I recently read an interesting article in my cousin's blog about teaching high school math in California. She wrote about how teachers' successes and failures are inextricably linked to the successes and failures of their students. There's much in the US news these days about reward/punishment schemes that use student scores on standardized tests as a means of measuring teacher efficacy. Whether this is effective, advisable, necessary, welcome or The Coming of the Apocolypse is not for me to speculate on in this space. The most interesting thing about this particular blog post was the sentiment that teachers often have to face up to their failures when exam time rolls around: when the results comes in, teachers need to acknowledge that something went right or wrong somewhere along the line, be it in their classroom or somewhere else during the students' life experience. There are a number of students in classrooms across the world who have negligible negative outside influences. These students have relatively stable lives and come to school regularly. It is these students agains whom we test our mettle. If we can help these students succeed, or at least gain reasonably ground in a push to catch up to grade-level literacy, then we've done our jobs. But what if these students fail?
I'm facing this same issue at the moment here in Auckland. We start school tomorrow and we'll face R-Day i.e. Resluts Day: we'll finding out who passed English last year and who will have to resit the year. These results mainly show how the students fared on their big end of year exam last year. These exams where extrenally graded, meaning I didn't give them out and, when finished, the exams were sent out to someone else for grading. So bright and early Tuesday I'll get a full breakdown of how my students from last year scored. As Geetha mentioned in her blog I'll have to take the results as hard evidence of how well I matched my activities and lessons up with my students' needs. Which failures will I have to bear as my responsibility? How many external factors contributed to these failures and which, if any, of them were more influential than me? I can only speculate at this point and feel nervous for my students all over again. The day they went into their test I took a stroll past the testing site and chatted with a few students before they went in. After the exam, word on the street was that the exam was fair and students overall felt pretty good about it. This made me feel better at the time but the aprehension is coming back to me today.
I do know the fate of a few of my students. From looking at the class rosters, I have a few students from the Level 1 class I taught last year on the roster for my Level 2 class this year. For the most part I wasn't worried about these guys and I'm actually looking forward to having them in class again. They were all pretty on top of their game and turned in thoughtful, interesting essays. I'm really excited to get to work with them again next year.
One student was a complete and pleasant surprise, though. This young man struggled all year, and I mean really struggled. The ideas in his head fly at Mach 2 and when you talk to him he'll often end one sentence half way through it in order to start another. Following conversation with the guy is a real challenge. It's no surprise, then, that he has a hard time slowing his brain down enough to organize thoughts in longer pieces of writing. When I saw him on my list for this year, my first thought was "holy shit, he did it." I say this because he put in a herculean effort during the last month of class to identify gaps in his essay writing skills. He knew that if he didn't pass with x% on the exam he wouldn't make it into Level 2. He asked me one day how he could improve and I told him to write practice essays at home on any of the essay topics that were on the mid year exam. The best thing he could do was timed writings, I said, so write a full essay in 40 minutes and then stop when the timer goes. The end result would give him what he had actually turned into long-term writing and thinking habits. I told him to bring in anything he wrote and I'd give him feedback. So he wrote practice essays. He practically shoved essay after essay at me, asking, "could you look this over for me? I'm not sure how to get past the third paragraph." This was at least twice a week for a full month. I was a bit worried because his skills still lagged behind the rest of the class, even with this extra work. Evidently it was enough, though, because I'll get to work with him again next year. He'll be a challenge again this year, to be sure, and I'm wondering if he'll be able to keep his momentum up. He's a very pleasant student, though, and I'm looking forward to seeing what he produces this year.
I know I don't speak for just myself when I say that teachers take the failure of their students almost as hard as the students. There are those teachers out there who genuinely believe that they did everything they could and that a failing grade is the result of a mish-mash of controllable and uncontrollable factors, if not simply laziness on the student's part. How many of these untouchable teachers actually exist, I can't say. Personally, I can't silence the little voice in my head when I look over results sheets and question-by-question scoring breakdowns. The voice frequently whispers questions like, "why didn't that work" and "what was so difficult about that section for these students?" Like good scientists, good teachers are trained to be sceptical. We're told that there is always something more to be done, always another way to get the point across to one more student. There are laws on the books that imply that when our students fail they have "fallen behind" because of poor leadership by their teachers. How can I keep my morale up on R-Day when there is no possible satisfying R-Day in sight? If there is always something more to be done, there is no peg on which to hang my hat at the end of the day. This is an ultimately exhausting proposition for many of us but is enough to keep some of us going. I wonder how long I'll be able to last.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Uniforms and Individuality
This weekend I rummaged through my hard drive in an attempt to find any unfinished pieces of creative or non-fiction writing. The process wasn't entirely unlike rummaging through those boxes that hide at the back of your closet or shed or storage facility. I found heaps of unfinished and promising ideas (along with a fair amount of crap), much of which I had been thinking about for a while. Below is a piece that I found in a finished state. I wrote it written during my first week of teaching at my current school, when things were new and overwhealming and I was a one year less Kiwi. Surprisingly, it still applies to how I feel about uniform policies.
