Ambush
in Public Education
Believe
it or Not
was a TV series based on Ripley’s book of strange facts but the
title might be just as relevant for what is going down in public
education as we try to redefine achievement. On the other hand,
perhaps, you prefer science fiction to a more reality based show.
Okay. How about The
Outer Limits?
Don’t adjust your monitor screen. You would have to have seen an
episode of the Outer Limits to understand what I mean by that. My
favorite weird show when I was a kid was The
Twilight Zone.
You are about to enter the twilight zone of public education.
Act
I
(The
scene opens with Ted, an old English teacher, sitting in a high-speed
train. He can see through the front window what is in front of the
train as it speeds through a train yard and passes a station. On the
station platform, people hail the train to stop. The train is moving
so fast that they get blown over in its wake. There is no engineer
driving the train. The station master runs inside the station and
picks up the phone.)
"Hello! Hello! Emergency!"
the station master shouts. "I need to speak someone in charge.
Hello! Is there anybody there? Hello!"
(The steering
toggle drifts aimlessly from side to side as red lights blink crazily
on the dashboard. Ted is sitting with his teacher colleagues who are
being tossed about as the train dips and curves on a ride that is out
of control; but the dips and curves are not affecting Ted. Suddenly,
the train hits a hard bump. Ted feels this bump as he reaches around
and grabs his back as if he had been stabbed by a knife.
Briefcases, books, and teachers fly through the air. Ted awakens
from the nightmare sitting up in bed panting, sweating, and exhausted
from his dream. He looks over at the alarm clock. It’s 4:26 in the
morning. Ted's wife, Maria, turns sleepily toward him and
touches his shoulder.)
"I told you not to eat before
going to bed, didn't I," she says. She turns to the side
of the bed slipping on her slippers. She stands and puts on her
housecoat and says, "I'll make some coffee." She
walks around the bed to the bureau, turns on the light, and
shuts off the alarm. "Come on," she says, "You'd
better get up. Ben needs to get to college early today to
study. He told me he has a big test today in chemistry."
Ted quickly swings his legs to the side of the bed and braces to get
up. "He'll need to use the bathroom. Come on,"
Maria says.
"Did he study
last night?" Ted asks.
"I
think so," Maria says. "He was in his room all
night. Come on. It's almost four-thirty. Better move your
ass, gordito." Ted gets up and limps to the bathroom.
Act
II
(Ted
and his wife are at breakfast in their kitchen. It's still dark
outside.)
"I had a bad dream last night, Maria, " Ted says.
Maria dishes out eggs on his plate. "Gracias. I dreamt I
was on one of those fast trains. Like a monorail. It was
moving so fast and out of control. There was no engineer, you
know, no driver." Ted looks up at Maria.
"Bread?" Maria asks.
"Yes, please," Ted says. Maria places two
pieces of buttered bread neatly on his plate. "Ms.
Martin was there. You know that young teacher I told you about
who's having troubles. The one who has no control of her
classes. And Mr. Barry was there, too. The bastard who's going
to retire this year."
"Wow,"
Maria says. "¿Mas café?" she asks.
"Yes, please," Ted says. She gets up and pours
him more coffee.
"Barb was
there too," Ted says.
"Barb,
too?" Maria asks. "The Barb that won't talk to anyone
anymore?"
"Yep.
She was there," Ted says.
"Did
she say anything in your dream?" Maria asks.
"No," Ted smiles. "Not a word. She
just looked up at the ceiling and held on to the armrest."
"That's a shame," Maria says. "The Puerto
Rican kids always liked her, didn't they?
"Yea, they did. It's a shame. She could really
communicate," Ted says. "She's totally devastated
from what they did to her. You know, making her change
buildings, assigning her to two buildings. Making her drive all
the way across town. Horrible."
"At least she have a job, Ted," Maria says. Did you
hear what they doing in Puerto Rico?"
"This isn't Puerto Rico, Maria," Ted says. "Not
yet, at least."
"What
do you think the dream mean, Ted?" Maria asks
"I think it means that everything is changing so quickly, too
quickly for me to catch up, you know with technology and all. I
think I'm in for a fall. Like a bad evaluation or something.
I've never had a bad evaluation. I am due one, I guess.
You know? I just have to be prepared to accept it. Keep
my dignity and all, you know? Wouldn't it be ironic though?
All distinguished evaluations last year, and this year
unsatisfactory. That would be a kicker."
"Ted, who gave you those evaluations last year?" Maria
asks. She knows the answer.
"John
did," Ted says.
"Pues, and
they fired John last year for changing kids' grades, right?"
