73 Is Too Hot

OK, I'm just gonna put this out there because I'm extremely frustrated and disappointed. Classrooms in TPS have their thermostats universally set at 73 during warm/hot weather because the district is part of an energy savings initiative. I get that. However, I've heard from many teachers whose classrooms are uncomfortably hot (especially with 30 - 40 warm bodies in them). Last week and this week, heat indexes have ranged from 90 to 109. I sent a letter to the people in charge, asking that on days when the heat index is over 90, that thermostats be set at 70 and they not be turned off until 6:00 p.m. (Contrary to popular belief, many teachers stay and work in their classrooms after the students are gone.) I sent a chart showing that this range of heat indexes is dangerous to children and teachers alike. I stressed that the safety and learning conditions should be a higher priority than saving money. The lone response I got was to argue that "lowering temperatures increases humidity." I'm no scientist but I've lived in Oklahoma my whole life so I'm pretty sure I know about heat and humidity. After fighting this battle for an entire day, I happened to be in an administrative conference room at the Education Service Center where the thermostat was set at a frosty 70 degrees. I posted pictures and shared them here on Facebook and on Twitter. No response from the people who have the power to change the policy. The most important point I'm trying to make is that kids and teachers are getting sick from the heat and I don't know how much learning can take place when children are in that much discomfort. Many classrooms in TPS are showing temperatures above 80. The second point is that VIPs should be abiding by the same energy guidelines as teachers, students, principals, and support workers. This isn't Pre-Revolutionary France. My third point is that I am a voting citizen in Tulsa, a former student of TPS, a former parent of TPS, a former teacher in TPS, and I have the great honor and privilege of speaking for the teachers in TPS. The voice of the teachers and students is being ignored. Parents of TPS, You need to speak up for your children. They deserve better.

#Ask The Teachers

I first became a part of Tulsa Public Schools in 1967 when I was a proud kindergartner at MacArthur and I’m convinced I had the most inspiring teachers in the world there and at Whitney and Hale. I grew up in a time when teachers were like gods; even my parents were afraid of them. Society held teachers on a pedestal. The teacher was always right and you’d better not get in trouble at school because you’d be in twice as much trouble at home. The boundaries of each elementary school were a small town and it was pointless to try to hide anything from your parents because they’d hear it anyway at the beauty shop or Sipes Food Barn or the Rotary Club. That was a long time ago and everything in the world has changed. Sometime in the 35 years since I graduated from high school, teachers fell off the pedestal. An entire profession began to be blamed for, not only every individual teacher who wasn’t up to snuff, but for all of the ills of society. Teacher-bashing became a national sport. And how did teachers respond? We took it. We internalized the things they said about us and accepted it because really, really smart, and really, really rich people said it and we were just poor schmucks making $30,000 a year so the smart and rich guys must be right. But they’re wrong. Teachers are working harder and longer than they ever have and are constantly held up to public scrutiny and being told what to do by “experts” with less experience in the classroom than they have. Everyone is looking for a way to “fix the problem” and no one is asking the true experts. If everyone on an airplane got sick and I had to land the plane, I wouldn’t call a heart surgeon to ask how to do it. I’d ask a pilot. If all of the water pipes in my home burst, I wouldn’t ask an accountant for help; I’d ask a plumber. If we want to know why certain things are happening in the public schools, we don’t ask the guy who invented the Slinky; we ask a teacher. How do kids learn best? Ask the teachers. What’s the best way to teach a child how to read? Ask the teachers. Why is there a teacher shortage? Ask the teachers. When the whole country is trying to figure out what’s best for kids, ask the people who know the names of those kids. Ask the people who know their favorites and their fears. Ask the people who stockpile packaged cheese crackers in their filing cabinets and pool their resources to make sure a student can buy a graduation gown or have a Christmas or a Thanksgiving dinner. Ask the people who already live paycheck to paycheck but can’t stand for their students to do without. Ask the teachers. Ask the teachers who are proven and committed; not just the shiny and new. Ask the teachers who laugh with them and cry with them and mourn them and celebrate with them and wear them home like a bruise. And when you’ve finally asked the teachers, let them answer. Listen. /// Just listen. And then don’t kill the messenger. When a teacher has the courage to rise and speak truth to power, to say, “No, Mr. Emperor, you’re not wearing nice new clothes.” Don’t get angry. Sit down and talk about how you’re going to solve the problem together. Collaboration doesn’t mean you telling me what you’re going to do whether I like it or not. Relationship-building doesn’t mean hurling directives at people. Climate and culture are everything. Our educators’ working conditions are our students’ learning conditions. Trust and respect have to be more than words that get applause lines in a speech. They have to grow out of a dialogue between those who know and love the students and those who have the power and means to make decisions for and about those students. Ask the teachers. Listen with your whole being. Then let’s roll up our sleeves and get to work together with a shared purpose: a great PUBLIC school for every student. Put teachers back on that pedestal and people will be fighting to get up there. How do I know that’s true? Ask the teachers.

