A New, Bigger, Scarier Monster

Some time back in the mid-1990's Susan Dreyer and I sat together and proctored one of the Regents Competency Tests (RCTs) we were administering that year. We did our best not to distract our students as we passed notes back and forth to each other.

We came up with a little parable about a girl with a lisp who goes up against a horrible monster known as the Rancid, Clammy Toothasaurus (RCT -- get it?). She reaches out to educator and author of one of my favorite books about teaching and learning, Horace's Compromise, Theodore "Ted" Sizer ("Theth," as she calls him) who does battle with the beast.

(Our principal, who was friendly with Sizer, sent the piece to him, and Sizer wrote a very kind response, which I'm hoping Susan may still have somewhere.)

I thought of the Toothasaurus for the first time in years yesterday. If the RCT was some kind of menacing beast, the Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills is a Gargantua that could swallow it in one gulp. Maybe it's the "Titanic Ass-whoopin' Killer of Souls?" Ted Sizer has been dead for a few years, and one wonders whether even he -- the man himself -- could have vanquished this one.

Of course, it's not so much about the exam itself. I never even saw the actual test, which is more to the point. Thanks to No Child Left Behind (or "No Child Left Untested," as Debbie Meier calls it), the mechanism of organized testing has become the bully that shoves the educators out of the driver's seat and takes over a few times a year.

On these days, we the adults scamper around in fear of the Auditors who may come into our school and find us "out of compliance." We do our best to maintain a sense of control on testing days. What it really adds up to, however, is that our vehicle has been commandeered by the state and we're in the passenger's seat, winking at our students who sit obediently in the back seat, strapped in tightly to their car seats, where they dutifully fill in ovals on their bubble sheets with their number-2 pencils, hoping, as we do, that everything will work out all right and that we will arrive at our destination (whatever that may be) safe and relatively unscathed.

More Than a Mascot and Two Colors: Making the "We" Mean Something in Public Schools

I started my day in an inner-city middle school that is in danger of receiving its third consecutive Academically Unacceptable rating. The principal, new this year, and the fifth in the last three, has been out on leave for reasons that appear to be a mystery to her Associate Principal. Neither of them was on board when I began working with the school on their Redesign grant a year ago.

The Associate Principal looks put upon when she sees me, asking, “Did we have a meeting today?” I apologize for not having sent her an email reminder, and this disarms her. She shakes off her annoyance and asks me to follow her into a conference room where we sit alone.

She is a very professional, very “put together” person. I can tell she has a strong inner-self that is keeping her going in this job, especially when she begins to elaborate, explaining that despite the fact that the district has appointed a substitute administrator in the principal’s absence, she has been pretty much running the show herself for the last couple of months.

The more comfortable she gets with me, the more truth comes out. She describes a number of her faculty members as “a cancer” that needs to be removed before it can spread any further. Relating a conversation she had with the district leadership, she tells me that when asked how many of the 65 teachers she would keep for her ideal school, she says maybe twelve. Maybe.

We discuss ways we can re-direct the work being done via the grant so that it more directly addresses some of her wishes, i.e. that the faculty feels some ownership over their stake in the school, so that there is more of a sense of shared vision and purpose in the building. I tell her about some of the work being done on other campuses, which seems to interest her, but mostly I can tell she’s just being polite with me.

Finally, and inevitably, about 45 minutes into our conversation, she gets the call on the radio that she is needed in the main office. As I walk her over there, I look at the faces of the children in the hallway, and they look lost. They look abandoned. They have that 50-yard stare you hear about people with Post Traumatic Stress having. I want to throw open the doors and free them; though I’m not sure where they’d go. The surrounding neighborhood drips with the same malaise as the school building, punctuated by “Payday Loan” storefronts and heavily fortified drive-through liquor distributors.

There’s an attempt at positivity on the walls near the office, with a poster proclaiming “Our Future’s So Bright, We Have to Wear Sunglasses!” But the faces of the children make it feel perfunctory.

