Tending the Eclectic Kinder-Garden

…but until then, we’ll do what we can to support each other through this interesting time.

I was raised in a family of teachers. I have rather vivid memories of not only events in my own kindergarten classroom thirty-three years ago, but of years and years and years of bulliten boards, schools, towns, school board meetings, parent teacher conferences, school carnivals, open houses and all of the other events that I accompanied my mother to or helped her with in Texas and Alaska. I did some more growing up while in college, choosing teaching as my field of study and profession. I wasn’t too terribly observant of all of the educational history I was surrounded by, but a few tidbits here and there got my attention and had me thinking as I began teaching my own students. With my family, my master teacher’s input and guidance during my professional year, and terrific mentor teachers as colleagues, those tidbits were sewn together, and after five years of teaching, I felt that I could reach out and invite practicum students and student teachers into my classroom.

I’ve made new friends and worked with new colleagues after relocating to the Lower-48, and have found these collegial relationships reflecting the fact that I have continued to grow older. No longer the newbie on the staff, nor the youngest, but not so old as to be thought of as “disenchanted” or merely “hanging out until retirement,” teachers new to the profession come and ask me for input, advice, or ears to listen and shoulders to cry on when the going gets tough. Shrapnel from the CRT fiasco is still raining down on some of their shoulders and though I now live several states away, how they feel, what they think, and how they problem-solve to manage this situation and their own self-care matters to me greatly.

“Newer” teachers ask new and fresh questions and think of innovative and paradigm-shifting solutions to educational problems, but they also ask those basic questions that more experienced teachers have already moved past. More experienced teachers have been there, done that, and have moved on with their professional knowledge and development, and perhaps don’t feel the need (or have the time) to share stories from their own educational histories with the colleagues that have recently graduated from college. When a former colleague expressed both hurt feelings and disappointment over teaching and posed a question on her blog about test scores, “…do they mean that a teacher isn’t teaching or that a student isn’t learning?” I was inspired to tell a few stories.

Ah, you’re in mental-overload-mode now aren’t you? That tends to happen to conscientious people such as yourself. As per our OTHER discussions, I’m not sure if the following comments will help stem the tide of professional disappointment for you or if they’ll just take your mind zooming in another direction:

* Do low test scores mean that a teacher isn’t teaching or that a student isn’t learning? Good question. Can you answer it by putting a spin on it though: do HIGH test scores mean that a teacher IS teaching and that a student IS learning? Everyone would have you think so- teachers, administrators, board members, politicians, “experts,” etc. but many of us have seen firsthand how reported test scores aren’t accurate for whatever reason- a teacher’s inexperience administering the assessment, a child’s home life or start to that particular day, learning strengths and needs, behavioral issues, disturbances during testing, cultural or socio-economic biases… and don’t forget “dumbing down” the test by making it easier so more kiddos will pass, timing the tests with the idea that smarter kids fill in bubbles faster (I still don’t understand that one!) and that dreaded “no-no,” fudging the scores.

I remember my friends in Barrow (an Eskimo village) years ago not understanding why they got a question “wrong” on the ITBS test. They were asked: what would be good to eat? a) a flower b) a chicken c) a whale d) a car. Now the Eskimo kids who had never SEEN a chicken but who annually helped haul bowhead whales onto the shore when the whaling captains landed “a strike” chose “C, whale.” And they got it WRONG. Children who had butchered, cut up, cooked, and eaten bowhead whale had test scores that put them in whatever “needs help” category existed for the test. School experiences happened in isolation, ONLY AT SCHOOL, and “life” for the kids happened outside of school. Students were tested on subjects that were only applicable to them during the school day, not during the annual whale hunt that put food in their bellies and refrigerators.

So NCLB comes along with perhaps a Pollyanna view of reforms aimed to help those considered less fortunate… by ignoring the kids who don’t “need” help because they score too high (have you seen any big push for gifted/talented kiddos lately?), making sure the average kids don’t slip below their baseline, and by throwing a lot of school experiences at kids that are often only applicable to poor children when they’re AT SCHOOL. And school funding is based on the kiddos who are least likely to apply school-knowledge in all aspects of their lives (usually because parents don’t), so panic sets in when teachers, administrators, board members, and local politicians figure out that they are being judged on the performance of their lowest students, and they know they are NOT to fail. NCLB doesn’t take care of the socio-economic issue or culture of poverty no matter what its proponents claim. The poor stay poor, but now parents, colleagues, and politicians can zing you for not doing their job.

