"Why is my daughter not turning in her work?"
This is the question a parent asked a colleague in a phone conversation I overheard in the teachers' lounge/workroom/copyroom (lounge? Not a sofa in sight).
There's something odd about that question. Not in the question per se, but in who the questioner was and who the hearer was. I think they're reversed.
In a perfect world (or just in the world of a generation ago) it would be the teacher asking the parent "Why is your daughter not turning in her work?" But now the onus for making the kid perform is laid on the shoulders of the teacher. Parents send their kids to school in the morning and the kids are then our problems.
Of course, in that previous generation most kids grew up in two-parent households, and many of those were one-paycheck households, so moms had time to supervise more of their kids' school careers. Now, one-parent households are so commonplace as not to raise an eyebrow, and it's almost unheard of for a woman to devote her energies to being solely a wife and mother.
Some of this is a result of a changed economy, some a result of the femminist movement ushering women into the workforce, some of a higher divorce rate, some is a result of a higher expected standard of living, e.g., a larger home, (the square footage of typical home to house four people has gone up), two expensive, financed-to-the-gills cars, the big-screen TV, ad infinitum.
So we live in a way that might make our gradparents blush at our consumerism and lavishness, and the kid's homework isn't being done because no one is making sure it's being done, because parents are all working and rightfully tired when they cross over the threshold in the evening. We don't even use the term "latchkey kid" anymore, because it's not unusual for kids to be completely unsupervised from the time school lets out to the time Mom comes home from work at six.
Ideas have consequences. Human resources are finite: time and energy given to serve one value means fewer resources are available to devote to another. As I survey the landscape of the American family, I conclude that there has been no other time when it has been more important for families to take inventory of where their values are: a $40,000 SUV, or a few more hours to spend with the kids? A mother seeking fulfillment in the workforce, or in shaping the character of her children? Of course, many don't have the luxury of choice, but even some of those situations are the results of earlier choices that put kids on the losing side of the equation.
Incrementalism, the series of slight changes over time, can have a large cumulative effect. One drop of water on a rock is insignificant: but monoliths are eroded by nothing strong stronger than individual drops of water. And we don't notice, because the change is so slow, we adapt the the slightly different viewpoint, way of living, way of thinking, of accepting what is normal.
I'm not a cultural alarmist in the full-blown sense, and I know we tend to romanticize the past, but I see a distinct difference between this generation and the one I grew up in, and the results.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Baby Coulter Einstein
Eighteen months old. She lined up five pieces of cereal on the table the other day and counted them off, from one to five. She can sing the ABC song, and uses all twenty-six letters. She has blown right by the two-word stage of language acquisition and is in the telegraphic stage already, making utterances such as "Mommy car now." This is at least six months ahead of schedule.
Oh, and to thrill her English-teacher uncle's heart: she's in love with books.
She's a freakin' genius, I swear. And that just ain't proud uncle talking. I gots data.
An Unusual Rally on the Quad
On October 11 Dr. Linda Evans, a fifteen-year veteran of Mayfair, was killed in an auto accident while commuting to school for her zero-period Spanish class.
Last night I attended a memorial service in her honor at the school. It was our public recognition of her years of dedication of service to students and local community. It was held outside, in the main quad, about an hour before sunset.
The Air Force ROTC provided an honor guard and color guard, the school band performed the national anthem. A student from the middle school Bible Club gave the invocation.
Then followed a couple of speakers from the faculty, notably Mr. John Olson, a long-time friend and neighbor. A slide show of stills put to music: Linda as a young adult; traveling around the world; in her classroom. A member of her family spoke, and thanked the school for its outpouring of love. A student presented a surfboard (Dr. Evans, though 61 at her death, was a life-long surfer) to the family, signed and annotated by a couple of hunderd students. The football team came forward, and the head coach presented the family with a game ball (three of the four longitudinal sections of the ball painted white to allow for signatures). Dr. Evans was a huge football fan as well, always on the sidelines at games.
Because it was high school, it had a very assembly feel to it. But that's high school, and that observation is not meant as a criticism. There were probably over four hundred people there, mostly students and faculty, but a large number of parents, other school staff, the mayor of Lakewood, and of course our administration and the superintendent.
