Teach For America teacher blogs are on Teach For Us

It's good to be back

jatorres — Sun, 15 Jul 2012 02:58:39 +0100

It has been such a long time since I've looked at and thought about this blog. It actually makes me kind of sad to think that I had started writing so ambitiously and then gotten caught up in the day to day chaos that I didn't take time to actually reflect on my progress. I'm so glad to have stumbled upon this again while cleaning up my Facebook profile. I was a little embarrassed that I still had it up as a website that people could access, but hadn't written anything on it for quite a while. A lot has happened to me since my last post so this will be a bit of a catch up post. I just finished my fourth year of teaching kindergarten in Hartford, Connecticut. Every year when it was time to think about what I would do next, I kept finding myself in the classroom. I had the privilege of being able to teach at a well known public charter school. There I learned a lot about teaching, working with others, and my leadership qualities. I spent my summers working. I know that sounds crazy. I was a CMA at the New York institute for two summers and those really highlighted for me skills that I was strong in and a ton of other things that I needed to work on. Now I'm in the windy city as an MTLD! I remember thinking that program directors did a heck of a lot of work and I didn't know if that would be something that I would want to do. However, as I continued teaching and working with new teachers at institute, I realized that this was an area that I wanted to explore some more. I'm fresh from a retreat that all the new MTLD's had in Texas. I got to meet some awesome people, reflect on leadership qualities, and really start crafting a vision for my future corps members. I slept an absurd amount today to build up my sleep reserve for the coming weeks. Although I'm missing my family terribly, I'm excited for what's to come. In solidarity.

In Praise of Praise

Lauren — Thu, 15 Mar 2012 18:09:06 +0100

One problem with young, talented teachers: Retention. It's hard to get good teachers to stay in the classroom. (Part of this may be generational. Company loyalty is kind of an unknown concept to people my age.) Teach For America gets frequent harassment over the two-year commitment. I would point out, though, that the ability to "try out" teaching for two years probably results in more career-teachers from a pool of really smart people than would happen otherwise. Some folks bent on being bankers and business people discover in the course of their two years that they really love teaching, and they stay. But that's not really what this post is about. Teacher incentive programs seem to focus largely on financial incentives. Get your kids to score higher on tests; get more money, and other policies like this. I think it's missing the point a little bit. Money is good, and I like it. But if money were my primary motivator, I would have become an investment banker or an entrepreneur. I am pretty smart, and if I were so inclined, I could probably make a go of it. (I am also demonstrably arrogant.) I want to make enough money not to worry about it constantly, but I value other things more. During a recent class on special education transitions, we as a class did a career preference activity. It involved a questionnaire that assessed which aspects of a job were most important to me. (If you're interested, the website is http://www.onetonline.org/. If you're not interested, that is still the website.) Out of achievement, independence, recognition, relationships and work conditions, I highly preferred independence and achievement. Because of those preferences, I strongly prefer occupations that allow me to be creative, autonomous and responsible for myself and my work. Examples of jobs with these traits include judge, anthropologist, dentist, public relations specialist, statistician, civil engineer, game warden, and oddly, ship's captain. (Sidenote: EVERY time I do one of these career/personality inventories, coroner comes up as a potential profession. Noticeably absent is teacher.) While in my case, it has meant that I am seeking a career change - I desire too much autonomy to be happy as a teacher - I don't think it has to for everyone. If a school was able to offer a person like me opportunities to be creative and autonomous, that would be worth more than $1000 for CAPT scores at goal level. Possibly, the students would get CAPT scores at goal because they would have a happy, motivated teacher. Why, though, do people continue to assume that money is the best motivator? Are the people who design incentive programs only motivated by monetary recognition? Using monetary incentives for teachers doesn't even fit the conventional thought that women (intentional use) teach because they are nurturing, and they love children. What motivates everyone is praise. But what praise means differs widely from person to person. My school offered me an opportunity for some additional training as a means of praise and an incentive. I took it as an additional requirement instead of a reward, and I only later realized that the intention was to show me that I was doing a great job. I have felt neglected and unappreciated, but my school and I just weren't speaking the same language. What I view as praise doesn't cost a thing: asking my advice. Soliciting my opinion or consulting me on an important issue makes me feel valued. I like to be able to design or overhaul systems in order to make them more efficient. It wouldn't cost my employer much to allow me to remake my role; in fact, it might benefit them. But in order for them to know that, they would need to ask. People want to feel valued and respected by their employers. Teachers are people; ergo, teachers want to feel valued and respected by their employers. Potentially, if school leadership and districts (and those clowns designing incentives systems) would just ask what constitutes praise and recognition to their teachers, they might be in a better position to retain talented people.

