Musings from a Not-So-Master Teacher

I'm working on writing a book. It's surprisingly hard to say people, as if it's something I've been hiding for a long time. "Hey, there's something I've always kept hidden from you. I'm really a geek." I suppose it's a little like an intellectual coming-out. I'm expecting people to say, "That's okay, John. We love you for who you are - even if it means you enjoy staring at computer screens and you have a penchant for correcting people's grammar. We love you anyway."

I guess it sounds arrogant. I don't have any accomplishments or notoriety. Yet, I think that's part of the draw to write. I want to write the kind of book that other teachers read and say, "Yeah, that's true," or "He's way off base," but not, "Man, what a miracle worker. I could never do that." I feel like all the books I read are either instruction manuals filled with practical advice; distant, theoretical textbooks; or inspiring stories about how someone came into the ghetto and radically transformed street thugs into humanitarian scholars.

I've already written a rough draft and now it's the difficult part. Here is where I dissect a chapter and move parts around to fit the overall flow of and subcontext created by the writing. Here I feel like a doctor, slowly performing surgery; knowing that if I cut up too much, I have a corpse of a chapter that cannot be rewritten without losing its overrall ethos. I've gotten used to blogging. I've grown used to self-censorship and quick sentences. It's hard to create something that does not read like a pasted-together series of blog posts.

Afterward, I feel more like a chef. I spend time changing words and seasoning it with a higher vocabulary. Too much and it will be pretentious and abstract. Too little and it will be raw and gritty.

The biggest challenge right now is seeing the big picture. In small segments, it's easy to have a feel for a specific chapter. I feel like I can't completely grasp the entire book. Also, it's tough because of my own insecurities. I could say that I am "writing for myself," which might be true. Yet, there is a sense in which I want to be published. And I don't feel as if I'm a great writer.

I walked into a language arts teacher's classroom and he vented about the lesson, "Kids just aren't at all engaged.  It's just not motivating them."

"What are you teaching?" I ask.

"Well, it's folklore and lengend.  We have to do the story of Paul Bunyan."

"What's not to love about that?" I ask. 

He eyes me suspciously, assuming I am being sarcastic.  "Seriously, I like that story for so many reasons. But tell me about the lesson." 

"Well, I should have done the movie like other teachers." 

"Do you mean they created a movie about it?"

"No, they watched a cartoon version of the story." 

"Did they analyze the difference between the two?  Did they find elements of stereotyping in the cartoon?"

"No, they just watched it I think." 

"So what did you do?"

"Posters," he explained.  "Which I thought they would like.  But I'm beginning to realize that it just wasn't at all interesting to them." 

"What would you have done?"

"I think I would have had them analyze the man vs. machine motif.  Then I'd talk about the social structures of the day and the assumption that an African-American was just a source of labor . . . You know, the whole criticism you hear from DuBois.  I might start a debate about whether he was a hero or an anti-hero or maybe a debate about the role of technology in our society.  How does it dehumanize people?  How does it transform us into machines?  Are we the machines? Are we androids?" 

He looks at me as if I am crazy; as if I had just explained why I believe that the Tooth Fairy is real.  "You got all that from one legend.  John, I think it's just a story. Besides, I really think kids would be bored with that." 

Which got me thinking.  He might be right.  They might be bored.  We live in a culture of entertainment.  Maybe being relevant to junior highers means showing a cartoon or passing out markers for posters.  Perhaps my ideas really are boring. 

Yet, I think that there is a paradox at hand in education.  The harder teachers try not to be boring the more boring they become.  Students want to engage in a controversial discussion.  They want to think about deeper things in life. Most students desire depth.  They want to explore challenging questions.  I think students are more motivated by meaning and purpose than they are by cartoons, posters or gold stickers.  In the end, if we want to have students engaged, the answer might be in giving them a strong reason to stay engaged and proving that what they are learning relates to their lives. 

My friend John calls it "beging a church jigalo," which I think has a catchier ring to it. The concept is this: finding a church is not at all like going shopping. Yet, people use the term,"church shopping," as if finding community is as simple as searching Read More...

Every summer I read two authors who help me regain my sanity. It's a cleansing process, really. It helps me to realize that there is more to life than word walls and academic vocabulary and lesson plans inside of boxes. I read Donald Miller, because he Read More...

