Education Reformers: The Walking Dead

I never thought I would get hooked on a show like “The Walking Dead” – especially halfway into its fourth season – but I started hearing about it from people whose opinion I respect, so I decided to see what the fuss was about. This is the description I found on NetFlix: “In the wake of a zombie apocalypse, survivors hold on to the hope of humanity by banding together to wage a never-ending fight for their own survival.” Wow! That sounds like what I do every day at my job – “wage a never-ending fight for their own survival.” Teachers do that in Oklahoma during every legislative session but that’s a war that’s gone on for a long time and we know the rules of engagement. The war for which we are woefully unprepared is the war being fought by the so-called education “reformers” who have convinced society that schools are failing, teachers are the problem, and their “product” is the solution. Those “products” take a lot of different forms and they come from some pretty disparate salespeople but the goal is the same. In the words of one of the human bad guys on the show, “What we want is what you’ve got. Period.” On the show, they never use the word “zombie.” Instead, they refer to those who have come back from the dead as “walkers.” A mysterious infection has plagued the population of the world causing people to die, then come back as a creature that does nothing but mindlessly plod forward and devour whatever living flesh is in its path. It doesn’t think, feel, or speak and it can only be permanently “put down” by having its brain destroyed. As one of the characters, Morgan, explains in the first episode, “At first, we thought we could wait ‘em out; we just froze in place.” That’s kind of how we reacted when the education reformers started walking toward us. Were they good? They look like good guys. Hey, that guy wants to give us millions of dollars! His intentions must be pure! And that guy works for the President we helped to elect – we’re sure he’s on our side! But Morgan explains further: “They look like people we know – even our own family members, but they’ve been infected and they only want to destroy.” They eat their own. They trudge along mindlessly until they hear a loud noise or see a bright light or sense weakness then they change direction and converge on the living as a devouring herd. The survivors on the show, the ones who haven’t died yet, are disoriented at first. They don’t understand what’s happening or how to fight it. They want to play by the rules of the old world but they quickly discover that just gets them eaten. Their only hope of continued survival is to band together, pool their dwindling resources, and organize a strategy. At first, infighting weakens them and leaves them vulnerable. The character who represents the group’s conscience, Dale, cries, “The group is split; we’re scattered and weak.” So they create a unit for safety in numbers and focus on their individual strengths to contribute. Their different talents keep them alive: some scout, some hunt, some heal, some shoot straight – both literally and figuratively. As they progress through the seasons, they learn that “survival means making hard decisions” and you can’t always tell the good guys from the bad guys based on appearances. A rival survivor group offers to leave them alone if they’ll just sacrifice one of their own. After a great deal of anguish and conflict, the group leader Rick declares, “I can’t sacrifice one of us for the greater good because WE are the greater good.” Kind of like belonging to the teachers union, huh? WE are the greater good because we are WE. Any “hole in the fence” and the walkers start getting in. Every lost member is a hole in the fence for us. As the young character Glenn says, “I know it looks bad and we’ve all been through hell and worse but we found each other. . .We’re together. We keep it that way.” It may be hyperbole to compare the attack on public schools to a zombie apocalypse but I think it’s a pretty apt metaphor. Just like the survivors on the show, we are focused on figuring out what kind of world we’re leaving for our children and how we can fix it without destroying everything. Wise Herschel says, “Things break but they can still grow.” The education “reform” movement isn’t about reforming; it’s about replacing. Those who see a profit to be made from taking over the public school establishment think, “What we want is what you’ve got. Period.” And those who don’t know any better follow the herd until the next loud noise or shiny sight moves them in a different but still destructive direction. The “brain” is usually from one of the “stink tanks” like ALEC and like the survivors on the show, we have to learn not to waste our firepower but to go straight for the source. Safety in numbers; individual strengths united in a common focus; no holes in the fence. That’s how we survive and overcome in the zombie apocalypse of school reform. And that’s what I really think.

The Kids' Table

The holidays are here and so are all the memories, treasured and traumatic, that come along with them. One of those that seemed traumatic at the time was being relegated to the Kids’ Table at the big holiday meals. I don’t know what secrets and hidden delights we thought we were missing out on but reaching the adult table was one of those elusive goals of the future like getting your drivers’ license and going to college. My son, who was the youngest grandchild for twelve long years, felt especially ostracized from the Grown-Up Table. All this talk of generations and bridging the gulf between tables gave me an “aha” moment when attending the NCUEA Fall Conference in Austin last week. (The National Council of Urban Education Associations is a group of large local affiliates of the National Education Association.) For those of us in association leadership, membership numbers are always floating around in our heads and we are always looking for ways to increase those numbers because hey, it’s a union, and our strength is our numbers. Just like with any organization, we run the risk of “aging out” and leaving no one behind to pick up the torch. We see this in the teaching profession, as a whole, and in association membership and activism, in particular. We spend whole workshops learning about the characteristics of The Millennials - those tech-savvy, tea cup children born since Ronald Reagan entered the White House. I happened to have raised two Millennials and to have taught thousands (literally) of them while they enjoyed their halcyon high school days. When you talk to individual Millennials, however, you find that they really don’t all fit the definition their generation is given any more than do the Baby Boomers or Generation X. When you talk to the ones who have chosen the teaching profession, you hear them saying the same things we said so many years ago, “I love my students and I want nothing more than to teach them with the resources and support we need and without all kinds of interference.” Maybe instead of looking for the magic bullet to “reaching the Millennials and getting them involved,” we should just invite them to the Grown-Up Table where they can be part of the conversation, learn from the wisdom of the elders, and even introduce their own new dish for the dinner. We can’t afford to focus on our differences but should instead focus on the fact that we’re all one big public education family who should all be dining at the same table. And that’s what I really think.