***
I’ve been carrying aspects of American culture with me without consciously deciding to do so. This week, as I began my first week of work at my new school, has been a crash course in confronting this baggage. The large, uniformed all-boys school I work at is a very different environment from your average American public school. Listening to senior staff members and reading through the various school documents that introduce the school's policies, I realised that the uniform thing is a pretty big change. My first reaction to the requirement that I strictly enforce proper wearing of the uniform was, "c'mon, give the kids some room for expression. Does it really matter if their hair touches their collar?" But that was my previous reaction to T-shirt slogan banning in high schools and length requirements on shorts and skirts. Those clothing requirements of yesteryear seemed intrusive to individual expression at the time, and I tended to look at this school’s uniforms in that same light.
That outlook changed slightly this week when I met a fellow English teacher in my department. Also a first year teacher, he and I attended a number of meetings together. After the usual getting-to-know-you banter he mentioned that he had spent a year in high school abroad; in Michigan, to be precise. He said one of the biggest differences he saw between the school systems was the clothing. He felt overwhelmed by dress requirements, by how much what you wore influenced your social experience. He noted that while he was in the States he thought as frequently, if not more, about his clothing and social grouping as he did about academics. This co-worker of mine feels that uniforms take one variable out of an equation that is already too crowded with unknowns. In New Zealand, he noted, everyone wears the same thing to school; your personality is what sets you apart and draws you together, not the logo on your sneakers. There’s no need to scour the mall before classes start for the new wardrobe because you know that there is a set of clothing waiting for you to pick up at the school’s uniform shop for a nominal fee (which is somewhat less than retail clothing prices). This seemed a valid justification for uniforms in his eyes and I can't argue with the benefits one person personally experienced because of this. All things said, though, I'm inclined to chalk up any discomfort with the lack of uniforms to an unfimiliarity with the non-uniformed environment.
So the argument goes that uniforms are the great leveller in schools and foster a focus on personality. I see this uniformity producing exactly the opposite effect on these students. Instead of determining social groups according to personalities and interests, I see students excluding their peers for wider societal reasons. Those students who most vocally resent that they are not allowed to wear their preferred clothing to school find other ways to display their individuality. They grow their bangs out long so that they cover their eyes; pomade ensures that they can sweep the hair from their eyes enough that senior management at the school cannot claim that their hair prevents them from seeing the teacher or the board. These students are labelled “emos”, short for “emotionals”. This group is much like the Goths of the 90’s but the do not limit themselves to just dark emotions. They are, however, big fans of long bangs, black eye-makeup and thrasher music. They value their angst as every good teenager should and are vocal enough to keep things lively.
Other than this group, most other cliques tend to fall into the “culture kinship” class or the “hobbyist” class. Maori and Pacific Island student cut their hair in style that identifies them as a part of that group. Those students who would wear baggy pants pull their uniform trousers down low so that their shirts are just barely able to stay tucked in if posture is perfect and straight. Students from Korea and China never wear the shorts; white kids never wear the long trousers, even if it’s freezing cold. Rugby goons favour the mullet hair style; cricket players the close-cropped “Leave it to Beaver” side part and the knit cardigan top instead of the cotton sweatshirt.
On a purely anecdotal level I can honestly say that I see major drawbacks with school uniforms. To the staff at these school, uniforms represent an opportunity for a British moral and social education that does not reflect the modern and diverse New Zealand. Every student is subjected to the same rules which are enforced with a draconian even handedness by staff who are responsible for upholding the “respect thy elders-or else” status quo. Teachers are dominant and can demonstrate this very easily by telling a student to pull his socks up or to tuck in his shirt. Any teacher can give a detention to a student if his hair is too long, and even demand that the student get a hair cut that afternoon if he doesn’t want to get another detention on top of it. Jewellery is forbidden outside of culturally important pieces such as Maori pendants. Wrist watches and Medic Alert bracelets are acceptable. Hair colours of an unnatural colour and earrings are not allowed. Make-up, even for girls, is forbidden.
