The Things Standardized Tests Cannot Possibly Measure

Editor’s note: The story below is from a friend of the Institute for Educational and Social Justice. Some minor details have been changed to maintain both the teacher and student’s anonymity.

I entered my afternoon language arts class, eager to get my students to work.

Like every day in our elementary class, we had a lot to cover – the usual language arts grammar warm-up, followed by an introduction to plays. There also was a new writing assignment and a Jeopardy-style game to review concepts for an upcoming standardized test.

I’d been in meetings earlier in the week, where I was reminded of how much ground my students have to cover and how rigorous this year’s standardized tests will be. I was determined to push my students toward academic excellence – and to push hard. The idea left me excited about the possibility for student growth, and more than a little scared of what it might look like for all of us if my students fell short.

Things felt off kilter from the moment my band of students entered the room.

One student was pacing in the back of the room. Two others were insistent they needed to go to the nurse for phantom illnesses. (I managed to distract them from their imagined need – a concept they really should teach in Schools of Education nationwide.) Another was hanging upside down in his seat, opossum-like, his jacket over his head, awaiting his next assignment.

A lot was going on here, but I can’t claim that it was particularly unusual, either. This group of students is adorable, and funny – and also squirrely and active enough to make the Patron Saint of Calm more than a little edgy.

We moved into language warm-up. One of my students, a fellow I will call Alan, refused to do his work. This was unusual for Alan, a bright kid who constantly begs to be allowed to help me with “anything, anything at all” as soon as he is finished with an assignment.

I leaned over Alan, and touched him on the shoulder, “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” This suddenly sent Alan into a spiral of despair. I tried to talk to him more, but his reaction was to crawl under his desk, curl up in a ball and sob. He clearly wasn’t ready to talk. So I kept teaching.

Near the end of class, as my other students wrapped up a writing project, I went back to Alan and crawled under the desk to sit next to him.

He started sobbing and ranting – that he didn’t want to go home, that he hated his life, and that he thought everyone hated him. I reminded him of the people he had who loved him – and reminded him that I was a big fan of his, myself.

This made him cry even harder – possibly from relief, possibly from confusion. Whatever the cause, his crying was debilitating.

Soon, it was time for Alan’s class to return to their homeroom, and for my homeroom to return. Alan edged out from under his desk, but continued to sob.

Time was becoming my enemy. I had to get Alan on the bus line, and I really didn’t want to have an administrator do it, causing the boy even more stress.

Desperate, I got down on the floor next to him and pointed out the time. “You have three choices. You can get up on your own and walk to the bus line. Or, I can call an administrator and they can come and get you. The other choice is for me to pick you up.”

“I need you to pick me up,” Alan said, sobbing and in that moment looking as vulnerable as I have ever seen a child look.

“OK, Alan. But you need to know that you are heavy. And I’m not really that strong. So I can lift you up. But after that I’m going to need you to walk, OK?”

I pointed out then, that my homeroom class was in the room. “You are OK with these kids, including the boys, seeing me pick you up?”

“Yes. I need you to be the one to pick me up.”

And so I did.

I lifted that sobbing, shaking heap of a boy – wrestling with a storm of emotions I do not fully understand – up off the floor and moved him to the door.

He wiped his tear-stained face and made it to the bus line just in time – all without a single disparaging word from anyone in my homeroom class, which has more than a few kids who are concerned already about things like coolness and the notion that upper elementary boys probably shouldn’t cry or be lifted off the floor by their teachers.

I’m honestly not sure how well I covered my course material that day. But maybe that wasn’t the point. I think that on this particular day, the most important thing I did was lift Alan up off the floor and get him where he needed to be – all without yelling or threatening or belittling his emotions.

And those are the sorts of things that the standardized tests my students will take in the spring cannot possibly measure.

How We Talk to Children Matters

I touched the 9-year-old, shaggy haired boy on his tense left shoulder after talking to him about his tendency to be disruptive at school.

“I talk to you like I talk to my own son,” I told him, smiling. “It’s kind of odd in a way, but I guess it’s the clearest way I know how to talk to kids.”

The boy shoved his hands deeper into his blue and black checkered shorts and gazed right past me, tears in his eyes.

“Well, you talk to your son kind of different,” he said, biting his trembling lip. “My mom doesn’t say stuff like this to me. She says things like, ‘You are a dumb ass. And a loser. And stupid.’ That’s the kind of stuff my mom says to me.”