The most obvious symbol of the event was the lighting of candles. Early in the service, we teachers came forward to light single candles from a large candle on a stand next to the podium, then dispersed among the crowd to light candles that had been given out as people arrived. The candles burned through the ceremony, as we sat there tending our flickering flames in our laps. At the conclusion of the service, we all blew out our candles together to achieve a sense of closure. All in all, fairly effective, and a nice touch.
Even though it is a governmet school, spiritual input seemed welcome: the heartfelt invocation given by the middle school student, who closed his prayer "in the name of Jesus" wasn't blinked at, and seemed perfectly at place at a memorial service in a predominantly Protestant country, The president of the board of education, a local politician (they are voted into position by the public) felt free enough to include Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, the noted spiritualist, into his comments. Though he used her deathbed laments only to speak of the need to seek humility, anyone who knows the name Kubler-Ross instantly recognizes not only her ground-breaking work in the field of death, dying and grieving, but also her foray into spiritism (in her case, attempts to communicate the the dead), which cast a shadow over her academic legitimacy, as any dabbling with the occult will tend to do. He was careful never to turn the corner and actually mention anything spiritual in his address, but as soon as I heard her name I listened closely to see if he was going to slip any "other side" references in. He held back, which made me wonder why he brought her up in the first place. Was he suggesting Dr. Evans lacked humility? Hardly seems that was his motive. Seemed to be an fence-sitting attempt at spiritual comfort in a politically correct arena.
Dr. Evans' classes are being taught by a new teacher, and that must be a difficult position to be in. I've heard though my student minions that classroom control is almost non-existent, and if that is true, what does it say about students' expression of sadness and respect for their former teacher? If they're screwing around in the very room that is still filled with her personal belongings, belongings that serve as reminders to the kids of their late teacher (not to mention the banners and balloons that festoon the outside of the room), it makes all their professions of love for and life lessons learned from her seem like mere lip-service. Sad. And it could be easily remedied. Well, at least I know I could do it with the snap of a finger, but I have to have sympathy for this new teacher's difficult situation. It's not her behavior I'm noting here, but the students' alleged self-centeredness and lack of respect for their recently passed teacher that is so galling. She shouldn't have to remind them to behave well, under the circumstances, it seems to me.
Farewell, Dr. Evans. You drank life to the dregs. You'll be missed.
What is the lesson for us? Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May…
Last night I attended a memorial service in her honor at the school. It was our public recognition of her years of dedication of service to students and local community. It was held outside, in the main quad, about an hour before sunset.
The Air Force ROTC provided an honor guard and color guard, the school band performed the national anthem. A student from the middle school Bible Club gave the invocation.
Then followed a couple of speakers from the faculty, notably Mr. John Olson, a long-time friend and neighbor. A slide show of stills put to music: Linda as a young adult; traveling around the world; in her classroom. A member of her family spoke, and thanked the school for its outpouring of love. A student presented a surfboard (Dr. Evans, though 61 at her death, was a life-long surfer) to the family, signed and annotated by a couple of hunderd students. The football team came forward, and the head coach presented the family with a game ball (three of the four longitudinal sections of the ball painted white to allow for signatures). Dr. Evans was a huge football fan as well, always on the sidelines at games.
Because it was high school, it had a very assembly feel to it. But that's high school, and that observation is not meant as a criticism. There were probably over four hundred people there, mostly students and faculty, but a large number of parents, other school staff, the mayor of Lakewood, and of course our administration and the superintendent.
The most obvious symbol of the event was the lighting of candles. Early in the service, we teachers came forward to light single candles from a large candle on a stand next to the podium, then dispersed among the crowd to light candles that had been given out as people arrived. The candles burned through the ceremony, as we sat there tending our flickering flames in our laps. At the conclusion of the service, we all blew out our candles together to achieve a sense of closure. All in all, fairly effective, and a nice touch.
Even though it is a governmet school, spiritual input seemed welcome: the heartfelt invocation given by the middle school student, who closed his prayer "in the name of Jesus" wasn't blinked at, and seemed perfectly at place at a memorial service in a predominantly Protestant country, The president of the board of education, a local politician (they are voted into position by the public) felt free enough to include Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, the noted spiritualist, into his comments. Though he used her deathbed laments only to speak of the need to seek humility, anyone who knows the name Kubler-Ross instantly recognizes not only her ground-breaking work in the field of death, dying and grieving, but also her foray into spiritism (in her case, attempts to communicate the the dead), which cast a shadow over her academic legitimacy, as any dabbling with the occult will tend to do. He was careful never to turn the corner and actually mention anything spiritual in his address, but as soon as I heard her name I listened closely to see if he was going to slip any "other side" references in. He held back, which made me wonder why he brought her up in the first place. Was he suggesting Dr. Evans lacked humility? Hardly seems that was his motive. Seemed to be an fence-sitting attempt at spiritual comfort in a politically correct arena.
