Teach For America teacher blogs are on Teach For Us

One.

meghanelizabethdewey — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 05:10:41 +0100

This entry marks my first piece of writing on race & racial identity, as inspired by Alysia Harris and the Not Dalton's Kids Project. When I was in seventh grade, my energetic history teacher bravely chose to tackle a new topic in her classroom full of homogenous, upper-class students: diversity. She explained the concept of diversity to us -- that including multiple perspectives & backgrounds in any pursuit creates a richer, more dynamic community. We nodded our heads, digesting this idea of inclusiveness, and walked away feeling positive about it. Yeah, diversity, that sounds cool. On that day, I went home feeling empowered & idealistic & lofty -- I like diversity, so I must be anti-racist, right? I had a whole conversation about diversity. I knew everything. Two weeks ago, that perception -- my concept of comfort with race -- came crashing down. Until this year, racial identity and the concept of "white privilege" has existed as a theoretical concept in my life. I have read about race, discussed races, taken classes on race -- but all in the safety of relative homogeneity. From that day in my Episcopal middle school to my semester-long course on race relations, I have primarily engaged in racial discourse from an outsider's perspective. I have seen the effects of white privilege as tragic but removed from my life. Even when discussing horrifying statistics on discrimination in America, I haven't felt the effects of those truths. Yes, those statistics are terrible -- but here are these African-American and Latino/Latina students, sitting in the same classroom as I am, seemingly fine. They have surmounted the odds, and they are thriving. For the people of color in my life, everything's okay. This year, as the number of people of color in my life grew, I could no longer say that was true. Everything's not okay. In my classroom, we've talked about race. We've asked questions, challenged each other's opinions, and reached new conclusions. My students' remarks have ranged from insightful to doubtful, from inspiring to troubling. And while I have been eager to engage in these conversations, I've noticed a startling reality: during these discussions, my students are often teaching me. They're considerably more adept at navigating conversations on race than I am, and oftentimes, I have become the student. This year, I have become the energetic math teacher, bravely tackling the topic of diversity in my classroom of heterogeneous students of all backgrounds and circumstances, but rather than walking away feeling confident, I am walking into summer feeling more confused than ever. And so, I'm embarking on this effort -- to write about race each day for 30 days, and then some. To actively explore race -- to refuse to be a bystander, to let this topic become external to me. This is my start.