He didn’t actually say thank you for our little talk, but I could hear the words, somehow, in his voice.

And our conversation reminded me that the words and the body language that we use when we talk to the children and youth in our lives matters. Cruel words do deep, cutting damage – damage that is difficult to repair.

The way that I talked to my young friend was not unusual, in my view. I just spoke to him with respect – reminded him that I cared about him, and that as part of that caring, I had to correct him when he was wrong. I reminded him of his good traits, including his sense of humor and his willingness to reach out to kids that were different from him. And then, we talked about areas where he needed to put in a bit of extra work.

The formula for talking to young people is not complex – but just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it’s not important.

Facing Our Fears: A Personal Reflection

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you
did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails.
Explore. Dream. Discover.” - Mark Twain

I seem to be coming across a lot of articles and blog posts lately about fear and how it can be a powerful force holding us back from pursuing a passion, taking a risk, speaking out for what we belive in, or doing a host of other things that we relegate to far-fetched fantasies because we can't overcome the fear needed to venture out into the unknown. And it's made me think about my own professional journey and those times in which I have overcome my own fears and insecurities. And about how fear is often a matter of perspective.

As a young child, I spent a lot of time on a sailboat. Anyone who knows my family well, knows the stories of how I was jumping off the bow of our sailboat into the open sea not long after I learned how to walk. I feel at home in the water or on the water. And the ocean doesn't scare me. But I know people who are terrified of the ocean, who would never venture into the ocean surf or cast away dock lines to sail out to sea, or understand the decision of a teenager to attempt to sail around the world by herself. I can attempt to understand people's fears of the water, but it's hard for me to relate to a fear that I don't hold myself.

So, the ocean? Bring it on. Making my writing public? Professional fear number one. It's always been easy for me to say I'm a writer in casual conversation. It's also easy for me to teach writing and to edit other people's writing to make it more coherent. But to actually write something, publish it, and then believe that somebody, anybody, will want to read what I've written? This has been a MAJOR fear of mine that I work daily to overcome. I don't have the simple answer for how to do this, but I do know that every day I work at writing. And, on the best of days, I put that writing out there in the public sphere. And you know what? Once it's done, a lot of my fears about the process kind of just fall away.

Professional fear number two? Working for myself. Since the day I took my first education course in college, I knew that teaching was for me. And as I worked through my master's program, I became increasingly drawn to the teaching profession, in part because it just seemed so darn predictable and safe. (It feels funny writing this now, because as I quickly learned, the day-in and day-out life of a classroom teacher is anything but predictable. Furthermore, the current climate of the teaching profession is one that most within the profession would not describe as safe.) So I taught high school, until one day I woke up and realized that my life needed a change of direction. I still teach now, but most of my days are spent working for myself, chasing after dreams that are meaningful to me - in my own time and by my own measure. Are there days when I'm scared? Of course. But it's then that I remember that sometimes you have to face your fears if you want to live life on your own terms.

And as I continue to chart the course of my own life, I try to remember that if I was the child who - at two years old - could jump fearlessly off the bow of a sailboat and swim to shore, well then, I have a strength that has been with me always. Even during times when I'm most afraid.

"If communities come together to support their kids, anything is possible."

I was standing at the bus stop with a group of foster kids, when the conversation turned from who they were going to sit with at lunch to how upset they were that the school district they're now attending doesn't offer foreign language classes until high school.

It was an eighth grader in the group who quickly became the most vocal. "You see," she said. "I think we're giving too much credit to the school boards here. They don't really have ALL the power to make decisions. Because in my old school district? We had language classes in elementary school. And the reason we did is because the parents and community fought for them. When the classes were going to be cut, I remember the parents all marching down to the school board meetings."

Soon, she had the attention of the entire group.

"Our schools were good because the community cared so much about our education. If communities come together to support their kids, anything is possible."

The wisdom of an eighth-grade foster kid, with a family history that would bring you to tears, decked out in her new hot pink high-tops and zebra-print tshirt, spoken at the morning bus stop.

So at the most unlikely time, from a rather unlikely source, I was again reminded how important it is to listen to your young people. And value them. And come together as communities to support them. Always.

How Will You Leave Your Mark On the World?

Often when I'm hiking, I see trail markers that people have left. Usually they're fairly nondescript, composed of small rocks gathered from the trailside. Sometime they indicate direction, reminding hikers to stay the course, keep climbing, move right along; but other times they just seem to send a more subtle message from the hikers who created them to the world - I've been here. Please remember me.