* A lot of people are sucked into the drill that this “school reform” has created. I certainly did not get into teaching to become a revolutionary, a politician, a yeller and a screamer. Nor did I want to be a thoughtless drone, blindly following the commands of all of the “experts.” I wanted to help students safely expand their knowledge and appetite for compassion and lifelong learning, and I wanted to work with colleagues who had the same goals. I hoped to be paid for doing something I LOVED, which I suppose is rather indulgent. I certainly do not love all of it now, and I’ve found that it is usually only with my students that I feel the most fulfilled and effective, the most “aligned” with my own personal goals for my job. What has gotten me through has been reaching out to other like-minded teachers. I was very lucky to have been raised in a family of teachers, a family of GOOD teachers. I was even more fortunate to have worked with the same group of colleagues for a decade before leaving Alaska. We were FAMILY, and while we didn’t all agree, most of us felt safe in working together because of our professional mutual respect. When I moved to a new state, I was alone because of the grade I taught and the mood of my grade-level colleague. I had to do my own “professional development” because no one else talked my language. I stayed in touch with colleagues in Alaska, asked them to send me links or copies of materials they were finding useful, and bless them, they did it! I looked online, started finding websites that I could visit regularly so I could maintain some balance and not feel so isolated. When I moved to the next state and was hired, it took a lot of time to find balance between the DRAMA and the real educational issues that needed to be addressed. I had so much I felt I could share, and knew I needed and wanted others to share what they knew with me, but workplace psychology took up more time than should be allowed. So blogging, MySpace, and searching out other resources became a part-time hobby that helped my full-time teaching brain.

I encourage you to continue to reach out. Read some blogs, purposely seek out the thoughts and expressions of teachers from around the world. You won’t feel so alone, you won’t feel so judged, and you’ll know there are a lot of other people out there on your side and on the side of your students.

I’m concerned that many first-year and newbie teachers are leaving college ready to work, ready to teach, and ready to blindly trust educational reforms, mandates, and practices that are not beneficial to students. Some of the newbies are so busy with the duck-and-dodge of their first classrooms and students that they’re barely able to come up for air. Others are noticing a huge discrepancy between theory and practice now that they’re out in the real world. Many, like my friends, are facing moral and ethical dilemmas as they decide whether or not to risk future tenure, letters of recommendation, and the ability to put food on their tables and clothes on their own childrens’ backs by calling other more experienced teachers and administrators “out” for horrible educational practices.

Tags: NCLB

I am a fan of efficiency. I appreciate easy systems or routines that can be used regularly with a lot of success. Why? Because I’m a natural clutz. I’m forgetful, I tend to over-schedule myself, and I have a lot of interests. I have friends, I have family, I have colleagues and co-workers. I have students and I have responsibilities as the spouse of a deployed soldier. I have a cat. For these reasons, I like things to not only have a place, but to be IN their place. Keys on the shelf by the door. Space in my closet for a week’s worth of ironed work clothes. A load of laundry put in the washer in the morning and put in the dryer when I get home from work. A chore list for my daughter. A month’s worth of classroom activities marked on a calendar that is sent home in advance so parents can plan their donations of volunteer time and school materials. A binder of all of the materials and information a sub would need if called at the last minute. A “Star Helper of the Day” who can help pass out papers, distribute lunch cards, and cheerfully help with any other tasks that need to take place at school.

At a previous school district, my systems and routines had to be modified in order to accommodate the “systems” already in place at the school where I taught. The best description of the school’s “systems?” There was a form for the form to request the form you needed. No, I’m not kidding. There was the attendance form. The lunch count form. The fire drill form. The nurse form. The materials request form. The Xerox copying form. The laminating form. The consumables form. The furniture form (which was not the same as the inventory list, which was yet another form). The sub request form. The sub evaluation form. The “missing curriculum materials” form. All of the Special Education forms. The report cards, the cum folder forms (in addition to the cum folder itself), the DIBELS forms, the parent volunteer request forms. The teacher evaluation forms, the student assessment forms. Detention forms. Repair forms. Behavior modification forms. The mileage voucher form. The P.T.A. receipt reimbursement form. The permission to breathe form. You get the picture.