Four Reflections on Pre-Institute Work

ssmith — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 01:59:30 +0100

I just finished packing for Institute, and before that crazy adventure starts, I thought I would take a few moments to reflect on my pre-Institute work. A major caveat before I begin: Mostly, I only did the reading that was required of me. I rarely chose to investigate the optional resources, and I acknowledge that necessarily limits my analysis. That said, here are a couple of thoughts: 1. I wonder if the time spent on understanding the "achievement gap" would have been better spent on learning pedagogy. The survey about the pre-Institute work I took after I was all finished asked if I better understood the achievement gap and possible solutions for it. I think I probably do. And I think it was really important for me to read a variety of literature that talked about how poverty affects communities. But I still have very few real ideas about actual classroom strategies. Even the passages we read from Teaching as Leadership were focused more on community-building and building relationships with students and parents rather than pedagogical technique. I think that's all really important, but I'm thirsty for pedagogy. I've been ensured that I will get that at Institute so I'm really looking forward to it. 2. I worry that much of the discussion of "the achievement gap" revolved around deficit thinking. Many of the resources focused on things that communities with high levels of poverty do not have. Very rarely did a resource make it clear that communities have many identities, one of which is income level. In fact, the pre-work often focused on "cage-fighters" and "latch-breakers." individuals who are working to "better" communities. A lot of these individuals are doing great work, but there seemed to be a dearth of information about communities that are bettering themselves. A high proportion of the examples given were about TFA teachers (which was alright, considering that's what I'm doing. But wouldn't it be swell to see non-TFA teachers, too?!) or individuals who came from outside a community. In basically every instance, this made me feel uncomfortable. It made me feel like I was being trained to think of my future students and community as needing help. And, like, they do need help. But so does everyone everywhere. There were two notable exceptions of this pattern. First, this video from Cory Booker: watch?v=y7XgBxpMk3E Although Cory Booker is often accused of the same things I take issue with in the previous paragraph, the hero of this story is a woman who forces Booker to stop thinking he is a savior. I like that. Second, this video from Jeff Duncan-Andrade. watch?feature=player_embedded&v=2CwS60ykM8s I have mad respect for Jeff Duncan-Andrade. I saw him speak in New York once and found him extremely impressive. He lives in the same neighborhood as his students and routinely has his students over for dinner. The student-teacher relationship for him is extremely intimate, and I think his work serves as a really well-thought-out alternative to the "no excuses" model. 3. I really enjoyed the Detroit-specific pre-work. I found it much more pertinent than the rest of the pre-work. One of my main arguments with the rest of the work was that it often felt like I was being told that communities in low-income areas have enough similarities that learning about one will help you in another. I'm not sure I totally agree with that premise. So having work that was specific to Detroit was really awesome. I even spent a lot of time looking at optional texts in the Detroit-specific area. I've read or am reading several of the recommended books, including Made in Detroit by Paul Clemens, The Origins of the Urban Crisis by Thomas Sugrue, Hidden History in Detroit by Amy Elliott Bragg, and Reimagining Detroit by John Gallagher. These last three are amazing, I highly recommend them. Sugrue's book is especially informative. 4. Made in Detroit may have been racist. Made in Detroit is a memoir by a white man named Paul Clemens who grew up in the region between Six Mile and Eight Mile in Detroit in the early 80s. Clemens, the son of working-class parents attempts to argue that Detroit in the early 80s had the opposite racial power structure as the rest of the nation. He claims that since the city had its first black mayor in Coleman Young and since the majority of the population in Detroit was black, white people were often victims of oppression. For instance, affirmative action programs in law enforcement instituted by Young resulted in holding white policemen back (since the majority of the population was black). But claims like these ignore important historical truths. Like, for instance, that although the black population grew steadily throughout the 1900s, black people remained chronically underrepresented in law enforcement. Likewise, when Clemens complains that his family and others had to retreat to further outskirts as neighborhoods were overrun by crime, he ignores one racial component while pointing to another. He's quick to point out that these crime-ridden neighborhoods were predominately black but never tells his readers that black people experienced a long history of real estate discrimination and disrespect from the city government who often seized predominantly black neighborhoods for city projects like freeways. He also doesn't seem to connect the dots to the fact that his family had the means to move out of the crime-ridden neighborhoods. Clemens, confusingly, often quotes James Baldwin, Malcolm X, and Ralph Ellison. He takes contention with these writings, claiming an identity as a minority in a "black" city. But Clemens's interactions with black people are incredibly limited. He plays on a football team with mostly black children in middle school, and as far as pre-college interactions with black people, this is about it. He goes to a private college prep high school with mostly other white students. Then, when he finds out that his wife had been raped by a black man before they had met, he develops a scary hatred for random black men he meets. Perhaps, this is simply an attempt at honesty. But it lacks any recognition of self. In Clemens's world, he is the hero. Black men have only ever hurt him. He was born into a city that did not grant him the immediate privilege that white people had in the rest of the country, and he was bitter about it.

Wisdom from a 2012 CM "it doesn’t matter what their scores are"

Gary Rubinstein — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 03:58:42 +0100

Throughout my teaching career, one thing has remained constant: what I'm trying to accomplish. Back in the early 1990s there was no focus on test scores, thankfully. My goal back then, as it is now, was for my students to like math more when they complete my class than they did when they began the class. This is something that is tough to quantify, and it is something that, if I accomplish it, will often, but not always, result in improved test scores since when students like math they will more likely want to spend time studying it outside of class. In 2008, TFA celebrity and StudentsFirst founder Michelle Rhee had this to say in an influential TIME magazine feature:

“The thing that kills me about education is that it’s so touchy-feely,” she tells me one afternoon in her office. Then she raises her chin and does what I come to recognize as her standard imitation of people she doesn’t respect.... “People say, ‘Well, you know, test scores don’t take into account creativity and the love of learning,’” she says with a drippy, grating voice, lowering her eyelids halfway. Then she snaps back to herself. “I’m like, ‘You know what? I don’t give a crap.’ Don’t get me wrong. Creativity is good and whatever. But if the children don’t know how to read, I don’t care how creative you are. You’re not doing your job.”

Over the years TFA has become all about 'data' and TFA alumni became education 'reform' leaders who also stressed the importance of 'outcomes' like test scores and test score 'gains.' So I was pleased to see in a recent Pass The Chalk post where 'reform' hero, TFA board member, and Grammy award winning singer John Legend interviewed a 2012 TFA corps member, John Choi, who has just completed his first year. Here is a quote from Mr. Choi:

"My vision has come a long way from just focusing on data. My number one goal is to inspire students to want to learn the material. Everything else just follows from that. At the end of the year it doesn’t matter what their scores are—but if I can see passion in the subject I would have succeeded in the classroom.”

Good for Mr. Choi. I hope we hear more like this from TFA.