I think, if we're honest with ourselves, we all want to leave our mark on the world. Maybe your mark will be bold and maybe it will be subtle. But whatever it is, make sure that it's true to YOUR course, your direction, your purpose. And know that often times, your mark might be discovered by people long after you've left it. Impact isn't always immediate, or glorious, or proud. But if it's genuine and heartfelt, then it's always important.

Who Are the "Have-Nots," Really?

Affluence separates people. Poverty knits 'em together. You got some sugar and I don't; I borrow some of yours. Next month you might not have any flour; well, I'll give you some of mine. – Ray Charles

This quote from the late, great Ray Charles really speaks to us – in part because it does such a good job of reminding us of the importance of not viewing people who may seem different from us with a deficit mentality.

Working with low-income children and families, it can often be tempting to focus on what people do not have – and on how they might be more successful academically, socially and emotionally, if their lives looked a bit more like ours.

But the truth is, we will be far more effective if we can recognize the strengths that exist in these families and communities and then empower the people there to build upon them in ways that work for them.

An example: One of the most admirable qualities we often find in low-income neighborhoods is exactly what Charles describes here – an amazing support network of people who are willing to help each other through times of need.

Really, it is not surprising that such a network is not as easily found in middle and upper class neighborhoods, because in those communities, people can more easily pay for things like childcare and transportation.

In lower income neighborhoods, valuable support networks often evolve through informal barter and trade systems, where one person provides a service for another individual or family and gets something in return when needed.

This is seen, for example, with car repairs.

In middle class neighborhoods, people are more likely to pay for a mechanic to repair a car. And if the car becomes too unreliable, it is replaced with a new one. But in low-income neighborhoods, people recognize that they may not be able to go to work or take family members where they need to go without transportation. And so they come to rely on each other, helping each other with repairs.

This sort of support network is an enviable one, especially to middle and upper-income families who may have made numerous moves in order to secure a better job or to gain new experiences.

So, next time you are in a community or with individuals who are different from you, we hope you will see the assets of the community – it is never really as simple, after all, as simply being a “have” or a “have not.”

Study: Low-Income Children Can be Well Prepared for School if Families are Equipped to Help

Parents matter.

This is one of our strongest and most deeply held convictions at The Institute for Educational and Social Justice.

And those convictions were reinforced once again this past week, with the release of a study that shows that a rich home environment can close the readiness gap that has dogged low-income children for years.

The study seems to show that children from low-income families can enter school well prepared if certain factors are found in the home.

These factors included frequent literacy activities in the home, including telling stories and nursery rhymes. Maternal engagement, including how well mothers respond to their child’s needs and cues and tried to stimulate language development and thinking, also was critical. The availability of certain educational resources, including books, toys, musical instruments and art supplies, also seems to play a role.

Our hope is that this valuable research can be used to help make the case for more classes for low-income parents. These classes could help build understanding about how to read to children effectively, ways to ask questions about reading, and to build on storytelling and other verbal communication skills that parents have.

At the same time, it seems that providing low-income families with learning materials also could be valuable in increasing school readiness.

One interesting finding in the research is that many low-income children who start their lives with supportive families find that support flagging by the time they are about three years old – a critical time in literacy and language development.

This is a reminder to us that parents need to be encouraged not just when their children are born, but throughout the parenting process.

Are you familiar with effective parenting classes? How do you think we can best support low-income families? How might this research be used to help make that case?

Our Children are Much More than the Grades on their Report Cards or the Scores on their Standardized Tests

At first glance, you might see an "average" teenage boy - one who loves to play football, talk to girls, and listen to his I-pod. A boy who does well in school, and yet every time a teacher praises him for his academic promise, he looks away as if embarassed. He wonders where he'll go to college and worries about what his future will look like. He has a short temper sometimes, and other times can appear withdrawn and introspective.

But if you look a little deeper and listen a little more closely, you might just understand the complex story of this young man.

It's the story of a child who remembers, at the age of seven, being told by his mother to put his shoes on the wrong feet, wear his shirt backwards, and "act retarded" when they went into the government office to collect the child's disability check for $700 a month. And it is a child who, when the government agency cut his disability funding because they realized not only was he not mentally disabled, but he was excelling in school - bringing home all As and Bs and scoring high on state standardized tests, started to hide his report cards so his mother wouldn't beat him, stab him, try to shoot him. Because, you see, she "needed" his $700 a month to help support her drug habit, and because her son was excelling in school, she no longer received this money.