Teachers had limits on their Xerox copying. Why? Because all of the forms had depleted the district’s paper budget. No, I’m not kidding.

Here I am again, the outsider looking “in” on another state, on another district. Thankfully, I haven’t seen a fire drill form, and we have a wonderful Print Shop available to copy activities we need that aren’t already provided by consumable materials. I can plan for a month in advance, send in my order, and a week later, voila! Having a calendar’s worth of activities and a month’s worth of lesson plans done ahead of time usually frees me up to do those “other” things, like spend time with my children. Crochet. See a movie. Talk with friends on the phone. Vacuum.

Usually.

With twelve years of experience, I rarely find myself having to recreate the wheel. I can bend, flex, tweak an activity, and get on with enjoying time with my students who are exploring new concepts. Two months into the school year however, and I find myself killing trees left and right. Why? Because three people who never see or work with my students need copies of their DIBELS scores. Because collegial groups need proof that I’m using graphic organizers, math problem solvers, writing models, and walking into my classroom or looking through my lesson plans doesn’t provide the hard evidence they need to show anyone who might look that we are, indeed, doing a good job with our “Quality Performance Accreditation.” So I’m burning copies of plans, burning copies of journal entries, keeping originals of T-charts, Venn diagrams, SQ3R papers (which aren’t even developmentally appropriate for kindergarten), NOT erasing overhead projection sheets of class surveys, saving morning messages on large chart tablet paper, and even taking Polaroid photos of my milk and school lunch/home lunch charts. To prove that I’m doing… what I’m doing. Yes, every other teacher is having to burn these copies, save this “proof” and a ton of other assessments too. Each quarter.

Let’s see… DIBELS (yellow books this year), DIBELS progress monitoring sheets out the wazoo, the “Optional Kindergarten Outcomes Reading Checklist, Forms, A, B, and C” (pink, has a typo, and is NOT “optional”), the Math Outcomes Checklist (white paper, also NOT “optional”), the reading rubric for the report card, the report card (which is for a half day program, not the full day program), all of the Q.P.A. forms listed above, an additional Q.P.A. lesson plan sheet (lilac in color) turned in each week, the S.F.A. reading and writing rubrics (no, they’re not aligned with the report card, and no, they won’t work for the Q.P.A. requirements). My personal teacher evaluation form (there are three or four of them), and a form for my own Professional Development Plan. Forms to fill out each time I attend an inservice for professional development, one for pay and another for credit towards the Professional Development plan. If I attend training or an inservice I might not have listed on the Professional Development Plan, I have to submit an addendum to the plan. Yes, another form. Voucher forms to get paid for teaching the After-School Program. Copies of my mid-quarters and report cards to three different people (in addition to the ones sent home to parents) for Speech and Language, E.L.L. (English Language Learner Program), and any other I.E.P. documentation. Extra copies of documentation for students with I.E.P.’s, and copies of my monthly class summary sheets indicating who needs help with certain skills.

This situation wouldn’t be a problem if I could use some of the same forms for multiple audiences. And no, I can’t. There is no standard bottom line or form that is a general “catch all” that would apply across the board, across the district, or even across the school population. In this age of “standardization,” nothing is standardized. So time is wasted, redundancies abound, and the only personal system I have to fall back on is my “binder system.” I have a binder for my monthly summary sheets. I have a binder for all report cards, DIBELS reports, and mid-quarter assessments. I have a binder for the Q.P.A. documentation. I pull whatever originals need to be copied from each binder, Xerox them, and then put all of the originals back, sorting the copies into their respective piles hoping they all make it to the intended recipients. Will anyone even really read these? Look through them? Or do they judge by the Inch Test: if the stack of papers is close to an inch thick, we “pass?”

I don’t mind assessing. I don’t mind backing up what I say I’m doing in the classroom. But I’m “assessing” for the sake of providing assessment forms to people in offices who will probably never meet my students. I’m burning copies to “prove” I’m doing my job. I’d rather just DO my job than worry about which committee needs what form to prove what is or isn’t going on in my classroom each day. If I’m teaching, I’m too busy for these forms and hoops anyway, right?

