Becoming Chuck Yeager

My students ask me all the time why I came to our school.  Why, out of all the schools in the world, I would come to theirs.

What a testament to their feelings about what they deserve.

But I’ve always had a hard time trying to figure out what to tell them without going on for 30+ minutes about how education is bigger than content knowledge, getting A’s, or meeting girls. Without going into details about inequality, social justice, and the right to a good education.

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This weekend I was able to watch Waiting for Superman for the first time (can you believe I JUST NOW SAW IT?), which honestly didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.  And if you overlook the way it sometimes bends statistics to prove points and villanizes teachers’ unions, it really brings up a good point: we can’t look at the state of education without looking at the individual children and families it affects.

As those of you who frequent my blog know, I teach students with special needs (and if you don’t frequent my blog, welcome!).  Sadly, my students are often thought to not be capable of performing on level with their peers because someone along the way told them they weren’t capable.  And while we can have discussions all day about different disabilities and what they mean in the life of a child, the truth is the vast majority of my students are capable of performing with their peers. In most of their cases, a learning disability simply means working around the different ways their brains think.

So when I tested my students’ reading levels this week, many were astounded.  Several of my students, many whom started out at a third grade reading level, grew 2, 3, or 4 reading levels in one semester! A mere 18 weeks. And while they are still behind (something they very astutely noted during our discussions), they’ve made a significant amount of growth in only  a few weeks’ time.

Now let me be clear: I am not a good teacher.  I have done nothing other than provide these students with the opportunities and resources they needed to make this feat happen.  This was accomplished by the dedication of young people, not the for the glory of their elders.

But this work has made me very aware that what we’re doing, the work we’ve accomplished, is something no one thought possible.  Like the reference in Waiting for Superman, we’re breaking barriers.  Becoming our very own Chuck Yeagers.  My students are showing that it CAN be done, it WILL be done, and it MUST be done.

Because if we aren’t the ones to do it, who will?

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I now have a more definitive answer for my students who ask “why here?”  For those childlike faces that are etched with the lines of grown up problems. Covered in makeup, in soot, and in remorse.  My answer, to my lovelies who look at the world through hardened and hurt eyes, is “why not here?”

And if that doesn’t suffice, there is this:

From The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton –

“Suddenly it wasn’t only a personal thing to me.  I could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows.  Hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better.  I could see boys going down under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldn’t believe you if you did.  It was too vast a problem to be just a personal thing.  There should be some help, someone should tell them before it was too late.  Someone should tell their side of the story, and maybe people would understand then and wouldn’t be so quick to judge a boy by the amount of hair oil he wore.  It was important to me.”

Why I hate standardized testing

Top 5 reasons why standardized testing rips out your soul.

5. It is just so exhausting

There is something about going into a test knowing its testing you on everything you know about a subject. It’s like trying to put your brain into overdrive. Making it work at more than 5% it’s capacity (or whatever that statistic is). Do the big “educators” really think we use more than that in the real world? Heck, most people I know only use about .5% of their brains capacity on a daily basis.

4. Very few people will take tests for a living

Let’s be honest, after high school and college we rarely take “tests”. Yes, we are tested. When the boss wants a project finished and your kid wants to go to soccer practice and your husband wants meatloaf for dinner but all you really want is to soak up to your eyes in a bubble bath…THAT is a test. Not 80 questions over a passage by some guy you’ve never heard of, reading questions about whether or not the author meant a word was “shiny” or “bright” (and in this context they could probably be taken as the same thing). Unless you become a professional student (can you get paid for that??), it is very unlikely you’ll take many tests again. Which leads me to number three…

3. Standardized tests make school lose authenticity.

At least the way they’re done now. We teach our kids test-taking strategies. And how to “think like a test-maker”. They fill in bubbles and are given multiple choice tests because that’s what they’ll be given in standardized tests. Why can’t we have them critically analyze? Think through problems, talk about them with an examiner, and be scored on a rubric? Because it will take too much time? It’s “too biased”? Well then let’s go back to the original point: why are we testing in the first place? To see how much they’ve learned and grown throughout the past year. That’s theoretically what testing is about.

So now, instead of letting my students read works about authors that look and think like them and expose them to people and ideas who aren’t the same as them, they have to read Othello. (which is a great piece but…Othello??

2. Standardized tests are made by (mostly) rich, white people for (mostly) rich, white people.

Just calling it like I see it. Let me give an example. Golf is an expensive game. Only those who have the time and money to invest in golf are good at it. True? Well my students happen to not be rich. Which means when they came across a practice test reading passage that had to do with golf and golf practices, they were completely lost. This had nothing to do with their ability to read. They could call the words and literally understand what it was saying. But ask then a question about par or an eagle or double bogey and they look at you like you’re speaking Mandarin. “Miss, what the heck is a double bogey” Me: “Uhh…sorry, can’t tell you”. Intentional or not (which is a different post for a waaay different time), these tests are geared toward a particular crowd. And while they have shown improvement by adding the rare passage about Jackie Robinson or poem by Claude McKay (still both men…), we still have a ways to go.