Dr. Evans' classes are being taught by a new teacher, and that must be a difficult position to be in. I've heard though my student minions that classroom control is almost non-existent, and if that is true, what does it say about students' expression of sadness and respect for their former teacher? If they're screwing around in the very room that is still filled with her personal belongings, belongings that serve as reminders to the kids of their late teacher (not to mention the banners and balloons that festoon the outside of the room), it makes all their professions of love for and life lessons learned from her seem like mere lip-service. Sad. And it could be easily remedied. Well, at least I know I could do it with the snap of a finger, but I have to have sympathy for this new teacher's difficult situation. It's not her behavior I'm noting here, but the students' alleged self-centeredness and lack of respect for their recently passed teacher that is so galling. She shouldn't have to remind them to behave well, under the circumstances, it seems to me.
Farewell, Dr. Evans. You drank life to the dregs. You'll be missed.
What is the lesson for us? Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May…
Friday, October 19, 2007
Curiousier and Curiousier
Only a few teachers took "stacks" (how many papers in s stack, who knows?) from the district office.
The district, stuck with thousands of essays, enlisted the principal and assistant principal to score the papers. So instead of seven or eight people, it was to be done by two. They (our two administrators) sent out an e-mail plea for help to us again, offering food and sodas in the library after school to any hapless teacher who wold come in to help them. I don't think there was much of a response.
How long it took them to score all those esays, only they know. The district office shows no sign of changing its stance, and so far, there's been no other communication to teachers: the only information we have is from anecdotes of frosty conversations between district office people and teachers who were up there for whatever reason.
We, on the other hand, are drafting a letter to our superiors, expressing our dismay and displeasure at both the manner in which this valuable task was changed without input from us front-line professionals, and some constructive suggestions about future tinkering with things like this. I don't know the actual contents, but they fall along those lines. All very professional, very respectful.
I'll keep ya's posted…
The district, stuck with thousands of essays, enlisted the principal and assistant principal to score the papers. So instead of seven or eight people, it was to be done by two. They (our two administrators) sent out an e-mail plea for help to us again, offering food and sodas in the library after school to any hapless teacher who wold come in to help them. I don't think there was much of a response.
How long it took them to score all those esays, only they know. The district office shows no sign of changing its stance, and so far, there's been no other communication to teachers: the only information we have is from anecdotes of frosty conversations between district office people and teachers who were up there for whatever reason.
We, on the other hand, are drafting a letter to our superiors, expressing our dismay and displeasure at both the manner in which this valuable task was changed without input from us front-line professionals, and some constructive suggestions about future tinkering with things like this. I don't know the actual contents, but they fall along those lines. All very professional, very respectful.
I'll keep ya's posted…
Monday, October 15, 2007
If It Ain't Broke, Don't Fix It
We just finished administering the first quarter writing prompt, a demand-writing situation used to measure growth in writing skill during the school year.
Up to now, the process for grading the prompt was:
Well, here's the new process:
If you think this new process is less than popular among teachers, you're right. There was nothing wrong with the way we did it before, and although it was tedious, we were able to get something out of it by talking to each other and seeing what the common mistakes and skill levels were around the table. It worked.
Oh, this morning in the faculty meeting we were asked what we could to do increase teacher collegiality and inter-department conferring. How about letting us sit around a table and score the writing prompt all together?
Up to now, the process for grading the prompt was:
- Turn the prompt in for delivery to the district office.
- District office makes a list of dates each grade level is to be graded, and the grade-level teachers who will be attending the grading sessions each day.
- On the days of scoring, substitutes are arranged for most of the English department.
- We sit around a conference table with teachers from the other high school, talk about the prompt, the scoring rubric, agree on scoring, talk some more about what skills are foundational and what trends we're seeing in student work, etc.
- Teachers from each school separate; stacks of essays are distributed.
- We sit, score, confer around the table, and generally keep each other from going insane whle scoring giant stacks of hurried essays.