My Discussion with Matt Barnum Part 5

Gary Rubinstein — Fri, 14 Jun 2013 03:59:38 +0100

Gary, That’s some fire-and-brimstone rhetoric you’re using, Gary. You’re absolutely right that pro-reform people like me are not doing a good job if we want to hide our tracks for when the reform-apocalypse is nigh. I’m not too worried though. I don’t like being deemed ‘moderate’ – because I think ‘moderates’ too often just vapidly demand that we ‘do what’s right for kids’ – but I do think it’s completely appropriate and necessary for reformers to dissent, argue, and hold each other ‘accountable.’ (The irony there is intended.) As to the politics, I’m not as pessimistic as you are optimistic – that is, I’m not worried that the tide will shift so quickly against reformers. Put it in perspective: almost every Republican politician is ‘pro-reform’ and a huge number of Democrats are too. It would take a massive shift of the political landscape to wind up where you predict. I do sense some shift though. I think reformers are correctly realizing – as I’ve written about before – that alienating teachers is not an effective method for enacting reform. Admittedly, it’s not entirely clear what this kinder, gentler reform looks like. On that front, let me posit one example and a suggestion. You recently took Kevin Huffman to task for a proposal that would bring experienced, highly rated teachers into low-performing schools. I personally think it’s a terrific idea; as I’m sure you know, high-poverty schools are often staffed by the most inexperienced teachers. Huffman’s proposal would attempt to ameliorate that problem. The Memphis teachers’ union president, Keith Williams replied to this eminently sane idea with an utter non sequitur: “These teachers will not be able to make a substantial difference in these communities, which have economic deprivation, massive poverty and are disconnected from the fiber of society. Those students don’t do well until you put other programs in place for their families.” Regardless of whether this is true, it does not respond to the substance of Huffman’s proposal. Is Williams suggesting that because schools can’t change everything, we shouldn’t try to change schools? I happen to agree with you that it doesn’t make sense to withhold the full $7,000 bonus from teachers who participate in the program but do not achieve a certain rating. (This is particularly true in consideration of the statistical noise in value-added measures.) This sort of feedback, I think, is an excellent example of where there is room for teachers and reformers to work together. But instead of trying to improve Huffman’s proposal, the union chose to bash it. On the topic of school choice, I think your analogy to clubs is illustrative: Why don’t we just have the government-run clubs? Why not let the government take over restaurants too? The answer is that many people believe that competition and the market lead to a host of good things: innovation, price reduction, diversification, better service. Do you think we should nationalize our clubs and restaurants? And if we had such a system, would those who wanted to change it be waging a ‘war on restaurant workers?’ If government-run schools are such a great idea, why not have government-run restaurants? A sensible answer is that restaurants are different than schools. Diane Ravitch often makes a similar point. I do think that choice supporters like myself have to acknowledge some degree of truth to that. I have been disappointed by some of the research (pdf) on charters and vouchers; though I also think there’s reason to be believe that we’ve not seen the true potential of a choice system since there are often caps on and unequal funding for charters. (Though I do recognize the charter funding disparity is a complex issue, I haven’t been able to find an apples-to-apples comparison.) There’s also a lot of research suggesting some promising (but not necessarily conclusive) results and innovations created by school choice. Reformers have now by and large gotten on board with the notion of charter accountability, which I support. If a charter school is not showing good results within a few years, it should be closed. The evidence in favor of this is strong, and the leading reformers are embracing this idea. I’d also add, anecdotally, that when my school hired a new principal she visited a neighboring charter and returned bearing many new ideas. Some of those ideas panned out; other didn’t. This is an example of the fact that school choice can benefit traditional public schools, and indeed there’s some strong evidence to support this view. I’m also curious how your time teaching at a magnet school affects your view on this. I don’t mean this as a gotcha question, but aren’t magnets exactly – indeed even more so – like the Studio 54 club you analogized charters to? Finally, I want to return to school budgets for a moment. In general, Gary, if you think that schools can only make a limited difference in students’ lives, than maybe we shouldn’t cut funding, but we certainly shouldn’t increase funding. (I’m not clear on your position though: is it that schools can’t generally make significant measurable differences in students’ lives or that they can’t make significant differences both measurable and immeasurable?) It seems like you think that the difference between an average teacher and an undertrained, inexperienced teacher is large, but the difference between a great teacher and an average one is small. Is that right? And if so, is there any evidence (beyond your ‘sixth sense’) for this view? Matt Dear Matt, You are right that what is currently labeled education 'reform' does have bipartisan support. You know what else had bipartisan report? The Iraq war. And if a president were to, again, lie and claim we need to go to war based on intelligence of hidden weapons of mass destruction, I seriously doubt that the bipartisan support for going to a war based on lies would be supported. I could be wrong about my two year time frame. I guess we will see. This discussion that we are having, in some ways, is a microcosm, of the big ed reform debate going on around the country. And just like the entire 'reform' side, you are already running out of gas. I have no problem with trying to recruit the best teachers to teach in the toughest schools. If nothing else, it will be an interesting experiment to test what would happen if everything else was held constant at a school and some of the teachers were replaced with 'highly effective' teachers. $2,000 is definitely not enough money to lure someone there. $7,000 might be enough, though probably not. A few years ago the New York City DOE was offering $30,000 for 'highly effective' teachers to transfer to 'failing' schools and teach three classes and spend the rest of the time mentoring other teachers. I applied for this, but got turned down. If I had gotten that offer and taken it, I still don't think that this would be a great 'investment' for the city. As I suggested in that post about Huffman, there are other things besides money that teachers at 'failing' schools would like -- such as smaller classes and smaller class loads. So rather than giving me a big signing bonus, what if every teacher at that school had class sizes maxed at 20 students and four periods at most a day. That might lure me there even without the merit pay signing bonus. This would cost a lot more but I believe that this would make that big 'difference' even more. I won't address your government run nightclubs question. I'll let the readers who are willing to leave comments feast on that one. Finally, a recurring theme in these letters is 'how much of a difference' can schools and teachers make. In all my letters, particularly the fourth one, I've tried to make it clear that schools and teachers do make a difference. And in answer to your question, sometimes it is tough to measure that difference. Certainly test score 'gains' capture a small part of it. If those gains are gotten through heavy test prep for poorly made tests then the gains don't capture the difference at all accurately. And, yes, I do think that there is a big difference between an untrained new teacher and an average teacher, but not as big between an average teacher and a 'highly effective' one. This is just another way of saying that teaching, like juggling, has a steep learning curve. A beginning juggler can't keep three balls in the air, even for a few seconds. Nobody would want to watch that for very long. A competent juggler might be able to keep three balls going for a few minutes at a time. As most people can't even do that, it is still pretty impressive. And the 'highly effective' juggler has five balls going at a time. Even though few people can do that, it isn't that much more impressive than the juggler with the three balls. OK Matt, that's it for me for today. I do hope that you'll come back with something a little more compelling that this recent offering. Though it does give me some stuff to 'riff' off of, and that is useful if just for that, I just don't know if me and the readers of this blog are getting enough out of this. In terms that you can relate to, you've got to increase your 'value added' if you want to continue share the spotlight with me. Gary