Ladies, Gentlemen, Board Members, Thank You for Letting Me Speak Tonight

Lauren — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 20:34:24 +0100

Last night I gave testimony at our school's charter renewal hearing. Some sub-committee on charters from the state department of education is trying to decide if they will allow us to keep operating. It's maybe not as dire as it sounds; they will almost certainly renew the charter. It is now a question of the term for which they will renew. We are asking for five years instead of three. This may not seem all that significant; what is two years really in the grand scheme of things? But consider all the time spent on renewing the charter: every three years, all involved parties have to amass an incredible amount of evidence, give tours, sit in meetings all to convince the same people they convinced three years ago that they should do this again sometime. I think of it as being the difference between being a Senator and being a Representative. Either could be completely ineffective and accomplish nothing, but a representative probably spends half of her term campaigning for re-election, whereas a senator has a few good years to just act without the pressure of making love to the constituency. Likewise, with a 5-year renewal on the charter, we could spend time with our true love, the school, instead of being forced to charm the board members. I am sure they are lovely people, but most people got into education to teach. So here it is - the (mostly accurate) text of my statement to the board at the charter renewal hearing: "As you can see, I will be brief [holds up 3 x 5 inch index card]. Ladies, gentlemen, good evening, and thank you for letting me speak tonight. My name is [redacted], and I'm the special services coordinator at [redacted] High School. I'm here tonight to speak to you about the gap within the achievement gap: special education. When I talk to my teacher friends, a lot of them say, "well, if I had your students ...." implying that there's something magical about [redacted] students. Well, I do have my students, and here are some of their successes. One of my students who has profound bilateral hearing loss outscored the school average for non-disabled peers on the algebra I district assessment. Another one of my students diagnosed with ADHD outscored the school average for IAs 1 and 2 in history. Two students this year had their labels removed or changed: one student no longer showed signs of a specific learning disability in math. The other student had her label changed from intellectual disability to specific learning disability, meaning that her combined IQ was no longer below 70 because of the incredible progress she has made. We know that minorities are often over-represented in special educations, and we're trying to do our part to remedy that. So, that's why I'm asking you to renew our charter for a further 5 years. We will teach anyone who comes through our doors because we believe that success is not just for the wealthiest or the smartest. We are a school for all students. Thank you."

continuously inspired

mzdornberry — Fri, 09 Mar 2012 02:10:45 +0100

At one of our most recent staff meetings, we were asked a series of questions regarding our opinions on what it meant to be a leader. One of the questions asked us to consider whether or not we agreed with the following statement: It is better to lead with your head rather than your heart. For those of you who know me personally, you may be inclined to believe that I chose the former to be true rather than the latter. But the truth is, one of the tenants that I believe to be resoundingly true within our work in our classrooms is that a successful classroom is one where our heart is always on our sleeve. The love that we show our children is paramount to the successes they feel and experience as well as the success we feel. Please do not confuse my notion of heart with pity or lowered expectations - true love within a classroom means fundamentally believing that our students can and will meet the goals that we set with them. It means knowing when to pull back and knowing when to let go (but through it all, smiling and providing hugs). When I talk to my teachers I see and feel the love they have for their students and for their classrooms. And yes, sometimes that love is hidden beneath the ever present frustrations of an unsuccessful lesson or quiz scores that don't quite show the growth we expected - but at the core of their work is love. I had the immense privilege of talking to the district leaders in the areas I support today and the resounding message was how impressed they were by the conviction, passion and relentless work my teachers are putting into their classrooms for their kids each and every day. I wish that I could take even partial credit for this - but the truth is, my teachers are amazing individuals. They are doing the most challenging work any one of us could do and because of this, I am continuously reminded of the potential each of us has in positively affecting the lives of kids.