Well, here's the new process:
- Turn the prompt in for delivery to the district office.
- We show up to the district office as individuals on a specified day to take a stack of essays (we never score our own).
- We score the essays on our own.
- We return the scored essays.
- We receive our own students' essays once the district tabulates all the data.
If you think this new process is less than popular among teachers, you're right. There was nothing wrong with the way we did it before, and although it was tedious, we were able to get something out of it by talking to each other and seeing what the common mistakes and skill levels were around the table. It worked.
Oh, this morning in the faculty meeting we were asked what we could to do increase teacher collegiality and inter-department conferring. How about letting us sit around a table and score the writing prompt all together?
Friday, October 05, 2007
A Fourth Cup
I've been going to funky coffeehouses since I was in my twenties, mostly because I became a "good coffee" fan early on, and the horrid stuff in regular places like cafes and restaurants drove me out in search of something quality. I haven't been able to drink the supermarket Folgers stuff for years: acidic, the oils are rancid, it's generally stale and flavorless. Then, I went to mostly Mom-and-Pop places, because that's all there was until Walmart Starbucks drove the LittleGuy out of town.
I almost died drinking the shellack from vending machines on my way to evening college classes after work, just so I could stay awake to listen to my English professor's (guy published a book of poetry and and thought he was something) lectures. And I felt so cheap: as if I needed to bring this up in confession to lift the stain of my perfidy from my soul. The memory of the horrible taste still make me shiver when I think about it.
Yeah, I liked good coffee before good coffee was cool. Kind of feel as if everyone has discovered my favorite little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and now they've had to remodel and expand to meet the new demand, and have lost their original charm in the process, so the whole experience is overrun with people who don't appreciate the uniqueness of the original, and have trampled your pearl underfoot. If everyone is doing it, it's not my distinctive little thing anymore. Poor, poor me.
I almost died drinking the shellack from vending machines on my way to evening college classes after work, just so I could stay awake to listen to my English professor's (guy published a book of poetry and and thought he was something) lectures. And I felt so cheap: as if I needed to bring this up in confession to lift the stain of my perfidy from my soul. The memory of the horrible taste still make me shiver when I think about it.
Yeah, I liked good coffee before good coffee was cool. Kind of feel as if everyone has discovered my favorite little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and now they've had to remodel and expand to meet the new demand, and have lost their original charm in the process, so the whole experience is overrun with people who don't appreciate the uniqueness of the original, and have trampled your pearl underfoot. If everyone is doing it, it's not my distinctive little thing anymore. Poor, poor me.
Hail Machiato, Full of Grace
Now I can't stop. Starbucks as religion is too powerful an analogy to walk away from util I pump it dry.
Yes, there is secret knowledge: the terms a real insider uses with facility: double half-caf no-fat mochachino. It's like a foreign language. A Latin Mass that the outsider is confused by.
The servers are priests, that one is simple. Do priests have profit-sharing and 401k accounts? They perform the holy sacrament of Communion. No wafer and cup: it's pastry and paper cup with heat shield. They turn from you after hearing your supplication, and speak to the shiny chrome, brass and stainless steel gods, who dispense their stimulating favors via a mysterious ritual, complete with steamings and strange and practiced motions, passed down from priest to priest.
The hymns are whatever carefully-chosen-by-the-marketing-department jazz, or alternative, or indie (code for "a band no one's ever heard of") music will help create the hip, laid-back, soft-but-edgy atmosphere. True middle of the road, presented as edgy. Right now I'm listening to Sinatra, and the only other person here is a twenty-something college kid who wouldn't be able to give me his fist name (Sinatra's: I'm pretty sure the kid could remember his own name).
I can't think of a more diety-pleasing incense than the aroma of fresh Guatamala Antigua, especially if god is not a Morning Person.
I'll stop before the poor horse is beat to death, but you can fill in whatever other missing pieces as you desire. Overall I think Starbucks outshines IaG as a religious analogy, if only because it's the dominant cultural phenomenon. But IaG is staging it's own little Protestant Reformation, and the whole vibe is significantly different here, although most of the pieces are in place. I actually think IaG has the edge with their over-stuffed high-backed library chairs. Very comfy.
Yes, there is secret knowledge: the terms a real insider uses with facility: double half-caf no-fat mochachino. It's like a foreign language. A Latin Mass that the outsider is confused by.