I wrote this while I was at a PLC Conference last week. They charged fourteen bucks for internet access (the equivalent of twenty-four tacos at Jack in the Box) so I waited until now to post it:

In every era of American history, there is an archetypal city that embodies the values of the age. Philadelphia, with its idealism, simple colonial brick architecture and free spirit fit the Age of Revolution.  Chicago, with its stockyards and smoke stacks became the ultimate symbol of American industry.  New York, the metropolis packed with sky scrapers became the embodiment America’s sense of progressive capitalism and market dominance.  Los Angeles, by the fifties, became the ultimate city shaped by the car – a sprawling suburb in a semi-desert, air-conditioned and removed from reality, idealistic and yet angry and cynical; from Disneyland to Hollywood, the L.A. area became a symbol of entertainment and escape. 

 

So, I’m sitting here in Las Vegas; the city that captures the values of our era.  Without ever looking for it, I have seen more scantily-clad women than I normally see in a year.  As I passed by rows of gamblers, pushing twenties with the hope that it would be an investment, it all made sense.  This is the mindset that fueled our economic crash.  This is the greed that created the housing crisis. Unlike Los Angeles, Vegas is more of an escape, more of a city of entertainment.  It’s a city shaped by the forces of sex and greed, entertainment and escape.

 

It's the only place I can think of where I see a huge sign for Phantom of the Operah next to a four story tall naked behind and another sign promoting an all-you-can-eat buffet.  When we visit the Rio, I am struck by how strange it is to see massive boats with scantily-clad men and women tossing beads to chain-smoking octogenerians. Only in Vegas.

 

Yet, it’s more than that.  We are a transient nation; a country of tourists, lonely and gambling on an American Dream that hasn’t worked for most of those around us.  We are a pastiche culture, thinking nothing of creating a faux Eiffle Tower and demolishing a fifty year old structure because it doesn’t “look new.”  Vegas is a city under construction constantly – always moving, changing, never remembering its history.  It is idealistic, but edgy; cured only by the numbing elements of entertainment; a haven for the has-beens like Neil Diamond or Bette Middler.  This is as “bread and circus” as it gets.  The Romans would be proud.  (Hell, we even recreated Caesar’s Palace). 

 

I think we want to believe that our culture represents Seattle.  We want to think that we are the culture that created Microsoft and Starbucks and trendy drinks and beautiful post-modern buildings.  Or maybe we want to be Silicon Valley.  And maybe we are.  But I think that if we want to capture the true values of our culture – the mix of entertainment and innovation, of families being together and yet a breakdown of sexual norms, of boredom and amusement, go to Vegas.

 

I wonder how much of Vegas I see in myself as a teacher.  I don't mean in a sexual way.  I wouldn't ever hang up a wall-sized naked behind.  But, I wonder how often I try to be entertaining and funny.  I wonder how much time I waste gambling on ideas that might not pay off.  I wonder how addicted I am to being amused and entertained, or how often I am so animated in how present a lesson that I might as well make it a Vegas show.  I wonder if I'll ever be like Bette Middler or Elton John or Neil Diamond - using the same strategies for twenty years and still convincing myself that I am relevant.   

 

So how do I teach students within this Vegas culture without conforming to it?  How do I stay relevant in a culture of entertainment while still teaching students to challenge it? 

So, it's the end of week one for the summer vacation.  I have all eight weeks planned out and subdivided within a bulleted list.  The bullets have sub-bullets.  After awhile, it begins to resemble a drive-by, with bullets strewn everywhere.  I suppose "drive-by" is not a bad metaphor for my approach to summer vacation.  I get restless too fast and forget to rest.  I attack it and plan it to death.  I drive through the summer quickly and miss out on the spontaneity of a lazy afternoon. 

I have a friend who tends to put things off until the last minute.  He plans his lessons the night before and quickly modifies them during class.  True, he's a bit scattered and occasionally not very dependable.  Yet, he is always present, in the moment and flexible to the changes of the social context. It is not that he "puts things off," so much as he waits until the last minute to go into action. 

I know that there are down sides to procrastinating.  I realize that it can make people unfaithful, stressed-out and unable to accomplish big tasks.  However, from what I have experienced, there is the upside.  People who procrastinate often think through their projects for a longer amount of time.  While they might put things off until the last minute, they can adapt and change.  They waste less time in planning and planning for planning and they are more apt to enjoy the moment and the excitement of the fluid changes that occur in a classroom. 

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not advocating procrastination.  I'm suggesting, however, that procrastinating and planning ahead are both double-edged swords. 