think before you speak. . .

mzdornberry — Thu, 08 Mar 2012 04:48:34 +0100

Black Students Face More Discipline, Data Suggests Overall, African-American students were three and a half times more likely to be suspended or expelled than their white peers. http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/06/education/black-students-face-more-harsh-discipline-data-shows.html

The Trouble With Humiliating Teachers

Making rankings public undermines the trust educators need to build collaborative teams.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203458604577263603261494594.html

a different pov

mzdornberry — Thu, 08 Mar 2012 04:41:47 +0100

Some will undoubtedly argue that my opinion is biased, and without jumping into a philosophical discussion regarding the inherent biases of all those who read any of the blog entries on this site, I will acknowledge that I am an '06 alumni who now works on staff. Without going into my underlying motivations for creating this blog, I want to first just record my thoughts on one of the responsibilities I have as a manager on staff - after each round of applications/acceptances throughout the year, members of the regional staff reach out to newly accepted teachers (you will rarely see me refer to new TFA teachers as corps members, and hopefully, at a different time, I will explain why I purposefully refrain from this title) to answer any outstanding questions they might have regarding the organization or the region. This is NOT one of my favorite job responsibilities (for more reasons than the simple fact that I cannot hold a coherent phone conversation - ask any of my close friends, and they can confirm this) because I really do not look forward to engaging potential new teachers in what I sometimes think is a "sales pitch". Here is what I mean by that statement - I firmly believe that every one who is offered a position as a new teacher with TFA should explore all of the resources made available to them in order to learn about their potential new region, its schools, its communities and most importantly, its children and their potential future students. Moving to a new area, starting a new career - these are critical steps in every person's life and they should not be entered without a thorough exploration of what is possible. My problem with this job responsibility is when the conversation begins to take on a sales pitch tone - perhaps the newly accepted individual has competing offers , maybe they are waiting to hear back on an acceptance to grad school, maybe they are considering a job in the private sector - the potential list of "what's next" in a typical TFA applicant's life is endless. But, here is what gets me, as someone who not only pressed the, "Confirm" button within 10 minutes of seeing it come up but who then stayed for five years in her placement district, if you are wavering, even for a second, on whether or not the work of an educator is right for you - press "decline". I'm sure you can read countless blog entries from current teachers and get their first hand account as to what you can expect in the classrooms they are in now, but I hope you'll humor my opinion as well - Let me be the first to tell you, in case you didn't hear this clearly during the interview, the work that teachers do is incredibly challenging. It is emotionally draining. It can leave you questioning your self worth and it can fill you with a level of self doubt many do not experience until they step into their classrooms and in front of their students that first week of school. If, after you receive the acceptance letter you think, "Well, I can do this for 2 years - how hard can it really be?" or "Sure, I'll teach, it can't be that hard - and then I'll go to 'x' to get my masters, or M.D, or, J.D., etc" then let me tell you right now - THERE ARE MUCH EASIER WAYS TO GET TO THAT NEXT STEP. And - you won't potentially damage your self worth and the lives of children in the process. Failure is a reality of life. Repeated failure is a possible reality for new teachers - It goes without saying that the character of a person is measured by what they do when they fail, and as a first year teacher, this is an incredibly true statement. It is challenging - it is heartbreaking - but working to change the broken education system in our country is not going to be easy - and it's not going to be something that someone who needs to be convinced is a "great option" should be a part of. I am deeply passionate about education reform - I wouldn't have stayed in the classroom as long as I did if I didn't fundamentally believe that the lives of children can be positively affected by the person who stands before them each and every day (even the bad days - and believe me, there were many of those throughout my teaching career). And, I believe that the success of schools depends largely upon the people we ask to come in and do the immeasurably challenging work in our classrooms each and every day. I deeply respect the teachers I support and the work that they are doing. It breaks my heart to see them fail, to hear about the frustration they feel - and I know it is not for their lack of trying. But, what breaks my heart more, is to think that perhaps they were "sold" on the idea of ed reform and are now regretting that decision - and, in the process, they are also potentially affecting the lives of children in a negative way. This work is beyond challenging - I know because I was there less than a year ago and that was year five. So, if you're not sure, or you think something else might be better for you, then please, don't accept. I want to be working with teachers who know that failure will happen - but who also realize that change will not happen without hard work, without repeated failure and without the deep conviction living within their heart to continue.