So this is a story of a boy who, by the time he was thirteen years old, was on the streets selling drugs because that was the only way he was allowed to come home. His mother would kick him out, repeatedly, and then charge him $50 to come home and sleep in his own room for a day or two. She might beat him while she was home, or she might be so drunk or high that she'd forget he was even there.

And the story goes on. This is really only a glimpse into the life of a young man who is fighting every day to make a future for himself that looks different than his past.

But he cannot do it alone. And he can't do it until the adults in his life, the ones who are helping him keep his grades up, coaching him in football, keeping him well-fed and on the right medications to manage his bi-polar disorder, giving him a warm, safe place to sleep every night, take the time to understand the complexities of his situation.

And if there's any lesson that this young man can teach us, maybe it's that our youth are incredibly resilant, but they still need our love and support. And they still need us to take the time and effort to listen to their stories and honor their voices. And, if we do so, we just might be reminded of the many ways in which our children are much more than their grades on their report cards or the scores on their standardized tests.

Taking Small Steps when Big Ones Feel Too Difficult

“We can do no great things, only small things with great love.” – Mother Theresa

Is it just us, or has the news – from the local level all the way to the international one – felt more than a little overwhelming lately?

The Middle East is more unstable and unpredictable than ever.

Natural disasters have left many dead and even more with lives in complete chaos and despair.

Good people who have dedicated their lives to serving children, families and communities are losing their jobs because of budget cuts.

In such times, it is easy to become overwhelmed.

There is so much that we, as advocates for educational and social justice, cannot even begin to understand – much less do our part to fix.

During these times, we think it’s important to take heart in this call to simple love and kindness from Mother Theresa.

Although we should strive to do as much good as possible, and to think and work strategically and systemically whenever possible, there also are some days when, maybe the best that we can do is to put one foot in front of the other, to smile, to offer an encouraging word or a hug.

Those small things, when done over and over without any expectation of personal gain, can be the beginning of something very big – and very important.

And often, that is more than enough …..

A Student's Dilemma: "I am just so poor."

Sometimes, knowing that something is bound to happen doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

That was the case this week, when I received emails from two students informing me they would be dropping my class – not because they didn’t enjoy it or were struggling academically, but because they said they don’t have the money to pay for the class or need to pick up extra hours at work for financial reasons.

“I am just so poor,” one student, a quiet young lady with a bright smile and a natural sense of curiosity, wrote in her note. “I have to work more hours and just really can’t afford to be in school right now. I have looked at my budget and all my options. It’s just not possible for me right now.”

People, including fellow community college faculty members, sometimes argue with me about the merits of such explanations.

“Going to community college is cheap and there are all kinds of loans available,” one colleague from a neighboring college told me. “It’s really not that big of a deal. These students are just giving you excuses.”

And maybe taking on a few thousand dollars in debt over the course of a community college career doesn’t sound like much of a financial risk to those of us from middle or upper middle class backgrounds.

But taking on debt of any amount can feel too risky to many low-income students, particularly those who may have family members, including parents, younger siblings or their own children counting on them for financial support.

Some students are understandably apprehensive because they have seen people around them attend school and graduate but then, for some reason or another, not go on to secure a higher paying job.

For these students, college seems to not only have not paid off, but it seems to have saddled them with unnecessary debt they don’t know how to pay back.

It is true that community colleges remain an excellent option for many of America’s students, particularly nontraditional students and those from low-income backgrounds. And it is true that the poorest of students can often receive subsidies that do not require repayment. But many students are still not earning enough to comfortably attend school and take on loans and it is causing them to abandon their college and career plans.

Ideally, students who see themselves as “so poor” should still be able to figure out ways to remain in class – and instructors like me should have options to offer them.

Will the growing number of multi-racial families help bring racial reconciliation?

The nation’s mixed-race population is growing far more quickly than many leading demographers estimated, according to this thought-provoking article in the New York Times.

In North Carolina, the article says, the mixed-race population doubled, while in Georgia it grew by more than 70 percent. Similar growth was seen in Kentucky, Tennessee, Indiana, Iowa and South Dakota.

The statistics are even more impressive when you consider how much ground has been covered in the days since the Civil Rights Movement. In 1967, after all, it was still illegal for blacks and whites to marry in Mississippi. Today, the state is seeing substantial growth in the number of interracial marriages and in children who are identified as multi-racial.