Yes, I am fully aware that an argument can be made that they have to be able to adapt and become accustomed to the “real world”. They’re in America, shouldn’t they speak American (yes, used “American” intentionally…)? But again, let’s go back to the purpose of the test. Is the purpose to see how well they can figure out what something totally foreign to them means, or is the test to measure their ability to read a passage, comprehend, and analyze the meaning? You tell me.

And finally…

1. Standardized tests are soul-sucking and heart-breaking.

To sum it up, these tests are not made with a “growth mindset”. For example, several of my 9th graders with severe learning disabilities came to me reading on a 3rd grade reading level. Horrendous, I know. And while we can dispute the causes of this until our cheeks turn blue, the fact remains that they came to me behind. As did many of their peers. While many of them are now reading between a 6-8th grade level (3-4 years of growth in 18 weeks! YES!), they are still behind. So when they sit down to take a test designed for students finishing their 9th grade year, they’re still likely to fail. What message does this send them? “Nice growth but you still suck.” I understand that they’re still behind and they’re still going to be measured by the success of their peers. Trust me, I make this argument with myself all of the time. But the fact of the matter remains, life is about continually growing — not reaching a static bar some guy behind a curtain placed for you. Meeting some meaningless number doesn’t mean they’re going to be successful. Having the determination to know that you’re behind, understanding that it may not be your fault but it IS your problem, and persevering to make real change? THAT is what I want my students to take away from my class.

But what do I know? I’m just told to teach what’s on the test.

Tipping the scales

 

It has taken a sabbatical to realize it’s okay to feel.  To risk crying in front of my students, crying in front of my boyfriend or my volleyball players, or my Sunday school class, or complete strangers.  That going through the motions is simply that: going through the motions.

For awhile I thought I had simply moved on from that “writing thing” I was doing for awhile.  Because I kept coming back to the same concept.  To the same ideas.  So maybe I didn’t have anything important to say or maybe I needed to learn to get over the things I was feeling.  Maybe I got busy or didn’t want to pour my heart out to strangers that were becoming friends.  I think part of me felt like I needed to be more “independent.”  Like a piece of paper, I had to keep folding within myself until the ragged, delicate edges were stronger and durable.  I wanted to show that I didn’t really need people and it didn’t matter if I failed.

But sometimes I am going to fail.  Sometimes the people I love won’t love me back, they’ll love me too much, or they will be too afraid to accept it.  For all of those people who don’t accept me, there will be one that does, and that will make all the difference.  People won’t understand, or people will.  Emptying yourself into someone is a risk, but being strong enough to stand on your own is also risky.  And being okay with doing either one of those when necessary comes from experience.

If anything, this mini-sabbatical has taught me that when I do feel an uncontrolled love for a random person, that doesn’t make me weird.  And it’s okay to embrace it.  But it’s also okay to pull back and put myself together until I’m ready to move forward.  The most important thing is finding that balance between the hormone-crazed teen who couldn’t live without a roller coaster of emotion, and the stoic adult who depends on no one.

And being willing to admit when the scales have been tipped.

Stereotypes

Stereotypes.

When I ask my students about them they say things like “Mexicans are lazy” or “all white people are rich”. Or even “Asians are smart”.

They get that stereotypes are those big, bad monsters you’re supposed to steer clear of. But what they don’t understand is that they still encounter them every day. They still make judgements of people based on how they’re supposed to act. That girl isn’t “black enough.” I can’t listen to regaton because I’m “too white.” It’s okay that that kid is a jerk because he has red hair and “everyone knows gingers have no souls.”

Or…worst of all…they use a stereotype as rationalization. They use a stereotype as an excuse.

“I’m Mexican and Mexicans just work construction.” Or, “poor kids are supposed to drop out of high school”. Or even, “all the black kids end up in jail”.

Where did they learn to do this? At what point did we surrender to the world and accept the fate society has put on us?

I am fully aware that some stereotypes aren’t just created out of thin air. That maybe somewhere, at some point, there was a red headed person that was not very nice (sending love to the gingers!) But at some point, we must learn to defy those stereotypes. We must look at the successes, those people who were able to see outside the lens of their current situation, and make the choice to do whatever they wanted.

So then the question is, how do I make my students aware that these “facts”, their “reality”, their so-called “street knowledge” is merely a stereotype? That what they appear to know is not based in fact, but created by outside sources that place them in a box? How do I make them understand that they can make it?

Run, run, run

A shot rings out in the night.

Cold and emotionless. Solid and penetrating.

Pounding feet on the concrete and slick grass run…run…run… while a body collapses into a rusted fence. Metal on bone clash like the toll of the bell signifying the end.

Nothing never happens

Nothing never happens.

That’s what our pastor said Sunday. And besides being peeved by the double negative, it left me with quite a few thoughts that have really shaken me for the past…36 hours.