To quote a friend and former colleague of mine, “there you go, THINKING again.”

Burn copies for Mrs. X, Mr. Y, and Ms. Z. But don’t use too much paper out of our paper budget. Provide copies to committees A, B, and C, in the building, and to committees Q, R, and S outside of the building, and no, Committee A doesn’t want the same form that Committee Q wants, and don’t even think about using the same info, rubric or assessments for Committees B and R. You have to keep the green forms year-round but please turn them in at the end of each inservice, and remember, if you don’t get the white form to your building representative (who didn’t even attend the inservice), you don’t get paid.

I miss my children. I miss crocheting. I miss sleep.

But most of all, I miss logical efficiency.

Well okay, Kindergarten. Kindergarten in Texas as a child, kindergarten in Alaska, New Mexico, and now Kansas, as a teacher.

In Texas, I learned I was strong. At the age of four-and-a-half, **I** was the one who broke the pinata at Halloween. To this day, I still have the memory of being blindfolded, with a stick of some sort in my hand, hearing “hit it Mica, hit it!” Then the feeling of contact, and the sound of hard candies hitting the bare floor. “Get the candy, get the candy!” I couldn’t. I was too busy holding the corner of the blindfold up away from my eyes, watching the swarm of kids at my feet grabbing for the candy I had released from the paper mache prison. I’m strong. God bless the teacher who probably held the pinata down still where I could hit it.

I endured, sometimes enjoyed, and in the end survived the next twelve years of school, and attended college hoping to be a Broadcast and Journalism major. One horribly inappropriate instructor and enough views of news reporters on television shoving microphones into the faces of families who just experienced some horror, and my mind was forever changed. Back to “what I knew,” since it was easier to draw upon my life’s experiences as a teacher’s kid… freed me up to go out and socialize, meet people, learn the right ways, and several wrong ways of interacting with others. Ta da, six years later (darn that socializing), and I had a Bachelor’s Degree in Education.

I was hired late into the school year as a kindergarten teacher. Frankly, it was the **last** grade I ever thought I’d want to teach. I cried. Yes, cried, the night before I was supposed to meet my new students. The next day, with stinging, puffy eyes, I survived my re-introduction to the kindergarten world, thanks to wonderful students, and two amazingly terrific teachers. While one would move on to a principalship in another town, the other would become not so much a mentor, but a role model (I tend to observe, think things through, try them out on my own, and gauge the result BEFORE I ask for help) and eventually, the treasured shoulders, ears, and insights of a true friend I respected not only as a teacher but a human being. She observed, fine-tuned, overhauled, and encouraged my successes, and occasionally was hit by the shrapnel resulting from my clueless lack of experience. When one of her own former student teachers was added to our kindergarten team, I had yet another wonderful teacher from whom to learn. Our colleagues, their families, and our school’s neighborhood, children and all, imprinted upon me so many memories, so many opportunities to build my own opinions, so many experiences… I had no idea how they would help me when I had to leave a decade later.

Uncle Sam decided to move my husband and thus, our family, to New Mexico, where I became employed in my second school district ever. Meeting my new colleagues, my new administrators, and my new students and families was quite the experience. No matter how diverse I had thought my decade teaching in Alaska had been, it turned out there was a great big world out there! Even in my own country, attitudes, biases, prejudices, beliefs and practices vary widely. Thankfully, I had taught long enough to recognize the social and professional choreography displayed at my new school. I was able to compare and contrast differences in office procedures, school routines, social cliques, curriculum, socio-economic boundaries, school culture, teaching styles, and school-wide discipline. Some practices, not many, were aligned with my own teaching philosophy and goals. Redundancies abounded, communication never made it completely around the loop, and in a predominantly Hispanic school district, I was asked several times WHY I had number and color words on my bulletin board in English AND in Spanish. On the upswing, my class size was limited to fifteen, and my students got along wonderfully with one another. They were happy, healthy, bright, eager, and kind, and their parents were extremely supportive and helpful. I had two wonderful practicum students who were more colleagues than pupils, and was able to build fun and supportive friendships with subs and parent volunteers. An occasional tray of homemade cookies left in the lounge always garnered thanks and smiles, so there weren’t too many social obstacles for me to overcome.