At the same time, older people, who were not always as proud of their mixed ethnic heritage, are increasingly likely to identify themselves as being multi-racial. This self-identification represents a dramatic shift in thinking for many of these adults, particularly those who grew up in the Jim Crow South.

What do these shifting demographics mean for those of us who are advocates for educational and social justice?

Will race become a less divisive factor, as more people identify themselves as being multi-racial?

Will discrimination wane as the racial lines that all too often divide us become less clear, or will we simply find that society finds new ways to judge and discriminate?

The changing attitudes and relationships represented in this latest batch of statistics seems promising.

But truly, only time will tell whether we are able to move beyond ugly racial divisions and tension, to a place where, as Dr. Martin Luther King implored, people are judged by the content of their character instead of the color of their skin.

This Work Matters

The following is from a previously-published post. Enjoy.

This work matters. It ebbs and it flows and it matters always.

This work flows in on the tears of a frustrated fifteen-year-old who is in a foster home unable to be with her nine-month-old son, who is in a different foster home, in a different county, wondering where his mommy is.

This work lingers in the hearts of everyone who believes that care is not a four-letter word, and hope cannot be packaged and delivered with scantrons and some sharpened number 2 pencils.

And it flows out on the silenced cries of so many teachers who know, in their hearts, that to secure a more hopeful future for the young people we serve we need to listen to what they have to say and advocate for them when they lack the voice.

This work matters.

This work matters because we cannot expect those who have the most power to lead, and we cannot expect those who are the most marginalized to blindly follow.

"My opinion? I don't think I know anything about that."

The 20-year-old education major looked at me, visibly agitated.

“I was thinking about going to substitute in the schools here,” she said. “I think it might be a good experience and that I might learn some things. But my boyfriend says that I shouldn’t do it. He doesn’t want me to do it and thinks it’s a crazy idea because I’m young and because high school students can be so hard to deal with. What should I do.”

“Well, what do YOU think you should do?” I asked my student, looking her in the eye. “What is your opinion?”

“My opinion?” she asked, hesitantly. “I don’t think I know anything about that.”

Her statement is a telling one, confirming her difficulty in forming an opinion about her own life – particularly when that opinion contradicts one held by her boyfriend.

Here is a student who is seemingly successful. She earns good grades, comes to class regularly, participates in discussions, and seems to have a clear vision for her own professional future.

And yet, after having this conversation with her, I would classify her as “at risk.”

Why? Because she seems unable to form an opinion of her own, and is more interested in pleasing her boyfriend – a young man who she is not even certain will be in her life in the coming months – more than she is in taking steps to improve her marketability during difficult times.

We see these students often, as we travel the country speaking to students and their leaders, and advocating for educational and social justice in a variety of ways.

Our colleges are full of them.

In some cases, they earn their degrees. But often, they do not make it that far, choosing, in one way or another, to sabotage themselves before graduation. Maybe they suddenly stop doing their work and end up being kicked out for academic reasons. Maybe they check out entirely and get lost in a world of partying. Or maybe they just drop out abruptly, often saying they are doing so to work.

There is a move within our society to place more of an emphasis on the academic, social and emotional needs of male students. And we know that statistics show that male students, particularly minority males, are, indeed, often at risk. Males need to be encouraged to graduate from high school, attend college, and to generally make good choices.

But at the same time, we need to be sure to keep a focus on young ladies as well. Because maybe they don’t show up on a chart somewhere, categorized as “at-risk.” But they are there. And they need our support and our advocacy.

Parents Care

“The parents at this school just don’t care about their kids.”

This is a statement we at the Institute for Educational and Social Justice hear quite often.

Sometimes, the comment is made by frustrated teachers, who want to see discipline and academic enrichment happening at home.

At other times, the statement is made by downtrodden school administrators, who struggle to get parent-based programs like PTA and booster organizations off the ground.

And in other cases, we have heard the statement made by parents who devote scores of hours to the school, while the parents around them remain absent.

But while we have heard many people accuse other parents of not caring, we have never once found a mother or father who would say, “No, I don’t care about my child.”

Instead, those parents accused of apathy often speak with great passion about how much they love their children, and how much hope they have that their children will succeed in ways they themselves have not. Almost always, they view a quality public education, including a high school diploma, as the ticket to future success.

So, why this disconnect between what some parents say about their parenting priorities and how they seem to behave?

It could be, in some cases, that we are insisting that parents serve public schools in ways that meet our needs – but do little to meet the true needs of the parents and their families.