Maria says.
"I miss John,"
Ted says. "We were hired together, you know."
"I know, Ted, but he shouldn't have changed their grades,
either. You know better than that," Maria says.
"He did what he thought best for the kids," Ted says.
"Everybody changes grades today, Maria. It's called
differentiated instruction or making accommodations, or some such
thing. Just like everybody cheats today and calls it
collaborative learning. It's all smoke and mirrors."
Maria sits down. "I thought dreams mean the opposite of what
they appear," Maria says.
"That's what they say. I don't know about this one,"
Ted says. "Because I'm so old and make so much
money, maybe they want to get rid of me. They could hire two
teachers on my salary.
"You're just...scared. No, what's the word? Maria asks.
"Paranoid?" Ted
says.
"Yes," Maria says
pointing her finger at Ted. "That's it. You
paranoid."
"I hope
that's it, Maria," Ted says.
"Why would they want to get rid of you? You are a good
teacher. Don't the parents like you?" Maria says.
"That doesn't matter, Maria, you know that," Ted
says. "When it comes to money..."
"You don't know that. This isn't Puerto Rico or
Coatesville, Ted," Maria says. "They have plenty of
money over there. Those people in those big houses, they're not going
to let anything happen. That's why they live there. Money isn't
everything."
"I hope
you're right, Maria. I hope you're right. I just hope I
can stay below the radar for three, maybe four more years
until I retire until I'm outta there. I'll do my best
until then. You know that, Maria." Ted puts his hand
on Maria's shoulder to convince her as if to promise her that he
still is the man she married thirty-two years ago.
"You a good person, Ted. The kids love you too. I
know that. People tell your mother that. She told me."
Maria says. "No preocupes, OK?"
"Really? When she tell you that?" Ted asks.
"Ted. People talk. They know," Maria
says.
"Well, I've always
given them their money's worth. That's for sure. I haven't
missed a day in fifteen years. It would be pretty hard to fire
somebody with that kind of record." Ted gets up and checks
his briefcase.
"Have
everything?" Maria asks.
"I
think so," Ted says.
"You need a new briefcase and new shirts, too. Want your
coat?" Maria says.
"Yea,
I better take it with me just in case...Is it supposed to rain
today? Ted asks.
"This
morning, yes," Maria says. "It should be nice this
afternoon though. Warm."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, sorry. I'll be a little late
coming home today," Ted says.
"That's
OK," Maria says.
"I
forgot to tell you we have parent conferences next week," Ted
says.
"I knew that, Ted,"
Maria says.
"How'd you know
that?" Ted asks.
"Everybody
have parent conferences before Thanksgiving, Ted," Maria
says.
" Oh," Ted says.
"I need to stay after school today. Clean my room, you
know, make things look nice."
"I'm going with Carmelita today," Maria says. "We
going to have lunch at Country Buffet."
"Oh Lord," Ted says. Ted and Maria laugh. "I
guess you're going to watch the lady who eats so much, right?
Is this her day to show up?"
"Yes, every Monday," Maria says. "Last week she
tried to hide pastries in her pocketbook." Ted and Maria
laugh.
"Oh boy," Ted
says. "Did they catch her?"
"No. Nobody care," Maria says.
Ted opens the door. "You behave yourself," Ted says.
"Do you have many conferences?" Maria asks.
"No, just the ones I don't need to see," Ted says.
"The bad part is we have conferences Tuesday night."
"Will you come home?" Maria asks.
"No, I'll stay," Ted says.
"You know we have to pick up the turkey Tuesday night,"
Maria reminds him.
"Oh shit,
I forgot. I'm sorry, Maria," Ted says.
"That's okay," Maria says. "Ben can drive me
over to pick it up. He'll be home early Tuesday."
She kisses him and hands him his brown bag lunch that she has made
for him everyday for thirty-two years. "Vaya con Dios,"
she says. "Trust in God, Ted."
"And tell the truth," Ted adds. "The truth will
set you free," he mumbles to himself as he walks up the hill to
the garage. "The truth will set you free," he repeats
as the sensor light goes on illuminating the yard and his car.
Act
III
(Flashback
to two weeks before. It's Friday, November 5th.)
A calendar appears with the date November 5th. On that date the
words, Grades Due is written in bold black letters. Ted appears at
his desk entering grades and checking the entries in his
gradebook. At last, he lifts his index finger and comes down
hard on the keyboard.
"Export,"
he says. "Done."
He sits back in his chair relieved. There's a knock on his
door. "Come in," Ted says. It's Henry, the
old Puerto Rican foreign language teacher.