Stranger on a Plane

Today I flew back from a conference in Austin and I sat next to the nicest lady on the leg from Houston to Tulsa. She was eighty years old and still very pretty. She had lively blue eyes and her nails had been done professionally. I found out she has seven grandchildren and thirteen great grandchildren and “every one of them is spoiled by their MeMaw.” I shared with her that I’m not a grandma yet but I definitely plan on spoiling any future grandchildren because “that’s the only way we know how to do it in our family.” This sweet lady, whose name I never learned, lives in Pittsburg, Kansas with her husband and most of her extended family. Her husband was driving from Pittsburg to Tulsa to pick her up at the airport and she had joked to him that maybe he should bring a dogsled because of the snow in Tulsa. In the best of road conditions, Pittsburg is a two-hour drive from Tulsa. When I asked her what brought her to Houston, she told me that she flies down several times a year for a few days to take care of Mary, her fifty-seven year old daughter-in-law who has MS. Mary’s own mother usually does the bulk of the care-giving but my traveling companion goes to give her a break. I shared that my husband has MS but his is the kind that is Relapsing-Remitting and he gets around quite well with a cane. Mary, however, has the severe Progressive kind that has relegated her to living in a wheelchair and not being able to speak or care for herself. My heart goes out to Mary but I have a special appreciation for her mother and her mother-in-law, both elderly ladies, who should be sitting back having their grandchildren wait on them hand and foot but instead they’re still caregivers and they take it in stride because “that’s what you do until you’re not able to do it anymore.” Meanwhile, back home in Oklahoma, people were saying hurtful things to one another over a football game. Perspective can be a gift from a stranger on a plane. And that’s what I really think.

The Non-Gift

Today is the infamous Black Friday -- the day when Americans lose their collective minds and engage in primitive behavior to supposedly save money on luxury items for a season that is supposed to be about peace, good will, and gift-giving. I'm not a joy-shopper; I'm a need-shopper so Black Friday holds no attraction for me. However, while I was delving into the depths of the closets where I store my Christmas decorations, it was hard not to think of gifts and their various incarnations. Some of the most treasured gifts I've ever received were the ones made by my children when they were little. It's a cliche because it's true. I also ran into some very nice things that I have received that I will never use -- these would fall into Seinfeld's "re-gifting" category. A category that hasn't been featured on a major sitcom, though,is the Non-Gift. My children once had this relative who didn't really like or want to be around children. This relative, oh I'll call her Bride of Satan or BOS for short, had to make it appear to those in her social circle that she loved and adored my children and even remembered occasionally that they existed. BOS never bought Christmas or birthday gifts for them (because it would have meant traveling from Owasso to Tulsa and we ALL know how difficult that trip is) nor did she send money or gift cards because their mother might grab hold of them and use them for something frivolous like buying groceries or paying a utility bill. No, she bought savings bonds in their name and sent them the patriotic-looking little gift certificate saying, "I bought this for you" but gave no indication of how those bonds were to ever find their way into their hands or be redeemed. She's been dead for several years now and we had forgotten about those Non-Gifts from so long ago but I found the worthless certificates in a basket in a closet and would love to give them to my kids who are now adults and could really use a little nest egg as they're starting out in the world. I have no idea how to access those bonds, if they've been cashed in, or if the Bride of Satan went into the Afterlife with them clutched in her greedy hands. I just know they were a Non-Gift at the time and they've remained as a lasting "Eff you!" Giving a Non-Gift to an adult is bad manners; giving a Non-Gift to a child is unforgivable. And that's what I really think.

So Tell Us. . . .

I've wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember and my two favorite teachers in school were the ones who encouraged that in me.  As a voracious reader of fiction, I wish I had it in me to write a novel but my ideas never seem to make it out of my head and onto the paper.  What I can do, though, is Blog and I'm really thankful this outlet was invented. Maybe that comes from keeping a diary through my formative years since a blog is really just a very public diary.

The name of the blog comes from the phrase I so often hear after I've spouted my opinion on something:  "So, Patti, tell us what you really think."  Why, thank you, I believe I will.