74 Days

Lauren — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 17:03:01 +0100

Seventy-four days and my teaching career will be over. Out of the 1186 days that have already passed, it is but a wisp. About 740 hours left out of the approximately 10,000 hours that I will put in total. I haven't decided how I feel. It's almost like knowing which day you are going to die. Maybe more like knowing on which day you will be born. My ambition is throwing a party right now. Totally rejoicing that law school can be my "job." After dividing my attention every which way - with part-time jobs and summer jobs and certification classes - it will be a relief to focus entirely on one thing. I can get good at something. As insulted as I am that more effort is not being made to get me to stay, I am also delighted that the decision has been made for me. Once again, all educational roads lead to budgets. My conscience is guilt-ridden, though. I feel bad for leaving my kids, and I feel bad for not feeling as bad as I should. I told someone recently that only 10% of my problems are about my feelings; the other 90% about my feelings about my feelings. It's like meta-emotion: feelings about feelings. And what a ridiculous waste of brain power that is. I'll probably come to some conclusion or make peace with all of this soon - in about 73 days.

Week of the Papercut

Lauren — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 05:20:35 +0100

I appear to have been working in a paper factory this week. I amassed no fewer than four paper cuts in extremely inconvenient places on both hands - on my finger joints, right in the middle of the fleshy part of my hand, both thumbs, on my cuticles, etc. These aren't ordinary slivers, either; these are gaping slits from manila envelopes and file folders. Enormous gashes from very thick paper. It is not unusual for me to end the week with ink-covered hands or sore feet from the insane heels I insist on wearing, but this many paper cuts in a week is different. I was initially at a loss to explain the Week of the Paper Cut. But I figured out, it's because of a rapid and dramatic increase in special education referrals and 504 plans. If this sounds wholly unrelated, allow me to explain: SPED or 504 paperwork, because of confidentiality issues, is kept locked up in a file drawer at all times. When someone adds a new student to the caseload, I put together a file on them with all manner of papers and file folders within hanging folders. The more files I have to put together, the more exposure to file folder, and the more likely I am to sustain a slash in the process of the file assembly. For example, let's say that I injure myself on approximately 25% of files. If I make two new files, there is a very slim chance of unplanned skin incisions; If I make eight files, it is almost certain that I will slice my skin with the razor edge of the offending folder. What do my file folder mangled fingers have to do with anything? My IEP caseload increased from four students last year to eight students in August, then nine in September. It is likely that it will hit eleven before April break. The 504 caseload jumped from three in January of 2011 to twelve at this point. SpEd referrals in high school are fairly rare. Waiting until a child is 15 or 17 to refer for special services is the opposite of early intervention. It's probably not as uncommon to create 504 plans in high school, but an increase of 400% seems a bit high. As I've mentioned before, there is an inherent tension in teaching special needs students in a college prep high school. Of course, not all students who have IEPs or 504s are intellectually disabled and unable to participate fully in the college prep curriculum, but a good number are. Also, a number of "regular ed" students aren't performing so well in the rigorous classes because they arrived at our school far behind grade level. A student who came in reading on the 4th grade level probably isn't going to catch up to grade level by the time they graduate. We, as a school, don't seem to know what to do for those students, the ones who don't have disabilities but aren't on grade level. We seem to have only two options: create lower-level classes for students who are behind and compromise on rigor or declare that they have a disability and are not responsible for the same requirements as their non-disabled peers. It seems that we have chosen the second option. The school assumes that students who aren't succeeding after they've been put through the requisite set of interventions must, then, have a disability. This is a false assumption. Some students are quite simply just very far behind but have no disabilities. They will likely fail to meet the graduation standards. Here's the issue: in order for tier I instruction to be valid, 80% of the students should be mastering the concepts without intervention. This is not the case. The texts are not at a readable level for 80% of the class, particularly freshman year. For that reason alone, we can't really say that all intervention has failed because the most basic intervention - teaching students using texts at their instruction levels - hasn't been implemented. So we have, instead, a glut of referrals. And I have many, many paper cuts.