Teachers as Activists

Melissa — Fri, 14 Jun 2013 00:21:18 +0100

Sometimes you come across a piece of writing (thanks Claire!) that perfectly encapsulates your feelings on something -- in a much better way than you ever, ever could. And when you come across something like that, you feel like you just have to share it. So here's David Chura's piece from Huffington Post that got me thinking today. I definitely recommend reading the entire piece, but this part specifically stuck with me:

Good teachers don't complain, they just act, doing what needs doing to help their students learn. It may be a home visit, a talk with a school counselor, an offer to tutor after school, a walk around the playground at lunchtime, or a spare change collection in the teachers' room for eyeglasses.

That's grit. And at first glance I found myself nodding along. I love the idea of "grit," so much so that it will have to become another post. But in thinking more about the subject, I think we need to be able to offer teachers more solutions than to just dig deeper. So, policy-people: I guess that one's on you. The author further laments the limited definition of a teacher, according these policy-makers:

Unfortunately today's education reformers not teachers are the ones who are defining -- and limiting -- what it means to be a teacher, and there's not much about activism in their definition. According to these pundits, a teacher's job comes down to one thing: Get kids to pass the mandated tests. It is a shortsighted definition that is harmful not only to students but also to the teaching profession itself. But any teacher will tell you that we are much more than test-preparers. To be a teacher is to be an activist in ways that are familiar and unfamiliar, that are comfortable and uncomfortable, and that are mundane and at times, as we have seen throughout our history, heroic.

Aside from wanting to insert about five million commas into his writing (thanks Mrs. Hall), this part really resonated with me. Until policy-makers and educators can work together instead of against each other, I don't know what will change. Or how. I think a big step would be recognizing, as David Chura said: "being an activist is an essential part of being a teacher." At least, as I would add: being an activist is an essential part of being a good teacher.

Home Field Advantage

Gary Rubinstein — Thu, 13 Jun 2013 01:01:17 +0100

In New York State, the high school standardized tests are called 'The Regents' exams. Unlike the state tests for grades 3 through 8, which are graded externally, the Regents have always been scored by the teachers in the school. After they are graded, the tests would then sent off to Albany where they could be audited if there is suspicion that they have been graded improperly. At my school we would take all the tests and split up the task among the math teachers, being careful that no teacher grades his or her own class. The scoring rubric is often very vague and we would have a lot of heated arguments about how many points of partial credit to give for this or that, as we tried to fairly interpret the guidelines. This year we learned that instead of grading the students in our school, the math teachers would all go to another site where the Regents for many schools would be sent and we would work together with teachers from other schools to grade the Regents centrally. One reason for this new policy is explained by a recent New York Post article entitled "High schools that didn’t grade their own Regents exams last year fared worse than those that did." According to the article, as the title suggests, students somehow got a "Home Field Advantage" when teachers from their own school graded them. I'm not surprised by this. It isn't that I think that many teachers were trying to cheat to make them or their students look better -- though that is certainly something that must happen. It is actually possible that the grades, even though they are higher, are more accurate when they are graded by the teachers at the school. Within the school teachers may have taught a topic in a particular way which is a bit unfamiliar to teachers in another school which might cause those other teachers to grade the test lower. Either way, if the grades are more accurate or less accurate, it is a fact that when tests are graded by teachers from a different school, they are lower. At the end of the article we are assured, "This is the first year all high schools are barred from scoring their own Regents." And this is something that I welcome. As long as all schools are doing it, it would eliminate that home field advantage, particularly for charter schools who have the most incentive to inflate their grades, consciously or subconsciously. So I was quite surprised when I got a tip from a teacher at a school that is co-located with a charter high school that the charter school was grading their own Regents. I checked around and got confirmation from another charter school that they, too, were grading their own Regents. For charter schools, it seems, the centralized grading is merely optional. So much for accountability. Over the summer when we hear about how charter schools outperformed the nearby 'failing' school on the Regents, I hope they will put an asterisk by the statement.