The ultimate irony is the saying that hangs above the principal’s door. Made of wood, it looks like a child’s shop class project, and says, cheerily, “No Discouraging Words.”

So those of you who know me professionally are probably asking yourself, “What’s with Fuchs? Why is he trashing public schools?” Well here’s the thing about real life, as opposed to how it’s written up by Davis Guggenheim or Michelle Rhee. News flash: There are depressing, ineffective public schools like the one described here, and then there are the schools that I refer to as my “palette cleansers” – schools without which I might have to find another line of work.

I ended my day at one of these schools today. To be fair, we’re not talking “apples and apples” here. My afternoon meeting was at a 5-A suburban high school. But I’m tired of people using demographics as an excuse. “Well of course, Dan. But OUR kids can’t do that…”

To me, it’s about the “we.” The palette-cleansers have one thing in common: They are devoted to creating a sense of meaning behind the name of their school, besides just a mascot and two colors. In the school where I ended my day today, there is a strong team, quietly led by a stalwart principal who stays out of their way, while fully endorsing their work, because he knows it makes his school a great place for students and their families.

I get accused at times of over-simplifying things, and I’ll admit that if the “we” is all you have, you don’t have enough. You still need great, enthusiastic, exciting teachers who care about their students. And you need to be willing to push kids out of their comfort zone.

But if you DON’T have the “we,” you’re really hamstrung. And contrary to what the Guggenheims of the world might tell you, there are public schools out there that we can point to as models of what it means to have a strong sense of shared vision. It's time for us to start looking at what they're doing right, so we can preserve the basic human right that is public education.

Our Children Are Watching Us: Modeling Partnership for Kids

The following is the transcript of a speech I began writing, in case I was called upon to open up our 2-day conference that starts tomorrow for the 48 schools we serve on the Investment Capital Fund (ICF) grant. Community Action Teams of 5 people from each school -- principal, teacher, parent, business leader, and non-profit partner -- will be coming together to brainstorm and work on their Action Plans. Thankfully, we found a wonderful keynote, Dr. Willie Kimmons, so I never finished the speech. I thought I'd go ahead and post this anyway, since I'm sure many of you share the sentiment:

One of the most exciting aspects of this work for me is the possibilities it presents us to MODEL COOPERATIVE LEARNING for our kids. When children see, or are aware of, a group that looks like yours – when a kid sees their parent, who is sitting next to their teacher, who is sitting next to their principal, who is sitting next to their pastor – all with that young man or woman’s personal success as their common goal, that image has power in their minds. And this empowers us, when we put that child into a group to work on a project, or a problem, or a science lab, and we tell them, “Use the minds you have around this table to really struggle with this. Bat it around. Turn it over. Take it apart and put it back together. AS A GROUP.” Not only will they hear in your voice the fact that you yourself are engaged in a similar process, but you, as the adult in this situation will have a newfound sympathy, as you realize that what this child is telling you is true: “Working in groups is HARD!”

It is sometimes hard, but it is also immensely satisfying. Nothing goes farther to bring about a desired change than good, trusting, courageous partnership. It’s true in all aspects of life – from the classroom to the athletic arena, to families and marriages. I’ve been lucky enough to have played all of the roles that each of you now find yourself playing – teacher, principal, parent, community-based representative, and I’ve seen the work pay great dividends in the lives of young people who now call themselves my “friends.” (on Facebook, at least.) They tell me story after story about how grateful they are for the help and caring I, along with my partners, provided for them at a time in their life that they now realize they may not have survived otherwise.

Among the most classic "conversation-enders" in public education is “It’s not about you, it’s ABOUT THE KIDS.” But I’m going to amend that: “It’s not about you, it’s about you AND THE KIDS.” Don’t forget that they’re the other partner in this work. What you do matters to them. They may not say it now, but they will. That’s why I’d ask you to continue to keep a particular child in mind as you do this work, and ask yourself how all this partnership might serve to change the life of that one person.

On behalf of the ICF team at TEA and Region XIII, we hope you enjoy your time here with us.

Thank you.