What of those students who choose to dress outside of school hours in styles that the school does not endorse? They are ostracised by the students who accept the mainstream dress codes of the school community. Think back to those hard-rocking Emos. If a student is seen wearing black clothing, leather, eye make-up, or studs outside of school, he can be sure that the other students will still see that image of him when he comes to school the following day. “I saw him wearing that crap,” a student might say, “at the cinema. He’s such a fucking Emo.” The judgement having been passed, the social relationship developed outside the school will go on inside the classroom as if the uniform did not exist.
Meanwhile, the differences in skin colour are enhanced in a society that is experiencing major diversification shock. Think back to the shorts versus long trousers boundary that occurs at this school. This choice of clothing is based purely on skin colour. If uniforms are meant to be the great equaliser, then this most disgusting and damaging form of other-ness shouldn’t happen. Xenophobia can’t be hidden under polo shirts and knee-high socks. If New Zealand wants to find a way to keep cliques and racism to a minimum they’re going to have to come up with a more original and holistic plan.
When all is said and done the only benefit I see in uniforms are that they provide parents and students with cheaper prices in clothing. And what is so bad about that, you may ask? This scenario is what’s so bad about the situation: I have students who refuse to wear adequate clothing in the winter because it’s “uncool”, the only "cool" option being inadequate to the climate. These students sit shivering in poorly-heated classrooms for half of their school year, unable to relax and thereby focus on the lesson, while I get to wear my own personal jacket and choice of clothing that is appropriate to the weather. On those few “mufti” days when students actually get to wear clothing of their choice to school they are much more focussed during class time because they are properly insulated and are physically comfortable. I will grant that there is a bit more chatter than usual because of the novelty of the day, but it really isn’t hard to redirect that verbal energy into some sort of fun group project that fits with the unit at hand.
Is the money saved by subsidised clothing worth the cost of unproductive lessons and a segregated school community? I say no.
***
That outlook changed slightly this week when I met a fellow English teacher in my department. Also a first year teacher, he and I attended a number of meetings together. After the usual getting-to-know-you banter he mentioned that he had spent a year in high school abroad; in Michigan, to be precise. He said one of the biggest differences he saw between the school systems was the clothing. He felt overwhelmed by dress requirements, by how much what you wore influenced your social experience. He noted that while he was in the States he thought as frequently, if not more, about his clothing and social grouping as he did about academics. This co-worker of mine feels that uniforms take one variable out of an equation that is already too crowded with unknowns. In New Zealand, he noted, everyone wears the same thing to school; your personality is what sets you apart and draws you together, not the logo on your sneakers. There’s no need to scour the mall before classes start for the new wardrobe because you know that there is a set of clothing waiting for you to pick up at the school’s uniform shop for a nominal fee (which is somewhat less than retail clothing prices). This seemed a valid justification for uniforms in his eyes and I can't argue with the benefits one person personally experienced because of this. All things said, though, I'm inclined to chalk up any discomfort with the lack of uniforms to an unfimiliarity with the non-uniformed environment.
So the argument goes that uniforms are the great leveller in schools and foster a focus on personality. I see this uniformity producing exactly the opposite effect on these students. Instead of determining social groups according to personalities and interests, I see students excluding their peers for wider societal reasons. Those students who most vocally resent that they are not allowed to wear their preferred clothing to school find other ways to display their individuality. They grow their bangs out long so that they cover their eyes; pomade ensures that they can sweep the hair from their eyes enough that senior management at the school cannot claim that their hair prevents them from seeing the teacher or the board. These students are labelled “emos”, short for “emotionals”. This group is much like the Goths of the 90’s but the do not limit themselves to just dark emotions. They are, however, big fans of long bangs, black eye-makeup and thrasher music. They value their angst as every good teenager should and are vocal enough to keep things lively.
Other than this group, most other cliques tend to fall into the “culture kinship” class or the “hobbyist” class. Maori and Pacific Island student cut their hair in style that identifies them as a part of that group. Those students who would wear baggy pants pull their uniform trousers down low so that their shirts are just barely able to stay tucked in if posture is perfect and straight. Students from Korea and China never wear the shorts; white kids never wear the long trousers, even if it’s freezing cold. Rugby goons favour the mullet hair style; cricket players the close-cropped “Leave it to Beaver” side part and the knit cardigan top instead of the cotton sweatshirt.