Mornings with Malcolm X

Melissa — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 21:59:59 +0100

"Don't you believe there are any good white people?" I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I told her, "People's deeds I believe in, Miss -- not their words." "What can I do?" she exclaimed. I told her, "Nothing." She burst out crying, and ran out and up Lenox Avenue and caught a taxi. ~ The Autobiography of Malcolm X, as told to Alex Haley

In reading TFA's pre-Institute work, specifically "Sharing Our Stories" from TFA's One Day magazine, Four Voices from TFA's Diversity text, as well as Chimamanda Adichie's TED talk "The Danger of A Single Story," I was reminded of this passage from The Autobiography of Malcolm X. The accounts from TFA's own magazine and Diversity text included stories from several corps members who self-identify as sharing the backgrounds of their students i.e. an African American teacher with African American students, or a Mexican American teacher with Mexican American students. These corps members spoke on the value of their students having teachers who "look like them." The discussed the difficulties and triumphs of their own experiences. And while I understand the importance for students, and the validation they must feel, in having a teacher who looks like them, I thought it left something unturned. What about the value of a teacher who doesn't look like you? Besides the point that you can be an amazing teacher regardless of your race or "what you look like," I thought there was another point worth making. Just as the Black teachers, who said that their Black students called them "White" when they wore professional clothing or used big words, worked to show their students everything that "Black" could be -- isn't it just as important to show them what White could be? Included in some of the readings were problems in "locating White allies" -- White role models for White people trying to become anti-racist. I think it is necessary to show that not all White people are bad or racist. What does it mean to "look like" my students? Do female students not think I "look like" them, even if my skin is a different color? Doesn't it mean something for all of my students, male and female alike, to see a woman in a male-dominated field, like mathematics ? I'm not sure what is more insulting -- that I wouldn't be able to relate to my students because I don't "look like" them, or that my students wouldn't be able to relate to me because of what I look like. I think, at least I hope, my kids will be able to see past racial differences and realize other similarities we might share. Will it be harder? Probably. But I think we're selling our students short if we think they can only relate to someone who "looks like" them -- at least in a racial sense. Bonding in terms of "looking like" someone is is superficial, despite the potential validation of having the same hair, or same outward characteristics -- but being of the same race is more than that. To reduce is to "looking like" someone is sort of a cop out. As many teachers shared, they also related in terms of cultural attitudes, but some did not, which was a shock to them. Beyond race, a teacher can relate to the family life of a student, or the socio-economic status of the student's family, or any number of different factors that influence the student's day to day life. By no means do I deny the potential importance of having a teacher who looks like you. As I read, it can be a very powerful experience for students and teachers alike. Years after he first met the woman in the opening quote, Malcolm X, also known as El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, deeply regretted his run-in with the "little blonde co-ed," in which he told her she could do nothing. He wished later to tell her what he then told white people "who present themselves to be sincere." Malcolm X later advocated White people "working in conjunction with us-- each of us working among our own kind." He believed that "working separately, the sincere white people and the sincere black people will actually be working together." Which leads me to how I connected Chimamanda Adichie's TED talk "The Danger of A Single Story." I recommend watching it, as she presents a unique perspective and the video itself is relatively short (19 mins). One way of preventing "a single story" is to make sure that students have diverse teachers in terms of perspectives -- including ones that "look like them" and ones that don't. While I recognize themerits of same-race discussions of race, I think mixed-race settings are just as important. Another problem I had with part of the pre-work is from Beverly Tatum's "The Development of White Identity." Initially, I disagreed with the idea that White identity is something that develops only in reaction to encountering Black identity. That doesn't seem to make sense to me, though many White people profiled in her piece did not seem to be conscious of their "Whiteness" until an uncomfortable incident of race made them feel "White". To reverse the idea, I don't think anyone would say that Black culture is only formed in reference to an encounter with White culture. So why is White identity only understood in relation to Black Identity? In thinking more on the subject, I recalled an essay written in 1928 by one of my favorite authors, Zora Neale Hurston titled "How It Feels to Be Colored Me." As a biographical note, Hurston was born in Notasulga, Alabama, but her family moved to Eatonville, FL, one of the first incorporated all-black towns in the United States, when she was three. She wrote that she always considered Eatonville her home, and, in true Zora fashion, occasionally claimed she was born there. In "How It Feels to Be Colored Me," Zora wrote, "I remember the very day that I became colored." When Zora was 13, she was sent to school in Jacksonville:

I left Eatonville, the town of the oleanders, as Zora. When I disembarked from the river-boat at Jacksonville, she was no more. It seemed I had suffered a sea change. I was not Zora of Orange County any more, I was now a little colored girl.

According to her, she feels "the most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background." I found her take on this idea very interesting, and I recommend reading the piece, which is available here in its entirety. Overall, I think that I have more thinking to do on this subject. In this piece, Beverly Tatum writes that White individuals who are highly identified with a particular subordinate identity e.g., being female or being Jewish, may also struggle with claiming Whiteness as a meaningful group category because they feel far from the white male norm. I think I fall in this camp as a female, and a feminist to boot, which might be why I don't really buy this "White identity" business. That's not to say I don't understand that I receive countless benefits everyday by being white,because I do. I know that. I guess I recognize that I am white, but don't identify as white, if that makes any sort of sense. I don't see the same sort of White culture that would seem to accompany a white identity either. Unless there's a picnic that I wasn't invited to. Regardless, I think it's important to think critically, and criticize appropriately, what we are reading for our pre-Institute work.

The Mess of My Mind Pre-Institute

ssmith — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 00:26:51 +0100

I am a natural optimist. I'm told that's one of the qualities TFA recruiters select for. So, in that sense, I'm here because of my optimism. But since being accepted into the 2013 corps, I've had the opportunity to be around a bunch of other optimists, and I've realized that there are other significant parts of me that are ignored when I so flippantly classify myself as an optimist. Because I am very excited. But I also have some very real concerns about what I'm doing. I'm excited to join a nation of educators. I know dozens of amazing educators, both TFA corps members and TFA detractors, both young and old, both urban and suburban, and I'm psyched to get the chance to learn from them. Teachers are among the most incredible individuals I know, and I'm honored and humbled that someone somewhere thought I could be a peer in that group. I'm excited to build into my community in Detroit. Over the past couple of years, I have learned how much power people have in local politics. And I'm so excited to live in the same place that I work so that the decisions I make socially and politically will have real impact on my community and surroundings. But I'm concerned about what I've been chosen to teach. I have a degree in English, but I will be teaching secondary mathematics next year. It would be unfair to place all of the responsibility for this decision on TFA. Of course, I made it clear that I preferred to teach English, but I also marked I was capable of teaching math on my application. When I thought of my life as a teacher, I always imagined those idealistic clips from Dead Poets Society where Robin Williams has his class stand on desks and read poetry. I was about that life. And I was so pumped to be that kind of teacher. But that's not in my immediate future. I'm afraid my students will find me out. "He's not a real math teacher," they'll say. Or worse. I'll fail them. And then the responsibility will totally be mine. I will know I should have turned down TFA's offer. I'm concerned about my race. Historically, teaching was among one of the first professional careers to open up to African American women in Detroit in the mid-1900s. And there is research that shows that it's beneficial for students of color to see themselves reflected in their teachers. According to the Detroit Public Schools District Profile, almost 90% of the students are African American. I am not. Thus, I worry I may be depriving my students of a teacher of color. And even when I start to be okay with the fact that I am an individual, and my fate (and my students) should not be decided by race, I reflect on the fact that my 2013 Detroit corps is nowhere near 90% African American, meaning even if I am an amazing teacher, I might still be part of an organization that is whitening the teacher pool in Detroit, even when there is research suggesting that this might be detrimental to students. So I'm excited and concerned. Then, there are things I know and things I don't know. I know that I am not doing TFA for solely altruistic purposes. In fact, most of my reasons for doing TFA specifically, are selfish. I'm in education because I want to make a difference and because I like the pursuit of knowledge. But I chose TFA over traditional routes because I didn't want to spend the money on more schooling, because I wanted an opportunity that awarded me a little more mobility and a little more prestige than the traditional teaching route. I have no illusions about why I'm here. But I do not know whether or not TFA, as an organization, will be responsible for "transformational change" in Detroit. Mostly because I'm still lacking important knowledge about the existing teachers there. That's mostly my fault. If I was better researcher, if I was more comfortable with asking difficult questions, I might have some of these answers. But TFA was sold to me as a solution to teacher shortages across the nation. I don't know if Detroit is a region with a shortage or what subjects are specifically lacking. So, yes, I'm an optimist, but sometimes I like to mix in a dose of realism.