Chasing Cars

Lauren — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 20:22:11 +0100

I told Facebook; now the only place left to tell is my blog, my sadly neglected little blog: I've been accepted to law school - UConn and University of Oklahoma. Everyone expects me to be overjoyed; I expected me to be overjoyed. But I feel like the dog who chases cars. He wouldn't have any idea what to do with the car if he caught it. I caught the car, but I don't know what to do with it, yet. Next fall still seems far away, and the March financial aid deadlines and the April decision deadlines seem very close. While polishing the thrice-polished personal statement last night and writing what the Yale admissions blogger refers to as the "250-word Albatross," and riding the fine line between justification and whining on the addenda and wondering how pompous the concluding paragraph in my personal statement sounds and deciding how much of my misspent youth needs explanation and how much I should just breeze past and hope the admissions committee doesn't notice, I hit the Faulkner singularity, the point at which all logic diminishes into a single point of stream-of-consciousness. I was Granny Weatherall - am I standing up or lying down? who are all of you people and where are Hapsy and John? What the hell am I writing on that page there? Did I brush my teeth this morning? Perhaps this is why I haven't gotten truly excited yet - because I'm deranged.

Carry Me, Connecticut

Lauren — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 21:47:02 +0100

My desert-island song might be "Carry Me, Ohio" by Sun Kil Moon (aka Mark Kozelek); that is, the one song that I could potentially listen to for the rest of my life and nothing else. The song has these repetitive arpeggiated chords that give it a hypnotic quality, like train wheels on old tracks. The words in the verses blend together in his mumbling delivery but it's the sun coming out on a winter morning when he hits the chorus: "Heal her soul, carry her, my angel, Ohio." And "angel" is in this beautiful, struggling falsetto. Few people can sound as wistful and soul hurt as he can. So the reason I bring this up - aside from the fact that I could out-word-count Proust about this song - is because the bridge says,

"Sorry that I could never love you back / Sorry I could never care enough these last days."

I'm feeling that way a little bit today. I had the opportunity to soothe and reassure someone with false emotion. How much would one little lie have hurt, right? Wouldn't it have been simpler just to says, "of course I love you guys!" glossing over it with fake cheeriness? But no, everything must always be like peeling a turtle with a shrimp fork. A student asked me, "Do you love kids?" I replied, "Not all of them." But he wasn't through; he pushed on, "I mean, do you love us, kids?" I paused, heavy pause with everyone looking at me. He rephrased, "Do you like us?" "Let's say I care about you and leave it at that," I finally said. He still carried this slightly worried look, slightly deflated. I could have gotten a sunny smile by telling a tiny lie but I chose to tell the absolute, probably unnecessary, truth. This coming at the end of a day when I told my boss that I wouldn't be returning next year because I can truthfully say that I loathe teaching, as a noun and a verb, now that I've tried every possible permutation - large group, small group, general ed, special ed, literature, reading, science, algebra, pre-algebra, remedial math, on grade level, above grade level, below grade level, middle school, high school, public, private, charter, magnet. I am confident enough to say that any teaching experience I have not yet had would be equally repugnant as those I have already tried. Some of this has to do with the emphasis placed on relationship building with students. I am reserved by nature. I am careful about those with whom I choose to build relationships. The key word is "choose." I do not get any choice at school. I am expected to build close, personal relationships with every student I teach. Not only do I want to but I need to maintain emotional distance in order to sustain myself in this job. I literally can't get involved and keep doing this for more than two weeks. Honestly, I can't convince myself that I am obligated to love, like or even care about any one person. I will love, like and care about those I choose! More than just the relationship-building component, I actually dislike the process of teaching. I am more interested in learning; implementation isn't important to me. I like abstract ideas, rather than concrete realities. I am working with exactly the wrong population for that. I also have this constant low-level feeling that I'm an impostor - I don't belong here and I don't fit. This turned into more of a screed than I intended - good writers show restraint - but I can't even really explain how uncomfortable the expectation that I should care made me. I am paid to teach; I suppose I am paid to care. It's not very authentic, is it? Wouldn't anyone rather be loved out of genuine affection than duty?