"You done, cabrón?" Henry asks.
"Yep, just finished," Ted says.
"How many you fail?" Henry asks.
"Shut the door, man," Ted pauses to count from his
gradebook. "Eight."
"Eight? That's a lot for you. What happened?"
Henry asks.
"Scared, Henry.
Scared to change too many grades," Ted says.
"Oh yea. Know what you mean," Henry says. "I
didn't fail anybody. Passed 'em all. 70's."
"You're a lyin' ass, too," Ted says.
"Nope, ni uno, man," Henry says. "You think I'm
a dumb portojo, man?"
"It's
probably better that way, Henry. That way you won't hear any
bullshit from parents or administrators," Ted says.
"Hey, did you hear what happened?" Henry asks.
"No. Don't tell me. It's Friday. I want to go
home with a clear conscience," Ted says.
"You know that new math teacher from Hungary they hired.
The one who hardly speak English?" Henry says.
"Yea, just like you mother fucker. It's speaks English,
pendejo," Ted says. And by the way, dickhead, she's
Russian, not Hungarian."
"Fuck you, man. Come on, what's her name?"
Henry asks.
"I don't know
her fuckin' name, man. It's some long bitch of a name no
one can pronounce. But I know who you mean. I spoke with her
once, way back. She's clueless. She won't last long,"
Ted says.
"Why they hire
her, man?" Henry asks.
"Same reason they hired you, knucklehead. Diversity,"
Ted says.
"Hey, I'm an
America," Henry says.
"Yea,
look what they doing to YOU Americans. You get your new birth
certificate yet," Ted asks.
"Oh yea, got mine last month," Henry says.
"That's good man. Maria got hers last month, too,"
Ted says. "Cost thirty-seven dollars to prove your Puerto
Rican."
"You right,
brother. She won't last long," Henry says. "In
fact, word is, she gone already."
"Oh shit," Ted says. "What happened?"
"She failed over half her kids," Henry says.
"You're kidding," Ted says.
"No, man," Henry says. "And she didn't even
notify the parents."
"Oh
shit. Didn't anybody warn her?" Ted asks.
"I guess not. You know man, once the word got around, you know
how parents talk, they all got together and went to the
administration," Henry says.
"Oh, God," Ted says. "Poor kid. She still
thinks she's in Europe. I had a feeling something was coming down.
Had a dream man."
"Yea,
I got a dream too. In three years I'm the fuck outta here, back
in La Isla de Encanta, cabrón," Henry says.
"Yea, maybe me too but Maria don't want to go back." Ted
says.
"Hey man," Henry
pauses. "It's doesn't want to go back."
"What? Oh. Get the fuck outta here," Ted laughs.
Henry lifts the strap of his bag over his shoulder. The bag is
full of papers to correct. "In three years, I'll be
drinkin' Cuba Librés and cañita all day, man," Henry
says.
"That's the way to do
it," Ted says. "I can't argue with that."
"I'll see you Monday, man," Henry says.
"Cuidao, cabrón," Ted says.
Act
IV
(Flash
forward two weeks to Friday, November 19th.)
Ted feels pretty good about his students and himself and he is ready
to give it another go the second marking period. Of his 120 students,
only eight failed. He has phoned and emailed the parents of the
eight students repeatedly over the marking period but only one has
answered his email. None have returned phone calls. None have
scheduled a parent conference. None came to the open-house.
Except for those eight students, everything has gone well, maybe too
well, and that bothers Ted.
As
he packs his briefcase, he remembers the dream. He tries to dismiss
it. After all, report cards have been printed, delivered to his
building, and are ready to be distributed Monday. Then, at 4:26 P.M.
on Friday afternoon, just before Ted shuts down his computer and
leaves, his computer says, “You’ve got mail.” The email is from
some unknown administrator from the administrative offices known by
the teachers as Party Central. He reads the email.
To
All Teachers: Please confirm that you personally made
documented personal contact with a parent or guardian if a student
failed your class. If you did not make personal contact, let your
building administrator or grade level administrator know
immediately. Grades will be changed to 70. You cannot fail a
student if you did not make personal contact with a parent or
guardian.
Ted repeats what
he cannot believe, “Grades will be changed. Personal
contact?" Ted jumps out of his seat, out into the hallway, and
runs from room to room looking for other teachers to warn them.