Giving Thanks

Melissa — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 04:22:44 +0100

"School for fourteen years and my best teacher was experience" ~Common

When you say that you want to be a teacher, people always ask you why. I guess they ask that to other people too, but it seems to me they ask teachers specifically. "Did you have a teacher that inspired you?" they always ask expectantly. I never know how to answer this question, even though I've wanted to be a teacher for a long time. They never ask kids who want to be doctors if they had a good doctor in their life. They certainly don't ask future lawyers if they want to be a lawyer because they have had a good lawyer in their life. And yet, people always ask if you have had a certain teacher that made you want to be a teacher. As if that were the only reason anyone would want to be a teacher. I think the reason why I don't like being asked this question is because I don't really have a good answer. Er, sorry. I know I was supposed to have this whole Freedom Writers meets Stand and Deliver inspirational story but I kinda just...don't. That's not to say I didn't have great teachers. I definitely have two specific teachers that were amazing, dedicated educators who also happened to be totally rad. They made me think about being a teacher, but I also wanted that as a thing that wholly separately from them. I think I find it a little corny, and kinda lame to be all OMG THANKS TEACHERS YOU TOTALLY INSPIRE ME. Which is weird and also bad because -- I'm really hoping to be that kind of teacher. And when my Breakthrough students expressed those kind of sentiments, I loved it. I mean absolutely ate it up. I'm talking hoarding-tiny-pieces-of-scrap-paper-because-one-of-my-students-drew-me-a-picture-so-now-I-must-keep-it-forever levels. I went back to my middle school to observe as part of my pre-Institute work, and miraculously, I didn't die. Though I think most of the kids were laughing at me (some things never change), I made it through the day, thanks to some awesome teachers who let me observe their classrooms and made sure I didn't sit by myself at lunch (seriously, I ate in the teacher's lounge). So go back to your elementary school, middle school, or high school and say thank you! While we all probably have those too-cool-for-school moments, can we all agree to make more of an effort to thank teachers who really inspired us? Reach out via email, or send a shout-out here. It's quick, it's easy, and it means a lot. P.S. This post was partially inspired by the recent discovery that I am a legacy corps member (i.e. I was taught at some point in my K-12 education by a Teach for America corps member or alumni). Before Teach for America had emailed me, I had no idea.

Two years

Mr. K — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 20:31:05 +0100

The school year is almost over. This week is reserved for underclassmen finals, and grades are due by next Monday, which means most students will stop showing up after that. Last Saturday was district-wide graduation day, so the seniors are already gone. This Saturday is Alumni Induction, which is essentially graduation for corps members (we even get certificates). I've had my end-of-year conversation with my MTLD, completed my final survey as a CM, and started making plans for my move to Philly in two weeks.

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It's a weird feeling. How do I begin to sum up the two most challenging and formative years of my life? What words can fully capture the experience of being a classroom teacher—the heights of joy, the depths of despair, and everything in between?