Right now, in Major League Baseball, some of the best teams have the lowest salaries. The D-backs rank first in their division and 23rd (out of 30) in salary. Meanwhile the Dodgers are 7th in salary and trail Arizona by four games (despite having a salary Read More...

There's a secret game we play in the staff lounge called, "see how badass I really am."  It's a place of machismo, where teachers boast about holding kids accountable and *** about angry parents.  What happens is this: I say something like, "I can't believe they are letting that kid go to the eigth grade promotion after he ditched for a week and threw a water balloon at a teacher."  Then the next teacher has to one-up me with, "Oh yeah, well the girl who got in a fight and stole a laptop is getting to walk."  At this point, I have to give a one-up by saying, "I can't believe we even have an eighth grade promotion.  All it does is celebrate mediocricy. It sends the message to students that this is the end." 

The staff lounge is a place where teachers can go to let off some steam.  Lately it's been a sauna and all the teachers have had to listen to my overly bitter diatribe against eighth grade graduation . . . er, promotion. 

Fast-forward to yesterday.  As I drive to school, I see our mural with the pathway to education.  Along the side there are the custodians, teachers, parents, secretaries, cafeteria workers.  It hits me.  Graduation, promotion - these are never the end. Education is a life-long journey.  Yet, we need graduation points.  We need that sense of closure, that notion of a rite of passage. 

I am no longer against middle school graduation. I am beginnig to realize that it is a time to celebrate what students have accomplished, to reflect upon three years of schooling and to become energized about high school.  I am realizing, too, that our culture has no real "coming of age" rites.  While Jews have bar-mitzvah's and the Latino community has quinceneras, my lilly-white, suburban culture has nothing until graduation - and even that is often muted to remind us that it's all about college. 

So, despite my stubborn temperament, I am changing my mind.  I now agree with eighth grade promotion.  I agree with the music, the dressy outfits, the punch and cookies afterward.  I agree with the obnoxious bouqet of balloons. I'm even in favor of the blow horns and the signs that make it feel as if I'm at a professional wrestling venue, because if nothing else, they add a certain irony and vaudevillian aspect to a dreary formal ceremony. 

When I first began teaching, I would start planning things for the next year.  It was a simple way to soften the blow of losing 140 students and all the emotional baggage that goes with it - the guilt that some students were still mostly just a name, the deeper guilt in the fact that I was relieved about a few leaving, the thought that I would really miss some of them, the satisfaction of finished projects.  So, I would take the last few days of school and just plan the hell out of the next year. 

It's different now.  Now, I look at how busy my schedule is and figure out how I can cut out parts.  I make up my schedule ahead of time when I remember the feeling of burn-out rather than when I am overly refreshed during the summer. 

So, what will I cut out? I think I'm going to let students do more of the administrative (even paperwork) side of the IMPACT program.  I'll leave it to the TA's to develop a system that will work.  It's hard to let go of the control, but I think it will empower them.  I'm going to drop my membership in any committees and I will do nothing for "school improvement," except teach students as well as I can teach.  I will do fewer projects, but spend time with the students on the detail work. 

That's all I have so far.  Any suggestions?

 

Johnny passes by in his cap and gown as a flood of memories pass.  I recall snippets of hard conversations, small arguments, difficult basketball games and the late nights where I was editing his papers.  I thought of that first moment when he was a fourth grader in a tiny house with no air conditioning and he explained that it had been over a year since he was enrolled in school.  I thought about the phone call from jail, when he asked me for help.  I remembered the victory of his eighth grade promotion, when he pulled me aside and said it was further than any of his brothers had made it.  I thought about the summers when he volunteered and I watched the kid I mentor become a mentor to others. 

In many ways, he feels more like a little brother than a kid I tutor.  It's easy in a moment like this to take credit, to claim that his accomplish is somehow due to my influence.  Yet, it's not like that at all.  He's not a trophy or a line I can add to a resume (or vitae, to sound more arrogant).  The truth is that I have been flaky at times.  When he worked a job, I made very little effort to meet his new schedule.  Often, he would call me to ask for help rather than me calling him to offer it. 

More than that, I realize that there are so many people who helped him.  A whole team of people prayed for him daily.  Teachers spent hours counseling him and working with him on his writing. His older brother offered discipline and helped shelter him from some of the craziness of the drugs and the gangs that still surround his neighborhood and family. (To put it in perspective, a few years back, I have witnessed, firsthand, drivebys in his neighborhood) His small group leader tracked with him in the most difficult times and spoke truth into his life in the most pivotal moments. 