The servers are priests, that one is simple. Do priests have profit-sharing and 401k accounts? They perform the holy sacrament of Communion. No wafer and cup: it's pastry and paper cup with heat shield. They turn from you after hearing your supplication, and speak to the shiny chrome, brass and stainless steel gods, who dispense their stimulating favors via a mysterious ritual, complete with steamings and strange and practiced motions, passed down from priest to priest.
The hymns are whatever carefully-chosen-by-the-marketing-department jazz, or alternative, or indie (code for "a band no one's ever heard of") music will help create the hip, laid-back, soft-but-edgy atmosphere. True middle of the road, presented as edgy. Right now I'm listening to Sinatra, and the only other person here is a twenty-something college kid who wouldn't be able to give me his fist name (Sinatra's: I'm pretty sure the kid could remember his own name).
I can't think of a more diety-pleasing incense than the aroma of fresh Guatamala Antigua, especially if god is not a Morning Person.
I'll stop before the poor horse is beat to death, but you can fill in whatever other missing pieces as you desire. Overall I think Starbucks outshines IaG as a religious analogy, if only because it's the dominant cultural phenomenon. But IaG is staging it's own little Protestant Reformation, and the whole vibe is significantly different here, although most of the pieces are in place. I actually think IaG has the edge with their over-stuffed high-backed library chairs. Very comfy.
Frother, Spoon & Holy Grind
It's a Grind has me again: hanging out with some time to kill before the football game.
The free wi-fi is great, but I just spent four bucks for an ice-blended mocha (that last sentence is so California). And it's a grande, fer cryin' out loud. Four bucks!
But it's not even a "grande." IaG doesn't speak Italian, so there's no tall, grande, venti. I kind of liked that. I felt knowledgeable, ordering that way. Very Gnostic: a religion with secret knowledge that lets you pass on to the higher levels. Makes me feel superior to know tall, grande, venti. It's a mantra. Say it with me: tall, grande, venti. Tall, grande, venti
But here, it's small/medium/large. How Mc-freaking-Donald's of them. There's no magic there. Anyone can do that, and so I'm not special anymore. Sigh.
I wonder if they use baristas (that's Starbuckese for "priest") behind the counter, or if they are simply servers…
The free wi-fi is great, but I just spent four bucks for an ice-blended mocha (that last sentence is so California). And it's a grande, fer cryin' out loud. Four bucks!
But it's not even a "grande." IaG doesn't speak Italian, so there's no tall, grande, venti. I kind of liked that. I felt knowledgeable, ordering that way. Very Gnostic: a religion with secret knowledge that lets you pass on to the higher levels. Makes me feel superior to know tall, grande, venti. It's a mantra. Say it with me: tall, grande, venti. Tall, grande, venti
But here, it's small/medium/large. How Mc-freaking-Donald's of them. There's no magic there. Anyone can do that, and so I'm not special anymore. Sigh.
I wonder if they use baristas (that's Starbuckese for "priest") behind the counter, or if they are simply servers…
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Save a Seat for Me in the Future
So here I am, sitting at It's a Grind coffee shop (free coupon: how could I resist?) updating my classroom website using the free wi-fi (take that, Starbucks: you just lost my sit-n-surf sessions, because you require a not-so-free T-Mobile account. I've been thinking hard about it, and free is better) and adjusting my PowerPoint presentation to give to parents at Back-to-School night in a couple of hours, checking for student e-mail (okay, and seeing if I have any new matches on LonelyHearts.com).
Teaching just ain't what it used to be. Pretty soon students will tele-commute to school from home to get their assignments, while I sit here at the coffee shop all day, over-caffeinating and over-sconing. Naw: the human element will continue. I'm fairly irreplaceable, I figure; at least for the immediate future.
Gotta run: it's going to be coffee, cookies and jazz in my room to welcome parents, and I have to stop by Smart & Final to buy some Columbian Supremo and set up.
Teaching just ain't what it used to be. Pretty soon students will tele-commute to school from home to get their assignments, while I sit here at the coffee shop all day, over-caffeinating and over-sconing. Naw: the human element will continue. I'm fairly irreplaceable, I figure; at least for the immediate future.
Gotta run: it's going to be coffee, cookies and jazz in my room to welcome parents, and I have to stop by Smart & Final to buy some Columbian Supremo and set up.
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