Now, in my third state, and my third school, I’m still teaching kindergarten. Yet again, I’ve had to sit back, get the “lay of the land,” and learn my steps in the new choreography. As I’m able to now compare and contrast practices between three schools, districts, and states, I feel comfortable that my experiences are adding up to help me pick and choose the best of all I have observed, been given, thought up on my own, and in some cases, endured, for the benefit of my students, their families, and my colleagues. My personal and professional philosophies have four supporters at this time: my husband, my kindergarten colleague, the speech therapist, and another teacher at work. Most everyone else with whom I’ve interacted has been taken aback, not quite sure of what they are observing. My discipline plan, my instructional practices, my vocabulary and tone with my students (and the students of other teachers), have all been questioned by support staff, colleagues, administrators and parents. My students’ parents and the four supporters listed previously, seem to be the only adults who understand why I find it necessary to build relationships with my students, to help build relationships between my students, and work as much with the social skills as the academic. Relationship-building with colleagues who possess a similar amount of teaching experience or more has been awkward. I don’t FIT. How I think, what I think, and what I do, are evaluated from a distance. My perspectives on discipline, developmentally appropriate practices, support for kindergarten teachers, relationship-building, and my regard for my students’ emotional safety at school during this very special year are apparently perceived as odd, not the norm, perhaps even “off by a few bubbles.” To feel so outnumbered by professionals who are consumed by what they themselves want from their students instead of what they want for their students is an odd position in which to find myself.

I recently attended a districtwide grade level meeting where most of the debate and discussions revolved around how to make the S.F.A. observers happy. How to get through the entire required curriculum when students wanted to spend more time on certain activities than others. How five year olds still weren’t demonstrating perfect penmanship (we’re only a month and a half into the school year as of this posting), and how teachers were thrilled their schools’ “academic support” staff were allowed to take children into a back room of the building, and “put the fear of God into them” when they wouldn’t comply. I was appalled, not only as a teacher, but as a mother. Only a small handful of teachers volunteered suggestions to help with curriculum issues, and our time at the meeting was limited to an hour. Feedback was requested which my grade level partner and I gladly provided, but I left the meeting feeling so outnumbered, and therefore not nearly as open to helping my fellow kindergarten teachers. While I have been providing feedback and hopefully supportive shoulders and ears like my very first role model did, I can’t help but feel that without a public and high-enough-on-the-food-chain supporter and advocate, my hands are tied, and frankly, my philosophy is not a good match for this district.

Don’t yell. Don’t hurt peoples’ feelings. Don’t hit. Say “please” and “thank you.” Eat a snack. Take a nap. Share. Walk with scissors. Don’t eat glue. Remember to write your name on your paper, and share your books. Help your friends, smile at your teacher, at least be polite if you can’t be nice. Life lessons taught in kindergarten don’t often carry over into adulthood. And it’s a shame. It’s an even bigger shame when they don’t carry over to the very people trusted to provide educational and emotional support to children for twelve or thirteen years.

We accommodate students, not the BRAND of the curriculum materials. Not the S.F.A. saleswoman or product support staff who come in and “spot observe” several times a year. I would never consider a doctor, lawyer, or mechanic truly qualified if they only came in to see me on their own schedule, on dates they chose as best for themselves. If they only did a looksie at my car without ever looking under the hood, smiled at me but didn’t take my blood pressure and vitals, or only asked if I had a will or not, I wouldn’t find them very helpful. Observers who only come in to see if each cutely named activity is being performed at the exact minute of the prescribed schedule… or to see if a poster is hung at the appropriate spot in my classroom , are completely missing out on what they should be there to observe: My students. Learning.

Other issues have had my attention in previous blog postings, and taking them into consideration with my latest observations, it’s clear I have to go back to what I learned in kindergarten that October, thirty-two years ago: I’m strong. It’s time to find a Master’s Degree program, and then a Doctoral Program after that. Perhaps when I have enough letters of the alphabet after my name, my ideas won’t seem alien, they’ll seem revolutionary. And worth some contemplation and adoption.