So, when I think of the "success stories," it's easy to write them off as the results of a few gifted people.  It's easy to look for a Freedom Writers style story and offer easy inspirational answers.  Yet, the reality is that, in most of the stories, there is rarely one main character.  There is a community pulling for someone and offering hope in the worst circumstances.

I hear pundits all the time giving simple answers to fix education in the inner-city.  They toss around words like "accountability" or "higher expectations."  But if Johnny's story is at all normative, the reality is our biggest need is not PLC or block scheduling or even more computers or more accurate textbooks.  What we need is more people who care.  We need more people praying, tutoring, mentoring, counseling and teaching. 

I read recently about a research study, where they created fake marketing for a painkiller.  Researchers at MIT wanted to see how people responded to the placebo being offered.  Surprisingly, participants reported a higher level of success when the retail price of the placebo (simply vitamin C pills) cost $2.50 per pill than when they cost ten cents.  This phenomenon happens all the time in medicine.  A combonation of positive expectations (this cure will work), branding (this hospital is the best around) and pricing (this procedure is expensive) all lead to this notion of the placebo effect. 

It got me thinking about teaching.  I have a student who will be going to a prestigious catholic girls school.  They have the highest test scores in our state (though they only accept the highest level of students, so it's a bit of a misnomer).  They have a great reputation.  I'm sure that their reputation plays a large part into student success.  Yet, I wonder if the greatest reason it's so successful is that it's expensive. 

Consider Starbucks.  Beyond the nice color schemes and cool atmosphere, they are slightly above mediocre.  Yet, because of the use of branding and the fact that they are so expensive, people believe that it's better. My wife and I both drink out of Starbucks mugs and, oddly enough, the crappy Folgers stuff actually seems to taste better. 

It makes me think about my school.  Unfortunately, we have been branded as "failing" and as "ghetto."  Too many teachers set low expectations for the students.  Nothing looks pricey.  So, we end up with a sort of anti-placebo effect.  In other words, things that are effective become ineffective as a result.

So, how do we change?  My thought is that we could learn from Apple computers or AT&T.  Just ten years ago, both companies looked like dinosaurs.  Even the once-edgy Apple was creating chincy overpriced computers that used an out-of-date operating system.  Now, both companies have changed everything.  I think pricing has something to do with it, as well as creating positive expectations.   

We all know that my school needs to change.  We all see the potential.  Yet, there is a sense of defeatism, an anti-placebo that seems to seap into the staff culture and affect even the most idealistic guys like myself.

 

Many of my colleagues have enormous desk calendars where they mark each passing day with a large red oversized Sharpie. I don't have a desk calendar. (Sometimes I think there must have been a teaching class I missed; perhaps when I was ditching the lesson Read More...

I'm reading a book right now that describes the difference between market norms and social norms.  Market norms are based upon supply and demand, wages and profit motives.  Social norms are based upon social relationships and the expectations contained within the community.  It is not surprising to me that social norms often work better in terms of increasing productivity. 

For example, if I am told that I will be paid twenty dollars an hour to tutor a kid, my motive will be financial.  I won't stay a minute longer.  I won't have any incentive to work hard.  Yet, if a student comes to me and says, "I really need help in math," I will work as hard as I can to help the student be successful. 

In a similar vein, if I call my friends and say, "I'm moving on Saturday.  Can you help me?"  most likely, they will say, "Yes."  If I called five friends and said, "Hey, can you come move furniture for me at ten bucks an hour?"  they would be offended.  If they said yes, there would be no strong motive to work hard. 

Schools almost always work within the business model.  From the professional attire to the grading system, to the standardization of knowledge, they work hard to create Professional Learning Communities.  Using the market motivation of punishment and rewards, they assume that behaviorism will work.  Yet, studies demonstrate that punishments must become increasingly harsh and rewards increasingly high in order to increase motivation.  (Perhaps it all goes back to the whole intrinsic / extrinsic motivation)

The problem is that schools will use market motivation and then act shocked when students do the bare minimum to accomplish a task.  When students ask, "Is this on the test?" or "Will this be graded?" it's not unlike the times that someone asks, "Will I get overtime?" 