In public schools, it seems, we are quick to ask parents to donate their time to raise money, or to help run a special event like a festival or fun run. Often, we love the PTA parents, who tend to view the school positively – in part because their own school experiences were probably positive.

But how often do we welcome the parents who have questions – who want to know why things are the way they are? Who think that maybe certain policies need to change because they are unfair, or discriminatory, or just plain don’t make sense?

And how often do we tell parents that they are to be their child’s first teacher – to help them with homework, to boost their lagging reading skills, or to support them in their math classes – but then do not take the time to ensure that the parents know what this should look like, or to help the parent acquire the skills needed to effectively help their children?

Parents care. They care deeply. We just need to figure out ways to reach them where they are and to help meet their needs in ways that matter.

Redefining Nobility

To deal with individual human needs at the everyday level can be noble sometimes.

- Jimmy Carter

Often, nobility is associated with great deeds of a massive scope. We glorify grand acts of nobility in our literature, history accounts, and popular culture. Jimmy Carter's words challenge this common notion of nobility, suggesting instead that individual acts - of compassion, justice, and peace - might be just as noble as the collective actions of many on a broader scale.

The mission of the Carter Center is to advance human rights and alleviate unnecessary human suffering. The Center invites people to help "create a world in which every man, woman, and child has the opportunity to enjoy good health and live in peace."

In what ways might the schools and/or non-profits with which we work learn from the Carter Center's model of advocating for social justice and peace? How do you, as an individual and on a daily basis, manifest nobility in your own world?

Join the conversation and leave a comment below. We look forward to hearing what you have to say.

Thank you for stopping by. If this is your first visit to our blog, please read this to find out a little bit more about who we are and what we do. If you find the conversations on this blog relevant to your life and the work that you do, please subscribe to our feed, follow us on Facebook, and/or join in the conversation via the comments section.

The Snowball General or How Do We Get Good Teachers to See Themselves as the Heros They Are?

The first-grader smiled, as she recalled her dream from the night before:

“Mrs. Jones (name has been changed) and a bunch of her friends and family – and some of our friends and family – all came over to our house. And there was a big meeting. And Mrs. Jones decided that she was going to be a general and Daddy was going to be a leader, too.”

After the meeting, the newly formed band of grown-ups and children quickly made their way to Antarctica. But once they got there, a problem was discovered:

“We realized that we didn’t have anything that an army would need to fight –no supplies or anything to defeat any kind of enemy.”

But quickly, this 7-year-old’s skillful teacher came up with an effective solution:

“Mrs. Jones told us we didn’t need much – that we could be victors just by throwing a lot of snowballs. So we threw snowballs, and threw snowballs, and then threw some more.”

In the end, the faceless, nameless enemy in the dream was defeated.

“Everything was ok because of Mrs. Jones, and also because of all the people that got behind her and what she was trying to do.”

On the surface, this is just a meaningless childhood dream – maybe even a common one. But within the context of what is going on in this young lady’s school – and in many others like it – the dream is arguably more enlightening.

This teacher’s students view her as powerful – powerful enough to lead armies and fight off enemies with mere snowballs.

But often, the teacher doesn’t see herself as so empowered. She sees herself as limited – a bit of a pawn, at times, subject to the whims of the district office, and to what she sees as inconsistent messages about everything from testing to curriculum to discipline to budgeting.

This teacher is one of the brightest we’ve seen – very much up to date on the latest research and dedicated to implementing that research in her classroom in ways that strengthen the learning of her kids.

She has a warm relationship with her students and they know that she cares about them. She cares about their stories about everything from their dog’s kennel cough to the second level of the latest Lego Wii game.

She works miracles. Every day.

She turns children on to science through experiments that go well beyond the district curriculum requirements. She manages to do required testing, but refuses to merely teach to the test, without pushing children to think in deeper, more critical ways. She is comfortable using technology in the classroom – even when she has some students who can’t use a mouse and others that probably have the knowledge to hack the district server if left unsupervised.

She meets the needs of emerging readers, while also challenging other readers who have already spent a year or more reading chapter books.

And for that, she is not just a dream of a general. She is a hero. Now, if we could just get her to see herself as one, there is no telling what she could achieve.

Paying Students for Achievement?

I had a friend in high school whose parents paid her generously for any As and Bs she earned.

One semester, when the girl – who consistently posted weaker grades than I did – raked in a whopping $125 – I went to my parents and made the case for a similar rewards system in our house.

