- all of which are individuals with different strengths and weaknesses and varying abilities-- the best possible ways they know how. And that may or  may not always follow the detailed TEKS or its timetable. 

Mentor the Newbies

The first year I taught journalism in high school and junior high, I had taken over the position from the "real" journalism teacher who quit after the first week. I thought, I'm young, I'm strong, I can do this. I should've included, I'm naive, I'm gullible, and I'm a glutton for punishment to that pep talk.

I stepped into a teaching position with no assigned classroom. I was supposed to float between four other teachers' classrooms during their off periods in three different buildings on campus, which meant them having to pack up whatever they were grading or working on and moving to who knows where. Not a good situation for building good work relations. The old journalism classroom had been given to a special education teacher, and the cadillac of a darkroom eventually became known as the best  making out place, I learned later when I caught a couple in there.

My classes were supposed to put out two newspapers a month and two yearbooks that year, but we had no computers. I was told to use computers around campus when someone else wasn't using at the time-- so it had to happen outside of class time, since my borrowed classes had no available computers. I borrowed a number of journalism books from the public library through Inter-Library Loan since no one told me the school even had textbooks for journalism. I found out halfway through the school year that there actually were textbooks stored away somewhere.

I asked someone from the administration office if the journalism department had any budget, and I was told the journalism budget was in the red--that last year's journalism teacher spent this year's budget, and I could probably spend next year's budget. I was determined to change that.

The keyboarding teacher and computer science teacher had pity on me and gave me the use of some small workrooms situated between their two classrooms so I could at least have a place to call home. Until then I was seriously considering acquiring a shopping cart to move my materials from class to class. The three small rooms and hall between the two classes were being used for storage, so students helped me clean them out and create some work areas. I literally pulled the least-broken old chairs and desks out of a trash pile to furnish the small rooms. I found some old word processors stored in there that the typing teacher told me I could use if I paid to get them cleaned and replaced the ink cartridges. I decorated the walls with journalism terms and our new mini-office rooms were in business.

On the Friday after I discovered the word processors, I pulled my car around to the back of the building after school (using an existing road) and was in the process of loading the two pieces of equipment myself when the principal walked up and wrote out a parking ticket to me, saying I wasn't supposed to park back there. I told him that I hadn't parked back there-- that I was just loading some equipment that we could use for journalism. I thought he would be happy that I was taking the initiative to find and get some old equipment repaired, but he was just aggravated at me parking behind the building-- even for the few minutes I was there. On my own time and gas expense I hauled them to San Antonio-- 170 miles round trip-- on the weekend, and went back the next weekend to pick them up, again at my expense, but I was excited that we finally had some equipment we could actually use during class time to type up and save our news stories.

I was being paid a part-time salary-- I had two periods off, but the rest of the classes were scattered throughout the day, so the schedule tied me down all day.  I had to come to school at 7:00 a.m. so students could use the computers in the computer lab before the computer classes started. We also used them during the teacher's off period and while he was at lunch, and I often stayed after school so students could use them then, too.

 For months after I started teaching, I only got a few hours of sleep each night. I couldn't turn my mind off lying there trying to figure out how to make it all work. A few weeks after I brought the word processors back from San Antonio, the principal called me in his office and chewed me out for spending less than a hundred dollars to get the equipment restored to working order. I didn't realize I was supposed to get approval before spending journalism money. No one told me anything. Everything I did was 'jump in and start swimming' and 'trial and error' efforts. I thought I was working miracles to make this impossible situation work, and yet the principal shot me down at every turn. He did absolutely nothing to help me.

During the school year my students and I worked a number of fund-raisers-- including selling old photographs and yearbooks from years past, and by January, the journalism department budget was in the black. A secretary from the administration office called me one evening and told me that I might like to know that the principal pulled $1,000 of our hard-earned money in the journalism activity fund and put it in his principal's fund. That was one of a dozen major offenses this man committed that would take pages to record it all (I plan to use it in a fiction novel someday), and I felt I had no choice but to travel the chain of command to try to resolve all of those issues, including getting our money back to use for yearbook and newspaper expenses. Other teachers were having similar problems, but the threat of getting their funding pulled kept them quiet, and no one would go with me to the School Board. Several long-time teachers told me that I ought to lay low, that he'd be gone eventually. All I could think of was the tremendous damage he was causing in the meantime. Another teacher asked me if I remembered what happened to Joan of Arc, like I was heading toward the same fate.

On the day of the school board meeting, I found in my school mailbox a tear sheet of the San Antonio Express News classifieds with my job advertised and circled with a bold red marker. The principal had put it there to intimidate me, hoping to change my mind about addressing the school board meeting that night.