While I was in college I used to watch Family Guy. I always knew it was ridiculous, but that’s why I watched it. I used to laugh at racist jokes because they were taboo, and I’ll admit that I’ve called things “gay”. Once in awhile, very rarely, I called people a “‘tard”. Before I really thought about how every moment I’m representing myself. Saying what I deem to be appropriate. Letting others know what I believe to be acceptable behavior.

Thankfully I grew out of that phase.  And now that I’m showing young people every day what is appropriate, it hits me even more.  That even when I’m sitting in my crowded office, listening to music and planning for the next week, those moments still count.  Every action that I take is representing who I am, and who I am showing my students I want them to be.  Incredible that it’s taken this long to realize that I’m not just representing me.

I’m representing the future.

And that’s not to say I can’t make mistakes.  Because I’m human, and I’m bound to.  But I want to show my kids that when those mistakes occasionally arise (READ: occasionally), it’s all about how we respond.  Whether or not we gracefully accept the fact that we’re not perfect, or we fight it until it’s obvious to everyone that we’re just in denial.  Whether or not we take the time to apologize, own up, and take the necessary steps to adjust.

Yeah…nothing NEVER happens.

Friendly reminders

Sometimes it takes God actually talking to remind you of things you already knew.

I tell my students that their work is a reflection of who they are.  They can choose to be proud.  They can look their teachers in the eyes and tell them they worked their hardest.  Or they can shuffle their feet, scoff at the sound of work, and prove to the world exactly what no one wants to be proven.

Sometimes I need to remind myself of this.

And other times, I need to look at the world objectively.  Are we living fully each and every day, or are we simply going through the motions? Intentionally trying to “be objective” because we really don’t want to feel the pain of the world.  Unconsciously making the decision to not sit down and write because it will reveal some things we don’t want to reveal.  Or maybe that’s just me.

Sometimes I need to remind myself of this.

Because the truth of the matter is, the beauty is in the pain.  The grace of God, the reality of life, and the magic of knowing “it is what it is”, is simply through the emotions that we try to prevent.

Sometimes it is okay to let people make us cry.  Sometimes it is okay to talk all night about the book shop you plan to eventually open.  Sometimes, it is okay to write letters of love to students that aren’t able to read what you’re writing.  And sometimes, it is okay to take the time to figure all of this out.  To remind yourself that we all need a little time to let yourself just…be.

Boys will always make you cry

Boys will always make you cry.

In preschool when he said “Ew” and told on you for chasing him. In elementary school when he checked the “no” boxing asking if he liked you. Middle school when his best friend broke up with you for him. High school when he said you were just his best friend. Nothing more.

In college when he couldn’t tell you how he felt.

Boys will always make you cry.

Your first semester of teaching when he couldn’t tell you what “b” says. When another one told you his life sucked without drugs. When he tells, begs you, pleads with you not to care. Because no one else does. Because he thinks no one ever will.

When they let you in for a microsecond. See the truth behind the facade. When they tear up because they can’t read, because they’re scared, because they can’t deal with the pain of life.

When they push you away because thats the only thing they’ve ever known.

Yes…Boys will always, always make you cry.

Where are you from, Miss?

Where I’m from, high school boys worry about getting grounded
14 year olds wear makeup for the first time
Cell phones are a privilege — not a necessity.

Where I’m from, Mom and Dad shove me outdoors to “blow the stink off ya”
Mom takes me shopping for my first homecoming dress
Dad watches me play dress up in the mirror…walking the catwalk through our living room.

Where I’m from, teachers don’t buy the books
A’s are an expectation
Phone calls home mean cancelled plans.

But where I’m not from…

Freshmen are going through drug rehab
14 year olds are pregnant…again
No cell phone means no friends.

Where I’m not from, Mom and Dad kick you out
No one goes to homecoming
The club is the catwalk, getting sideways stares from sideways men too drunk to care.

Where I’m not from, the teacher bought the school supplies
Passing is the hope
Phone calls home reach machines, disconnected lines, no or return.

Where I’m not from, a stark difference from where I’m from.

Where I am from, the privilege of knowing where I’m not from. The privilege of asking questions. The obligation to give the people that rent where I’m from the chance the become where I’m from.

Etchings

I can’t even believe its been so long. I can’t believe I’ve actually been sleeping even though I usually have so many words jumbling my brain that I can’t even see straight. Most of the time they’re overtaking my thoughts so much my eyes are seeing the nonexistent words form from the thoughts in my brain rather than looking at the world around me.

These past couple of weeks have been…weird. Just plain weird.

Do you ever think things in your head, knowing that you should believe them, wanting to believe…but somehow…you aren’t feeling them in your heart? That’s where I am right now. Stuck in that state where seeing isn’t believing, yet knowing that believing is supposed to be seeing.

I fear that I’m becoming hard. That lines are etching in my face, showing the wear and tear of the world. It takes so much to even write a metaphor. Maybe this writers block really is a disease. More than just a phase.

Crap. Help.