“I work hard, too,” I told my mother. “It seems fair I should be paid for it.”

My mother – a lifelong housewife fluent in five languages and known to study anatomy and physiology or European history just for fun – launched into a lecture about the beauty of working hard to improve yourself.

“Say all you want, I am not going to take that joy from you by saying it is worth money,” she said, waving her hand. “You should work hard and learn because you want to – and because you know it’s important – more important than a few dollars.”

And so that, my friends, was the end of the Harrison household’s cash for grades initiative.

And while the proposal lived a short life back in the early ‘90s in my household in semi-rural Mississippi, paying students for good grades and other measures of achievement is gaining momentum in some education circles.

A number of schools across the nation have or are considering paying students for everything from grades to school attendance to behavior to participation in after-school and Saturday tutoring sessions.

So far, research on the effectiveness of these programs is mixed. One study done by Harvard University professor Roland Fryer showed that kids with a history of behavior problems raised their reading scores 0.4 – the equivalent of about five additional months of schooling – when they received cash incentives. Results were less conclusive in other schools.

But in another city, where Fryer actually expected to see the biggest test score gains, no bumps were seen.

Some experts, though, passionately argue that the results don’t even matter – but that we should resist paying for school achievement for the same reasons my mother did – because it does not encourage learning for the joy of learning. And in that, students never develop a lifelong appreciation for education.

Others say the ultimate goal should be a love of learning, but that maybe the financial incentives can provide a hook until struggling students learn to be more motivated to learn.

What do you think? Would you support a program that paid students for grades and other academic achievement? Do you pay your own children or other family members for their performance? What about paying for other achievements, like performing well in athletics, music or art?

Thank you for stopping by. If this is your first visit to our blog, please read this to find out a little bit more about who we are and what we do. If you find the conversations on this blog relevant to your life and the work that you do, please subscribe to our feed, follow us on Facebook, and/or join in the conversation via the comments section.

Telling the Difficult Stories

Infants and toddlers who are victims of incest.

Women who are sold into slavery in our nation’s cities and small towns, seeing their bodies repeatedly violated, day in and day out.

Children traded on the streets of our cities for their addicted mother’s next high.

These are some of the stories that frequently go untold in our country – and beyond.

But why does this silence exist?

Often, the stories are difficult to document. The people involved are elusive, afraid to speak out or unable to do so.

At other times, those who probably should tell these stories can’t quite seem to get their hearts and minds around the details. They know that the stories need to be told, but don’t feel that they have the energy to allow themselves to be immersed in them. To look, honestly, at some of the darkest elements of humanity is a painful, draining process – and one that may call us to make changes or take risks we are not yet ready to make.

In other cases, people willing to speak such difficult truths find there is no audience for their stories. Many people do not want to be challenged – to have their notion of what can and does happen in America changed. Because, after all, if we allow such things to happen in our country, what does that say about all of us? What does it say about our leaders? What kind of people are we?

It is difficult to look at some of our nation’s most haunting issues honestly -- to rip back the curtain of supposedly polite, civil society and see who we are at our ugliest.

But these are stories that need to be told – however uncomfortable they make us and however difficult it might be to move toward change.

These are some of the stories that the Institute for Educational and Social Justice is here to tell. As difficult as they may be to share and to hear we must continue to use our voices.

What stories will you dare to tell? Why do they matter? Where do you go from here?

Raul

Raul* walks into my community college classroom with a certain swagger.

Most days, he is in sagging pants and has multiple oversized gold medallions around his neck – the kind of gear made popular, often, by hip-hop stars.

His look has the effect of making some faculty a bit nervous – and even some of his fellow students, who lean more to cowboy boots, Abercrombie t-shirts or preppy plaid, seem a bit uncomfortable with him, initially.

But the way that Raul presents himself and the way that he is at heart are two different people. When you spend a few minutes with him, you learn that he writes beautiful poetry. That he can hold his own in debates about everything from the Federal Reserve to the recession to censorship. And that the writings of Jonathan Kozol bring tears to his eyes.

One day this week, I had the chance to ask Raul about his clothing. “Why the hip-hop look?” I asked Raul, an aspiring teacher. “It doesn’t quite seem to fit the person you are now or the person you are becoming.”

“Because the people in my neighborhood aren’t ready for the person that I am becoming – or the person I am now. And that wouldn’t just be inconvenient or uncomfortable – that is the kind of thing, with gangs and everything, that could mean my life. I bet you’d do the same thing, if you were me.”