Post from a Guest Blogger

The following was written by Emily Monroe Wade, a Special Education teacher and my former student. She deserves an audience. And that's what I really think. It’s the month of April again. For some people it means beautiful weather and new beginnings. April fills me with nothing more than dread. Dread because I have to completely put the thing that I love doing everyday on hold for a month only to do something that I loathe. A job that is required of me for reasons I still have yet to figure out. It’s a job that may hold my career at stake; it’s a job that may hold my school at stake. This month- long job has expectations. In some cases, these expectations are to perform miracles. Other expectations require hoop jumping, lion taming, trapeze swinging and other circus -related metaphors. This job is state testing. I have been teaching for 11 years. State testing has been the old reliable constant these 11 years in a field that is constantly changing. These changes are made in an effort to find better ways to reach kids and give them their best chance at a good life which is one reason I am curious as to why testing hasn’t evolved. There is one change I have noticed and that is that every year it seems to get worse. This year has been especially brutal due to over-crowding, which has resulted in higher numbers of special education and English language learners. It has also been painful because of the implementation of the new 3rd grade retention law. This is a law that was so brilliantly thought up by state legislators and a state superintendent that know very little about education. I could go on forever about this one, but I will spare you a little for now. Stay tuned. There is so much work involved in administering state tests that in my building it takes two reading specialists, two language arts assistants, and two special education teachers and the Gifted and Talented teacher to get everything ready. Those six people could actually use the assistance of the ELL teacher and her assistant, too, if she were available to help but unfortunately they spend an entire month before regular state testing giving language proficiency tests to the 350 or more ELL students. The tests arrive in cardboard boxes of test booklets and answer sheets. There is about 400-450 of them, maybe more, because 3rd and 4th graders take two tests and 5th graders take four. These items need to be labeled with both handwritten and sticker labels, sorted, stacked, checked and sorted again. It takes days to get them ready. This year, this has had to be done with the regular scored test and a field test that has to be given toward the end of the testing window. The format with the field test is completely different from the regular required test that it too takes hours of preparation. The other major thing that has to be done is scheduling. This is a grueling process that requires solving a very complicated puzzle. That is because the Special Education and the ELL schedules must be done in addition to the regular classroom schedules. The special education and ELL schedules take hours of planning. Between both programs there are about 70 kids who test outside the regular classroom. This is because the students in these programs get special accommodations to the test in an effort to make them more successful, but not every child gets the same accommodation. The main thing that must be taken into account when we do the schedule is that each group being given the test can be no larger than 5 students. Each of the 5 students in the group must also have the same accommodations aside from the small group. Plus the 5 kids per group take multiple tests depending on what grade they are in. We have some kids that require individual testing as well. Also, no kid can take two tests twice in one day. It should be easy if we are given an entire month, however, if we are sticking with the circus metaphor then the “testing window” is much more like a clown car for the special education and ELL teachers. In order to meet all the needs of our students and give them their best chance of passing we must cram as many testing sessions as possible during the days we are allowed to give tests. Perhaps one upside that could possibly be taken away from the scheduling process is that it involves so much critical thinking that hopefully it will keep our minds sharp up into old age. During testing the testing coordinator and players feel much like they are in a circus, too. The testing coordinator, who in our case is one of the reading specialists, is running around finding people to monitor the teachers administering the tests, dealing with paperwork, putting out fires such as absences or new students starting school within the testing window. What else says “Welcome to your new school” more than giving a state mandated test? The special education and ELL teachers are trying to round up the students they are testing that session because they sometimes wind up all over the building. This is because of miscommunication or a mistake on the schedule. Did I forget to mention that in addition to coming up with a special education and ELL testing schedule, we also have to come up with a special education and ELL NOT-testing schedule? That is because we have to find somewhere for the kids not testing with their class and not currently testing with one of us somewhere to go. On some days that is up to 55 kids we have to find a temporary placement for. If the ELL teachers, the special education teachers, and reading specialists are completely incapacitated for a whole month that means that kids who need services from those specialists are not getting them. For some kids, that could be an amount of time for a whole reading level worth of growth with proper instruction. This month without services is especially a conundrum for a special education student who needs access to education modifications and practices that may result in performing better on the test that he or she is unfairly forced to take. Why must we go through all of this? What is actually accomplished with testing? It doesn’t make the students better people. It doesn’t really measure what they know, but really it’s what they don’t know. It puts a limit on something that should be limitless. I may have misspoken up in one of the earlier paragraphs about the changing of testing. Some changes are coming down the pike, but honestly it is more of the same. What is measured and how the test is formatted is going to change but the expectations will be the same, especially the expectations that come with the new 3rd grade retention law. This law states that EVERY child should be able to pass the test regardless of ability. In many circumstances it is asking a child to perform a miracle. How can a child with a learning disability who has a learning rate much lower than the average 3rd grader suddenly triple his or her learning rate in time to pass the 3rd grade test? The evolution I and many other career educators would like to see take place with testing is a personalized approach. Let’s start comparing children to themselves instead of trying to fit children in this little box. Isn’t that the opposite of what we want for them in life? Let’s celebrate little Johnny starting the year recognizing 50 words and ending the year knowing 300. Let’s praise little Sophie’s teacher for helping her go from a level D reading level to a level I in the span of a school year.* Let’s stop wasting valuable time and school personnel on something that does not contribute to the educational growth of a child. *Our district uses a alphabetic letter system for assigning a reading level to a student which is modeled after Fountas and Pinnell.

Uncomfortable Possibility

The Education Rally is upon us and some teachers are still questioning why and what good will it do? I have a hard time understanding this mindset because I've always been an activist, starting in the ninth-grade when I fancied myself a crusading journalist on my junior high newspaper.(I had just seen "All the President's Men.") I've worked for a lot of causes and many of those were lost causes from the start but some lost causes are just worth fighting for. If things can be better, and there is a way to make them better, why wouldn't you do everything possible to make that happen? How can people just sit and say, "Well, it won't do any good anyway"? Are they lazy or afraid? Doing nothing ensures that nothing will change. Doing something, at least, brings the possibility of change. I know people who are absolutely miserable in their current circumstances but they resist any efforts to help them make changes. Is comfortable misery more bearable than uncomfortable possibility? Remember, the caterpillar thought it was the end of the world until it became a butterfly. And that's what I really think.

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.