Over the weekend, the teachers go about their private lives with the
expectation of the upcoming two day week because of Thanksgiving
vacation and parent conferences. Parent conferences are scheduled for
Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. Wednesday is a half-day with no
students. The teachers are unaware of the impending catastrophe on
Monday. Only one teacher, Ted, is aware of what is in store Monday
but he is helpless to do anything about it. Should he phone some of
his older colleagues to give them a heads up? Maybe, he should at
least phone Henry. No, he thinks. Henry didn't fail anybody or
did he? That will just cause panic and maybe, he hopes, he doesn’t
understand the email. He thinks, maybe, he missed a previous email
and is taking the statement out of context. He repeats, “If you did
not make personal contact, let your building administrator or
grade level administrator know immediately. Grades will be
changed to 70." All he can do is wait for Monday.
Act
V
(The
ghost of Rod Serling speaks)
In
every game, there is a winner and a loser. In every story, there is a
hero or a villain. Ted doesn’t mind losing because he knows there
are some things in life, like his students for example, that are
worth losing everything for. There are enough letters in his
personnel file to demonstrate whose team he has played for all these
years. There are enough stories in his professional narrative to
document who the heroes have been and who the villains were. In this
game, he knows one sure thing. Forget the over and under of weighted
credits for higher-level courses; forget the point spread of the
achievement gap between minority students and white students. Those
are all mute points now because all the kids lose when the word
achievement is redefined and we have nothing left for ourselves but
the gap. (Flashback. There has been a train accident. The train has
been derailed. Ted scrambles up the railroad embankment and forces
open the train door. He looks inside and screams in horror.) Ted’s
wife was right. The dream does mean the opposite of what it appears.
It is his students who have been riding the out of control train not
the teachers. They are the casualties of the derailment. Be
forewarned lest you buy a ticket on this train. You have just had
class in the twilight zone of public education.
Sound
like a good plot for a story? It might be if it weren’t true but
it is. The above email sent teachers scrambling and cackling on
Monday. Here’s why:
1.
There were hardly any teachers in our high school building to receive
this email at 4:30 P.M. on a Friday afternoon. Our contracted day
ends at 2:50 P.M. and when I walked to my car at 4:45 P.M., most of
the parking lot was empty.
2.
The marking period ended on November 5th. This email was sent on the
19th, a full two weeks passed during which this FYI
could have been sent out.
3.
The teachers have interpreted the policy to inform parents by either
email or phone if their child was failing
for the course
not just for failing one marking period. To fail the course, the
student would have to have an average grade below 70 after two
marking periods.
4.
The email states, “I
will be sending out the district policy for failing a student next
week, however; it is also in your teacher manual.” This implies
that teachers should know every aspect of the teacher manual. No one
except the Union Reps read the teacher manual. It is a massive
document designed to delegate administrative and clerical
responsibilities to teachers. It is a document as thick as Obama’s
health care plan but not as thick as Hillary’s 1993 version. It is
a document full of contradictions (See #4 below) so that if something
goes wrong, the administration can point to some part of it and find
somebody other than themselves to blame.
5.
Teachers have never had to document the contact even though it is
suggested for legal reasons that they do and at the same time, it is
discouraged to keep documentation on students for legal reasons due
to FERPA. With parents having access to grades online, progress
reports being emailed home and given to students, and access to
teacher telephone numbers and email addresses, it would seem overkill
to document every parent contact.
6.
What does it mean to “make sure you
personally [make] documented contact with a parent or
guardian...”? Does an attempt to contact a parent count? What
happens if a parent never returns a phone call or email? Should
teachers send certified letters to parents? What happens if the
parent doesn’t respond to the letter? Should teachers then make
home visits?
7.
The email is explicit. “If you did not make contact with a parent
or guardian you cannot fail a student” and hence, the grades of
failing students will be changed. That means the grade will be
changed to a passing grade of 70.
8.
If you think the above email is about being proactive with parents or
increasing communication between parents and teachers, think again.
It is about a school that does not want teachers to fail students
even if those students deserve to fail. Why? The school district
does not want to be perceived as passing students on to the next
grade even if they fail. This is what happens at the middle school.
This ambush might be a reaction from the administration on complaints
from high school teachers that students are coming into ninth grade
misplaced in higher-level sections and unprepared for the
expectations of high school teachers.
The
solution then is to make it more difficult for high school teachers
to fail students. The biggest reason why students fail is because of
the lack of support students receive in the home. The number one
reason why students fail is that they do not do homework, that is,
they do not do schoolwork outside of school. They are too distracted
by technology to read texts and or write. Some view homework as an
evaluation of parental involvement with their children not as an
evaluative instrument to gauge a student’s progress. They have a
point and the administration could use this point as a rationale to
change policy if they were so inclined to state a firm pedagogical
philosophy rather than to set policy by precedent. Setting policy by
precedent in layman’s terms means, the squeaky wheel gets the
grease. Whoever complains must be placated because the customer,
that is, the taxpayer, is always right. This is the business model
of education at its worst.
