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.