The days continue to tumble into one another in a blur that remains just out of focus. Class sizes are out of control (30 per class); behavior management continues to take center stage (i.e., a student who wasn’t mine raced into the room, screamed “lick my balls” and ran); and I am trying desperately to cling to the ideals that brought me to education 22 years ago. With that said, tomorrow the other shoe drops in terms of administration.
Some years ago, our district bought into a managed curriculum. Though we have over a half dozen high schools, with tremendous economic disparity between them, every English teacher was handed a “lock-step” sheaf of papers and told “follow this–or else.” This curriculum isn’t simply a list of objectives and goals, it is, rather, a script that we are to read verbatim. As one administrator waxed, “there’s no more room in education for Martha Stewart.” I think that was one of the most crushing blows to my professional ego–I became a teacher to practice the art; to give students what they NEEDED, not what was now being “prescribed.” Initially I rebelled. I refused to have my entire pedagogy stuffed into a cardboard box and shelved. The “smackdown” came swiftly, and I found my job in jeopardy. At the time I had advanced to the position of a teaching “coach”. My refusal to buy into the “program” meant that I was forced back to the classroom. I was also told that in light of my inability to buy into district policy, I would never see the outside of a classroom again. In spite of my administrative certification, I would never be given the opportunity to use it. In all fairness, I suppose I did have a choice. I could leave the district I was committed to and seek employment elsewhere. I chose to ride it out, telling myself that, like every major initiative our district had taken on, “this too shall pass.” Thus far, the powers that be are apparently waiting me out.
So tomorrow, administrators from every office at the district level will descend upon our building. We are the first high school to be “walked”. These administrators will come, evaluations in hand, to check for evidence of student learning through the prescribed curriculum. They will look for proof that we are using the language they have deemed necessary (“getting the gist”; “significant moments”; “stepbacks”; etc.). They will look for evidence of clear routines (we’ve seen these kids a total of four times in the classroom thus far). They will look to see if student work is posted; if students are engaging in accountable talk; if our lesson plans include instructional pathways that clearly follow what has been dictated. They want to be sure we’re posting the “overarching questions” for each unit, questions we must present to students verbatim; they want to be sure we have the standardized test data for each student posted (with student numbers instead of names of course); they want to be sure we’re using that data to group those students.
The consequences of tomorrow’s “walk through” can be disastrous. Last year, a record number of teachers were placed on “Improvement Plans” and consequently rated “unsatisfactory” at the end of the year. A mid year review of another “unsat” means that teacher will no longer be employed. Teachers who have been in the district for almost 30 years are sweating out these walks, hoping for a reprieve after having been “unsatted” last year for the first time in their careers. Principals aren’t immune either, and their jobs are often riding on how well the teachers in their building perform.
Friday, it was incredible to see the number of teachers still in the building over an hour after dismissal time, myself included. A camaraderie, however, has emerged. It’s sort of an “us” against “them” mentality that has brought everyone, principal, faculty and staff, together in an effort to somehow minimize the stress and tension we are all experiencing. On the other hand, everyone appears to be stretched like violin strings, almost, but not quite, to the breaking point–and it’s only September.
Me? I’m wringing my hands over the icebreakers I did with my students–the ones that my students wrote about in their journals, saying how beneficial each thought they were; the icebreakers that weren’t in the prescribed curriculum (which contains NO introductory activities for ninth graders new to us from middle school). My stomach is churning over the fact that I asked my students to follow a specific Twitter account I created specifically for school, the account I asked them to Tweet for homework this weekend–again, not in the curriculum. I am sweating over the fact that in preparation for a prescribed lesson on “identity”, I chose to show a presentation of Sharon Flake’s “You Don’t Even Know Me” instead of having students “pair share” the dictionary definition of “identity” as prescribed. Yes, I know I’ve made my own bed for tomorrow’s reality check. I chose to add things to my classes that were good for kids. I chose to make them comfortable with myself and one another before I jumped into reading Glaspell’s “Trifles”. I chose to incorporate technology in an effort to create a more personal approach, allowing students to Tweet me questions if they are afraid to ask in class. I chose to give them a common piece of literature in the form of a high interest poem in order to facilitate richer discussion about the concept of identity. I knew when I made those decisions that I would be made to suffer the consequences. I just didn’t think it would happen so quickly.
Wish me luck–I’m going to need it.