What
sparked this furor over failing kids had nothing to do with
contacting parents. It so happened that a first year teacher failed
the majority of her students in her math class. This teacher is from
Europe. She was unaware of the culture of American public education.
She did not realize that failing a student was a mark of failure on
the part of the teacher. After the word got out amongst the parents
that so many kids had failed, the parents went to the administration.
The teacher had emailed parents and sent home progress reports but
that wasn’t good enough. The administration seeking a rationale to
placate parents invented a loophole and reinterpreted policy. The
teachers have interpreted the policy to inform parents by either
email or phone if their child was failing
for the course
not just for failing one marking period. To fail the course, the
student would have to have an average grade below 70 after two
marking periods. The
teacher had not made personal
contact with the parent.
Now,
if some parents aren’t monitoring their child’s school
performance already by accessing their grades online, or emailing and
calling teachers, or attending parent conferences or open house, what
makes you think that teachers are going to be able to access the
parents
personally
to inform them their child is failing. None of the parents or
guardians of the eight students who I failed the first marking period
called to schedule a parent conference with me. None attended the
open-house in September and only one returned my email I sent out
Friday evening. The eight students who failed my class also failed
other classes. Wouldn’t you think that parents would have some
inkling of how their kids are doing in school? Do you think that
documenting that you made contact with parents is going to make
difference to these kids?
1:
English + 1 class = 2 classes
2:
English + 1 class = 2 classes
3:
English + 2 classes = 3 classes
4:
English + 2 classes = 3 classes
5:
English + 2 classes = 3 classes
6:
English + 3 classes = 4 classes
7:
English + 4 classes = 5 classes
8:
English + 5 classes = 6 classes
I
caught a glimpse of the future at the last in-service with middle
school teachers who told us that they were no longer permitted to
fail students for not doing homework.
The reason for the in-service was to bring high school and middle
school teachers together to discuss curriculum alignment. At least
that was the party line or the spin. However, since there have been
no curriculum revisions since 1994, and there is no money for new
books or for paying teachers to work on curriculum revision, I
suspected that it wasn’t the curriculum that the administration was
seeking to align but rather policy and philosophy.
The
email that was sent out Friday redefines the high school as a middle
school. It is an email that sends a redefining message to high school
teachers about their roles, about the value of the content they
teach, and about the values of hard work and achievement. It is the
coup de grace, the straw that breaks the camel’s back, for those
who still believe in the constructs that define a high school. Now,
I do not mind changing the construct of a high school. If you want
the high school to follow the middle school model, if you want the
tail to wag the dog, that’s fine. However, I do not like being
instrumentalized to lower the rigor, standards, and measures of
achievement that characterize a high school and that are designed to
prepare students for college. It is not fair for high school
teachers to be demonized by parents who find out that their kids have
to take non-credited, remedial college courses and pay for them
because we did not prepare their kids.
If
the administration has cause to change the high school paradigm, they
have a right to do so. They are the policy makers. But, they should
not covertly change the paradigm by making it more arduous and time
consuming for teachers to fail kids and make it appear that the
students are performing to their potential and achieving . In the
end, high school teachers like middle school teachers will not fail
students. Faced with the onerous tasks of mentoring and monitoring
parents to be parents, teachers will adjust their grading practices
and not fail students.
I
had eight of about 120 students fail for the first marking period and
yes, over the course of the marking period, I contacted or attempted
to contact the parents of students who were not doing well in my
classes.
I
even make contact with parents whose kids don’t turn in assignments
but I do not document it. I do not have the time for that. However,
I will take the time from now on. The first step I will take is to
not give zeros for assignments that are not turned in. Hence, all my
students will pass. How can I justify this? I can only evaluate my
students for work they turn in; not for work, they do not turn in.
Good enough? Sound rational?
I
have been teaching for 32 years. I am experienced with what I call
ambushes. I am not anti-administration. I was an administrator from
1988 to 2000. I sympathize with the administration and I realize
from experience that more ambushes are set for administrators than
for teachers. The email itself and the timing of the email was an
ambush. This is why I check my school email over the weekends, over
holidays, and over summer vacation. Call it paranoia, but it is one
reason why I have survived in public education all these years. I do
not know why the administration set this ambush but we will find out
Monday and we will know whom they have targeted for the ambush.