A friend of mine accompanied me to the meeting, and for ninety minutes in closed session with the principal sitting directly behind me, I told the School Board what had been happening on our campus. Everything was documented; nothing was hearsay. Not one of the school board members ever looked at the clock during that time or asked me to speed up my presentation. They had been so far removed from what was actually going on, and they were absolutely shocked. The wife of one of the school board members told me later that she had never seen her husband come home from a meeting so angry before.

They had already signed the principal's contract for the following year, and school district was too broke to take him to court to break it, but I believe the principal lost face after that meeting, and I think somebody must've had a little talk with him because he ended up leaving of his own accord. The next school that hired him fired him by Christmas.

I even worked with a couple of students an extra month into the summer to make sure the yearbook was finished. The principal had the total authority to hire or not re-hire untenured teachers, and he actually hired a new journalism teacher before school was out that year. I even met him when the principal was showing him around. This same teacher contacted me during the following school year saying that he would be happy to testify on my behalf if I ever decided to go to court based on what he'd learned about what had happened the previous year.

The only reason I share this story is that my first year of teaching made me never want to step foot on a school campus again. My children didn't have much of a mother and my husband had an absentee wife that year because I poured everything of myself into that job that year trying to make it work, and I believe I did, but at a huge cost. Now that I'm older and wiser, I get so angry for being so naive and allowing myself to put up with such horrible work conditions.

Beginning teaching is hard enough in a good school system, but it is a soul breaker in a bad one. No one mentored me. I felt like I was completely on my own, and I was paid such a meager amount for the time and effort I put in to make that impossible situation work. I might've stayed with teaching if I'd had more support.

Every teacher-- no matter how much experience they have-- needs to feel a part of a team and that they have a voice. I can't stress that enough. Experienced teachers, please mentor the new teachers. Take them under your wings and protect them; teach them from your hard-earned experiences. Stand up against unreasonable, unethical tyrants taking advantage of a new teachers' lack of experience. Year after year I see young teachers leaving the profession because it's just too hard to go it alone.

Been there, got stomped on, limped away.

Black History is American History is Our History

Carter G. Woodson, 

photo borrowed from http://commentariesonthetimes.wordpress.com/tag/web-dubois

Something I learned a few years back from studying Carter G. Woodson, who is considered the Father of Black History, was that Black history doesn’t just belong to Black Americans. I understood why Woodson dedicated his life to researching the contributions and experiences of Blacks in American history and promoting the inclusion of it in since Black history wasn’t to be found in most history books. But it was an epiphany moment for me when I realized that Black History in America was my history, too! Woodson’s writings show that he believed temporary celebrations of Black History would eventually come to an end because Black history would be fully merged into the study of American history.

I appreciate the efforts to focus on achievements of Black Americans for a month each year, but I wonder if maybe an unintended consequence of Black History Month is creating the illusion that Black history belongs only to Black Americans, that it is still separate, somehow, from the rest of American history. That had happened unintentionally in my mind, so I have no doubt many others have embraced that misguided belief, too, even in the enthusiastic commitment and efforts to observe Black History Month. I saw a segment on TV last night that showed a number of black children that kept saying, "Black history is my history," over and over again. And I thought, we're still missing Woodson's intent!

Last year our school district scheduled a motivational guest speaker for all the employees during one of the inservice days, and the speaker asked, "How many of you know who Carter Woodson is?" Out of 800+ people, my school counselor and I were the only ones who raised our hands, and we just happened to be sitting together. The speaker, who was black, asked our counselor, who was also black, if she had told me the answer, like I wouldn't know that on my own since I was white. Then he asked me to tell him who Carter G. Woodson was. I told him Woodson was known as the Father of Black History. The guest speaker corrected me to say that Woodson was responsible for starting Black History month.

The librarian in me couldn't let that go, so later I wrote him an email and showed him some sources that let him know that Carter G. Woodson was indeed known as the Father of Black History, and that Woodson started "Negro History Week" years ago, which was eventually expanded and the name changed to Black History Month. And I also told him that I would forget people were black if they didn't keep reminding me, and that Black history is also my history, too, so why wouldn't I know something about Carter G. Woodson? 

Several years ago a neighbor friend of mine, who's black, got onto me for saying black Monday when referring to something I was dreading coming up on Monday. She told me she wished I would use another term, like I had made a racial slur using the word black that way. I was actually basing it on the term black Tuesday connected with the Stock Market Crash in 1929, but I was so shocked, my mind went blank. Later, I wished I'd had the presence of mind to tell her in a kind manner that she didn't have a monopoly on the word "black," and that we use that word for hundreds of reasons-- not just skin color. Folks, we should all be well beyond this now, but we're not.

Maybe if we stopped segregating black history to one month out of the year, like it's still supposed to be separate from the rest of our country's history, that might be a good start.  

Oh, for the day when Americans are categorized by citizenship, character, and contributions to mankind; when colors refer to our flag instead of a label to brandish as a crutch or a bully stick; when our history is one history, undivided, and with liberty and justice for all.                                                                                                                     - dvc