I de-emphasize grading in my class.  I don't offer credit for all of the student community service hours.  I don't throw reward pizza parties when students accomplish a goal.  Instead, I get to know students relationally and establish strong social norms.  In return, I have fewer discipline problems and a higher level of productivity than when I used to focus on grades and referrals.

A few months ago, I logged onto the Obama website for the first time.  I expected to see the standard stream of videos, professional pictures and links asking me to give.  Although the site had aspects of each, I found it to be welcoming, intuitive and inviting me to participate. From the discussion boards to the small donations, the Obama campaign has revolutionized politics in a multimedia, online world.  (In a similar, but less mainstream way, Ron Paul has done the same thing.  However, his campaign was so libertarian that the web of participation was so complex and so scattered that it seemed almost too "Web 2.0" in its approach).  Through small donations, Obama has raised millions of dollars. 

Radiohead released an album where they asked people to donate what they felt was a fair market value for their music.  Like Dave Mathews Band, Radiohead knows how to take care of their fans.  Rather than milking the fan base through promotional t-shirts and pimping out their music for the highest bidders, they realize that their small, core group is who will carry it through the long haul. 

So, in my classroom (and IMPACT Program) re-think, I am attempting to follow Radiohead and Obama in a few respects:

1. Keep it positive - Both Obama and Radiohead have an optimisitic feel in their message to the fan base. 
2. Dare to be innovative - Obama had crushing blows in some of the early primaries.  People told him he had to go negative and go on the attack.  Radiohead faced harsh criticism when they first went electronic.  In both cases, they realized that innovation includes many mistakes.
3. Offer choices - In both cases, the fans and the supporters can participate and have choices.  I want to offer a variety of projects and encourage students to choose.  Thus, they can pick the murals, the plays, the documentaries, the websites - and, like Radiohead, I will allow students to participate according to what they can handle.  I think I burnt a few students out this year and I regret it. 
4. Keep it simple - I made things too complex.  I want the Social Voice website to have an easy, intuitive feel, with a stronger sense of participation.  I want students to log on and feel that they are participating in an ongoing dialogue between the community and the classroom. 

I'm listening to a soft, subdued version of "Chicago," but Sufjan Stevens.  It's a life studio set taped on an indie station, KCRW, in Los Angeles.  Somehow, with the lone guitar and trumpet, I can hear the words echoing the sentiments of this school year. 

At the beginning of the year, everything was going really well.  The school board asked to see information on our IMPACT program and district personnel visited my classroom.  They had me speak to new teachers.  As we approached reconstruction of the school, I was confident in my role in helping shape it.  Then, I felt confident in creating the technology magnet.  The IMPACT program was working with the Social Awareness Club, sharing projects, logging in service hours and collaborating well.  My team was awesome and I felt a great vibe about who we were as a community. Then I developed Teacher Commons (a professional development site for our school) with the hope that I could help facilitate collaboration. 

I watched it all crumble.  The reconstruction fell through and the promised Technology Magnet fizzled.  I am now embaressed by the fact that I spent hours researching and writing a huge proposal and creating a website for both.  I've seen the numbers and the enthusiasm for IMPACT decrease steadily.  However, people tell me this is normal for eighth graders.  (I usually teach seventh grade)

My team is split apart and I won't be working with any of them next year.  Meanwhile, a few of the people on staff I really trusted have mocked my ability as a team leader.  I was stoked about the Teacher Commons site only to see no staff support.  Not one staff member has left a comment; not even those I consider closest to me. 

I feel disconnected from community.  I feel completely alone in what I am doing.  I feel that the collaboration we had planned is now on the back burner.  I have no one helping me with anything, which is difficult when I have lost all confidence in my ability to lead and to teach. I am doing nothing different, but the results are opposite of what I have had in the past.  Part of what makes this tough is that, when I share how I am feeling, I recieve unsolicited advice instead of encouragement.  I feel the message reinforced that I am not needed at my school and it spirals into shame.

So, with Sufjan on KCRW, I hear the words, "I've made a lot of mistakes, in my mind. In my mind" and the repetition of the chorus, "All things go, All things go." I start to feel alone, like Jack Keroac, but I have no urban landscape to go and take a walk and I lack the cool, calm existentialist temprament. 

I start to think about what I want to do differently.  Next year, I won't join any committees.  I won't attempt to launch any programs.  I'm going to spend more time writing comments on student blogs and really perfecting my lessons.  I'll do fewer projects, but more time making the projects the best they can be.  I want to worry less about what admin thinks and more time living out the vocation of who I am.