On a purely anecdotal level I can honestly say that I see major drawbacks with school uniforms. To the staff at these school, uniforms represent an opportunity for a British moral and social education that does not reflect the modern and diverse New Zealand. Every student is subjected to the same rules which are enforced with a draconian even handedness by staff who are responsible for upholding the “respect thy elders-or else” status quo. Teachers are dominant and can demonstrate this very easily by telling a student to pull his socks up or to tuck in his shirt. Any teacher can give a detention to a student if his hair is too long, and even demand that the student get a hair cut that afternoon if he doesn’t want to get another detention on top of it. Jewellery is forbidden outside of culturally important pieces such as Maori pendants. Wrist watches and Medic Alert bracelets are acceptable. Hair colours of an unnatural colour and earrings are not allowed. Make-up, even for girls, is forbidden.
What of those students who choose to dress outside of school hours in styles that the school does not endorse? They are ostracised by the students who accept the mainstream dress codes of the school community. Think back to those hard-rocking Emos. If a student is seen wearing black clothing, leather, eye make-up, or studs outside of school, he can be sure that the other students will still see that image of him when he comes to school the following day. “I saw him wearing that crap,” a student might say, “at the cinema. He’s such a fucking Emo.” The judgement having been passed, the social relationship developed outside the school will go on inside the classroom as if the uniform did not exist.
Meanwhile, the differences in skin colour are enhanced in a society that is experiencing major diversification shock. Think back to the shorts versus long trousers boundary that occurs at this school. This choice of clothing is based purely on skin colour. If uniforms are meant to be the great equaliser, then this most disgusting and damaging form of other-ness shouldn’t happen. Xenophobia can’t be hidden under polo shirts and knee-high socks. If New Zealand wants to find a way to keep cliques and racism to a minimum they’re going to have to come up with a more original and holistic plan.
When all is said and done the only benefit I see in uniforms are that they provide parents and students with cheaper prices in clothing. And what is so bad about that, you may ask? This scenario is what’s so bad about the situation: I have students who refuse to wear adequate clothing in the winter because it’s “uncool”, the only "cool" option being inadequate to the climate. These students sit shivering in poorly-heated classrooms for half of their school year, unable to relax and thereby focus on the lesson, while I get to wear my own personal jacket and choice of clothing that is appropriate to the weather. On those few “mufti” days when students actually get to wear clothing of their choice to school they are much more focussed during class time because they are properly insulated and are physically comfortable. I will grant that there is a bit more chatter than usual because of the novelty of the day, but it really isn’t hard to redirect that verbal energy into some sort of fun group project that fits with the unit at hand.
Is the money saved by subsidised clothing worth the cost of unproductive lessons and a segregated school community? I say no.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Summer Perks
"I wish I got summer vacation off." I hear this all of the time from non-teaching fellow citizens. On rare occasions it's prefaced with some comment about how easy the job must be if you don't do it for a few months each year. I try not to feel too slighted when I hear that some people out there are equating the energy levels required to do the job with how much vacation time you get. The statement implies that the more time away from a job you have, the less you have to do in any 12 month period. If I weren't in the teaching field I'd probably think the same thing. When I then tell these people that I work 50-55 hour weeks on a regular basis they simply say, "oh", and drop the conversation thread. Quietly, though, I still imagine that these people wish they had my job simply based on the "off" time.
I've found that these comments are rare here in New Zealand. This is either due to the national reverence Kiwis have for vacation time or that people here value teachers enough to think that we deserve all of that time off for jobs well done. While I'd like to attribute the absence of derisive vacation comments to the latter, I am pretty sure that the real reason is more than likely the former. Most of the strangers I talk to, upon learning that I'm a teacher, immediately ask how I'm enjoying the holiday. No comments about teachers being lazy or questions about whether we get paid during our off months. I don't hear, "I wish I were a teacher" comments mumbled at the pavement. I do get lots of questions about where I'm going and what I'm getting to do now that I have some time off.