And really, I think Raul is right – I probably would. Most of us probably would, really.

Eventually, I imagine that Raul will move beyond the code switching that he feels he has to do to survive as he transitions each day from college to his neighborhood, where dropout and violence rates are sky high.

He’s determined to become a teacher and wants to inspire low-income kids to write poetry, to read classic literature – to reach for more than what they see in front of them.

But until he can comfortably make the transition, he will understandably live, in part, by the code of the streets. And it will be the responsibility of me – and others like me – to see beyond his street persona and to treat him like the scholar and the leader that he is.

*Names have been changed.

Parents Care

The following is a reprint of a previously-published post. Enjoy! We'll be back with new content next Monday.

“The parents at this school just don’t care about their kids.”

This is a statement we at the Institute for Educational and Social Justice hear quite often.

Sometimes, the comment is made by frustrated teachers, who want to see discipline and academic enrichment happening at home.

At other times, the statement is made by downtrodden school administrators, who struggle to get parent-based programs like PTA and booster organizations off the ground.

And in other cases, we have heard the statement made by parents who devote scores of hours to the school, while the parents around them remain absent.

But while we have heard many people accuse other parents of not caring, we have never once found a mother or father who would say, “No, I don’t care about my child.”

Instead, those parents accused of apathy often speak with great passion about how much they love their children, and how much hope they have that their children will succeed in ways they themselves have not. Almost always, they view a quality public education, including a high school diploma, as the ticket to future success.

So, why this disconnect between what some parents say about their parenting priorities and how they seem to behave?

It could be, in some cases, that we are insisting that parents serve public schools in ways that meet our needs – but do little to meet the true needs of the parents and their families.

In public schools, it seems, we are quick to ask parents to donate their time to raise money, or to help run a special event like a festival or fun run. Often, we love the PTA parents, who tend to view the school positively – in part because their own school experiences were probably positive.

But how often do we welcome the parents who have questions – who want to know why things are the way they are? Who think that maybe certain policies need to change because they are unfair, or discriminatory, or just plain don’t make sense?

And how often do we tell parents that they are to be their child’s first teacher – to help them with homework, to boost their lagging reading skills, or to support them in their math classes – but then do not take the time to ensure that the parents know what this should look like, or to help the parent acquire the skills needed to effectively help their children?

Parents care. They care deeply. We just need to figure out ways to reach them where they are and to help meet their needs in ways that matter.

Parents and Students Get Potty-Mouthed

Get to know students and parents in most communities well enough, and pretty soon someone will go and get potty-mouthed.

We don’t say this to mean they sprinkle their conversations with expletives.

Actually, what we mean is quite literal – the conversation turns to talk of toilets, bathroomstalls and sinks.

Few things make parents and students more frustrated, it has been our experience, than bathrooms that are unclean, dangerous, covered in graffiti, or smelly.

Institute co-director Monique Henderson, when working as a newspaper reporter in Mississippi and California, regularly received phone calls from parents complaining about bathroom conditions. And principals have even lost their jobs in some cases after community frustration with the condition of bathrooms became too intense.

That is why this article about a principal who removed the doors of the girls’ bathroom stalls after unsuccessfully battling graffiti, is interesting.

The incident garnered national attention after a group of parents complained at a board meeting that their children’s right to privacy was violated by the principal’s removal of the stall doors. (The door was left on one stall in both the boys’ and girls’ bathrooms.)

The parents who complained were likely happy to learn that the stall doors were returned – after students successfully went a week without vandalizing the bathrooms.

Why does this story matter? And why are parents and students so likely to become upset by bathrooms that are dirty or otherwise substandard?

We believe that something negative does, indeed, happen to the psyche of young people when they are repeatedly placed in places that are ugly, unappealing or otherwise demoralizing. In time, students forced to use the bathroom in foul conditions get the message that they are unworthy of a place that is clean, well stocked and safe. And that begins to take its toll, causing students to feel that the bathrooms are, somehow, a reflection of them.

At the same time, we know that students across this country are guilty of vandalizing bathrooms. They have been known to flood bathrooms by stopping up sinks and toilets, wasting toilet paper, and covering the walls with graffiti, among other things.

What have you seen in your community? Do school bathrooms matter? Have you seen a school that does a good job of keeping bathrooms clean and battling bathroom vandalism? What do you think should be done?