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When I applied to Teach For America two and a half years ago, it was not without reservation. Though I never would have admitted it at the time, my doubts had little to do with the mission or impact of TFA, and almost everything to do with (1) whether I could "afford" to spend two years in the classroom when all my peers were heading off to industry or med/law/grad school, and (2) how difficult teaching would be for a quiet and shy introvert like me. Like many soon-to-be college grads, I felt entitled to a comfortable, maybe even moderately successful adult life, and I wanted to be sure TFA would facilitate that. Eventually, after some coaxing by my Recruitment Director regarding TFA's corporate and grad school partnerships, I applied and got in. Despite these seemingly disingenuous roots, I also cared about doing well by my students. In my first entry on this blog, about a month after graduation and just before Induction, I wrote "I will do everything in my power to be not just an excellent teacher for my students, but also a servant, defender, and friend"—and I meant every word. But what could I have known about being an excellent teacher, much less a servant, defender, and friend, to students I hadn't even met yet? For students whose experiences, families, and communities had no connection to my personal vision and narrative? My naïveté would be laughable, if it weren't for weight of the task which I had unwittingly borne the moment I clicked that accept button. Institute was my first foray into the harsh reality of inner-city schools. I knew about the achievement gap in theory because of the pre-work assigned by TFA, but I was still shocked on day one of teaching, when I discovered that my eighth graders literally had no idea how to add and subtract integers—they would just cycle through the possible choices until they reached the correct answer. As the summer went on, I began to realize that "transformational change" was not going to be the neatly packaged result of a happy montage of teaching moments, as I had eagerly envisioned after joining TFA. Nevertheless, my overall Institute experience was positive: I connected with most of my students at a personal level, and nearly all of them met or exceeded their growth goal. At the end of the summer, I wrote them a virtual letter that was, at the time, the most emotional piece I had ever written. My first year of teaching, in contrast, was a mess. Perhaps because of the structure of Institute, I treated teaching as a sprint rather than a marathon. My perfectionism got the better of me; I stayed at school late, barely got sleep, and beat myself up (figuratively, for what it's worth) every time I had a less-than-ideal day of teaching. My exhaustion and stress eventually caught up to me, in the form of weight gain, frequent illness, and constant irritability. Worse, my meticulous classroom systems, which I had prided myself on at Institute, seemed to work against me during the school year, and behavior management fell apart in one of my Algebra 2 blocks. (Some of this might come as a surprise to my friends and family. I didn't write about the darkest moments of my first year because I figured—justifiably, I think—that reflecting on the negative would only make me feel worse.) There were bright spots too, of course. Though I often failed to measure up to my own standards, my kids told me at the moments I needed it most that I was one of the best teachers they had ever had. Through their yearbook messages, I learned that at least a few of them gained confidence in their math abilities, discovered I wasn't as irritating as they initially thought, and—imagine—actually had fun in math class from time to time. Even though most of them didn't end up meeting their quantitative "big goal," I ended the year on a pretty optimistic note and even wrote an encouraging letter to the 2012 corps members that went viral within TFA's social networks. And why shouldn't I have been optimistic? At the very least, second year had to be easier than first year, right? Well, yes and no. It's true that my planning, grading, and system-building grew exponentially more efficient. I also placed a stronger emphasis on culture building at the beginning of this year, which extended the honeymoon period of teaching well into November. Unfortunately, shortly after this honeymoon period ended, I hit a wall—or, as I called it at the time, a plateau. I felt I was not developing as quickly as I should, and my students' performance was suffering as a consequence. In retrospect, the problem was not necessarily one of stagnation but of expectation. Having facilitated a few case studies over the summer on second-year CMs who had won the Sue Lehmann Award (TFA's national teaching award), I entered my second year confident in my ability to effect transformational change—maybe not immediately, but certainly within a few months. By late winter, it was clear I was not going to hit that mark; and though I was in every way a more effective teacher than myself a year prior, I felt like a failure because I had fallen so short of my expectations. (Being overwhelmed by three preps also contributed to this sense of failure, though at least that was beyond my locus of control.) I'm in a much better place now. Through personal reflection and conversations with my MTLD, fellow CMs, friends, and family, I've come to recognize that my moments of despondency as a teacher have not been rooted in concern for the well being of my students, but in pride—self-centered, self-reliant pride, the very kind I warned myself against at the beginning of last year, and again at the beginning of this year. In those moments, I've been desperate for my students to achieve greatness, but only so that I could claim to be the one who led them there. This may sound eerily familiar to those who are familiar with the Bible: Matthew 6 is full of warnings against those who "sacrifice" for personal recognition and glory. In my lows, I have been no better than the hypocrite who announces his alms-giving with trumpets. Conversely, and more importantly, I've come to recognize that in my best moments of teaching, transformation has occurred—but only as a by-product of deep, genuine, selfless relationships. There are only a few kids whose life trajectories I can say with total confidence I altered for the better—R from last year; A, D, S, and T from this year—and the common thread connecting these kids is that I spent more time with them outside of class than in class, more time listening to them than speaking at them. They learned for the sake of learning, to be sure, but that was just the start; our conversations were infused with meaning, with people from their lives, with the things that mattered to them. I've changed too; as I've learn about these kids' dreams and passions, as I've listened to their families' stories and shared meals with them, I've been humbled and struck by what an honor it is to be their teacher. Transformational change is a two-way street, it turns out.

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So what have I learned from teaching? For one, it isn't just something to do for two years. It is a profession—one of the most difficult, but also one of the most meaningful. I'm leaving the classroom after this year, and the guilt and cognitive dissonance hit me like a stab in the gut every time a student asks why I have to go; but my next role at least allows me the privilege of supporting great teachers in very concrete ways, and for that I'm grateful. I've learned that you can't measure a teacher's effectiveness using just numbers; as my mentor teacher told me last week, only eternity will tell the full extent of the impact I've made on my students' lives. I believe that. I've learned that context matters. Poverty matters. Home environment and parental support matter. Teachers can't do everything by themselves. A kid who has to babysit two siblings because mom is gone and dad is an alcoholic is going to be a little distracted when it comes to school work, compared to a kid from an upper middle class, two-family household in the suburbs (e.g. me). This is reality—it makes people uncomfortable, but it needs to be discussed. I've learned that Teach For America has many strengths but also many glaring flaws, and that I can be grateful to the organization for introducing me to this work without condoning its questionable policies or lack of transparency. I've learned that the TFA network is extremely powerful and must be wielded for good. Finally, I've learned a bit about what it really means to be a servant, defender, and friend to my students. Because that's what they are now: my students. And I am their teacher. This relationship is what makes every struggle from the past two years—every late night, every doubt, every crazy class that made me want to drive home to California and never come back—totally worth it.