This is a pretty interesting thing for me. After hearing all of the griping about teachers working short days and working as "glorified babysitters" back in the States, I was expecting to hear more griping about vacation time here. Being in New Zealand, though, I think I have the support of a country that mandates a minimum of 4 weeks of holiday time per employee in the labour laws. New Zealanders truly value holiday time for spending with family and recharging the batteries, especially at the beach. Literally sitting on the beach for hours on end. They don't necessarily have to do much beyond take the occasional dip into the water, throw a ball around, and bring snacks to enjoy during a full day out. Most of the country takes a few weeks off between Xmas and New Years, which means that a not insignificant portion of the businesses here are closed for that period of time. Relaxation is a keen passtime for many Kiwis and I think that teachers' holiday time is more respected for this reason.
It's nearing the end of my holiday now. I've had about 5 weeks off from school at this point. Next week I go back to the school and start hacking out syllabi and introductory activities and the other formalities that go along with the beginning of the year. So what have I been doing with myself these long, lonely five weeks?
I've been reading. A lot. Mostly I've been exploring authors that I might be able to use in my classes. Jotting down ideas for activities, notes, grammar integration blah blah blah takes up at least an hour of each day. I've also had time to chew on some weightier "personal reading list" books that I don't have the mental energy to attempt during the school year. I just finished American Pastoral by Phillip Roth. It took me a mammoth three weeks to finish simply because I wasn't used reading non-plot driven novels. It was fantastic, though, and a recommended read for those pondering the American condition. Chuck Palanhiuk has been a wonderful summer friend, as has Chinua Achebe and Fiona Kidman. Now that the academic year is closing in I'll be diving into Harper Lee (it's been so long I can barely remember the plot) and our IGCSE anthology for this year. I'll get to revisit Maya Angelou, which will be damn fun, and all in the name of sharing books and poems with teenagers. After having time to just enjoy books I'm remembering just what it is that I love about my job.
And of course I've been visiting the beach during the day. I don't swim or get much done but I think that means that I'm still learning how to be a kiwi. There's a ways to go, though.
I've found that these comments are rare here in New Zealand. This is either due to the national reverence Kiwis have for vacation time or that people here value teachers enough to think that we deserve all of that time off for jobs well done. While I'd like to attribute the absence of derisive vacation comments to the latter, I am pretty sure that the real reason is more than likely the former. Most of the strangers I talk to, upon learning that I'm a teacher, immediately ask how I'm enjoying the holiday. No comments about teachers being lazy or questions about whether we get paid during our off months. I don't hear, "I wish I were a teacher" comments mumbled at the pavement. I do get lots of questions about where I'm going and what I'm getting to do now that I have some time off.
This is a pretty interesting thing for me. After hearing all of the griping about teachers working short days and working as "glorified babysitters" back in the States, I was expecting to hear more griping about vacation time here. Being in New Zealand, though, I think I have the support of a country that mandates a minimum of 4 weeks of holiday time per employee in the labour laws. New Zealanders truly value holiday time for spending with family and recharging the batteries, especially at the beach. Literally sitting on the beach for hours on end. They don't necessarily have to do much beyond take the occasional dip into the water, throw a ball around, and bring snacks to enjoy during a full day out. Most of the country takes a few weeks off between Xmas and New Years, which means that a not insignificant portion of the businesses here are closed for that period of time. Relaxation is a keen passtime for many Kiwis and I think that teachers' holiday time is more respected for this reason.
It's nearing the end of my holiday now. I've had about 5 weeks off from school at this point. Next week I go back to the school and start hacking out syllabi and introductory activities and the other formalities that go along with the beginning of the year. So what have I been doing with myself these long, lonely five weeks?
I've been reading. A lot. Mostly I've been exploring authors that I might be able to use in my classes. Jotting down ideas for activities, notes, grammar integration blah blah blah takes up at least an hour of each day. I've also had time to chew on some weightier "personal reading list" books that I don't have the mental energy to attempt during the school year. I just finished American Pastoral by Phillip Roth. It took me a mammoth three weeks to finish simply because I wasn't used reading non-plot driven novels. It was fantastic, though, and a recommended read for those pondering the American condition. Chuck Palanhiuk has been a wonderful summer friend, as has Chinua Achebe and Fiona Kidman. Now that the academic year is closing in I'll be diving into Harper Lee (it's been so long I can barely remember the plot) and our IGCSE anthology for this year. I'll get to revisit Maya Angelou, which will be damn fun, and all in the name of sharing books and poems with teenagers. After having time to just enjoy books I'm remembering just what it is that I love about my job.
And of course I've been visiting the beach during the day. I don't swim or get much done but I think that means that I'm still learning how to be a kiwi. There's a ways to go, though.
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