A Note Ahead of Time:
I almost didn't post this, because I was afraid it would seem like an attack on Teach Paperless. It's not. I think Shelly Blake-Plock is someone who really gets it. He understands that going paperless is more than simply using less paper. It's about a different paradigm of education.
I'm sitting with Mr. Brown and mention, "I hate this march toward industry. For all my pencil advocacy, I want to conserve paper. I want a more sustainable way of life. I wonder if the answer is found in the telegraph. Perhaps information can go paperless."
"We have that already. It's called vocal chords."
"Seriously Brown, I'd like to believe that in a paper-free world, where all things are electrical, we would reach the point of technological progress that we can evade ecological disaster. I'd like to think that the pencil is just a step toward something better."
"I'd like to believe in leprechauns, but I'm skeptical of them as well," he responds.
"What do you mean?"
"Leprechauns. Green-clad vertically challenged folk who chase rainbows in Ireland and hoard the world's gold reserves in an a plot to manipulate the currency markets."
"I know about leprechauns. I'm not seeing your skepticism."
"It's the myth of efficiency. Factories are more efficient and farms are more effecient and so we would think that this would lead to conservation. But it doesn't. We're at the dawn of an environmental disaster. Replace the methane pollution of horses with horseless carriages. But we've just created a new problem. Yes, the automobile will be more efficient if we keep our same short-distance habits. But we won't. So, we go paper-free, right. Sounds good. But then we switch from a renewable source of trees to coal and oil, which is essentially what's running our city. People die each year so that you can brew your coffee electronically."
"So, what does that mean for students?"
"It means that we can't propel a myth that the medium we choose is a free one. There's always a cost. A cost on our ecology and a cost on our relationships. It's never neutral. So, we traded in slates for paper. Someday we'll trade it in for an electric alternative. The cost isn't always measured in dollars. It's often measured in lives."
"That's pretty fatalistic."
"I know it sounds that way. But what if we encourage students toward a paradigm of sustainability? So, you use paper in your class, right? Figure out a way to teach them the connection between that sheet of paper and the oxygen they breath. Make them think about how they use resources. So, you get a telegraph. Remind them that wireless doesn't equal free, either."
"So, how do we do it?"
"For starters, we could try teaching science. Real science. Teach them the art of observation. And we could quit confusing science with engineering and technology."
Showing posts with label mr. brown. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mr. brown. Show all posts
pencils - part three - the conflict
"Mr. Johnson and Mr. Brown, your students never filled out the Migration Packets."
"No, they created independent projects instead," I explain.
"Yes, I saw. They were cute."
Mr. Brown cuts in, "No, cute is baby bonnets and fluffy bunnies. What my students created was powerful."
She continues, "But the Migration Packet was more about problem solving."
I argue, "My students had a migration problem that they solved in groups. It was authentic, connecting ideas of science and social studies and they had to develop a solution . . . "
"Yes, so you solved one problem. The packet had one hundred problems chosen by some of the best educators that Pencil Island could find. We spent good money on learning tools and you neglected them."
"You bought the wrong tools," Mr. Brown replies. "I could build a house, but it would be useless if I bought a demolition ball."
I add my thoughts, "My students went deeper into the content and hit every objective you wanted them to hit. The Pencil Packet was a multiple choice marathon."
"I see your point, but it is what it is." I hate that phrase. It makes it sound like "what is" cannot change, as if we are reduced to academic fatalism. "Tell me, will students answer one question in-depth or do multiple choice on our high-stakes test?"
"Multiple choice," we reply in unison.
"And McKinley's Caravan to the Top is all about test scores, right?"
"But . . . "
"And you agreed to do a common pencil-based unit with the rest of the staff."
Mr. Brown corrects her, "Common is shared. Standardized is imposed. Common is horizontal. Standardized is vertical. I agreed on the objectives that we planned. I never agreed to standardization, though."
"Look, we even got you photography machines, cameras or whatever they're called, so that you could create motivational PowerSlides for your students. Yet, you gave dangerous machines to your students."
What she can't see is that the pencil packets were far more dangerous than a camera.
"No, they created independent projects instead," I explain.
"Yes, I saw. They were cute."
Mr. Brown cuts in, "No, cute is baby bonnets and fluffy bunnies. What my students created was powerful."
She continues, "But the Migration Packet was more about problem solving."
I argue, "My students had a migration problem that they solved in groups. It was authentic, connecting ideas of science and social studies and they had to develop a solution . . . "
"Yes, so you solved one problem. The packet had one hundred problems chosen by some of the best educators that Pencil Island could find. We spent good money on learning tools and you neglected them."
"You bought the wrong tools," Mr. Brown replies. "I could build a house, but it would be useless if I bought a demolition ball."
I add my thoughts, "My students went deeper into the content and hit every objective you wanted them to hit. The Pencil Packet was a multiple choice marathon."
"I see your point, but it is what it is." I hate that phrase. It makes it sound like "what is" cannot change, as if we are reduced to academic fatalism. "Tell me, will students answer one question in-depth or do multiple choice on our high-stakes test?"
"Multiple choice," we reply in unison.
"And McKinley's Caravan to the Top is all about test scores, right?"
"But . . . "
"And you agreed to do a common pencil-based unit with the rest of the staff."
Mr. Brown corrects her, "Common is shared. Standardized is imposed. Common is horizontal. Standardized is vertical. I agreed on the objectives that we planned. I never agreed to standardization, though."
"Look, we even got you photography machines, cameras or whatever they're called, so that you could create motivational PowerSlides for your students. Yet, you gave dangerous machines to your students."
What she can't see is that the pencil packets were far more dangerous than a camera.
beyond the hype and hysteria
Even though my school is considered "poor" (though not really poor, because the really poor kids are the ones working in the factories) more than half of them have mini-tablets. Apparently the mere possession of a mini-tablet is a divisive issue on campus. The first crowd hates the mini-tablets and the second group loves them. We'll call one group the haters and the others the hopers. Not surprisingly, today a verbal battle broke out in the staff lounge (or as I like to call it the "staff vent and gripe location")
"All they do is write shorthand messages. It's ruining grammar. It's ruining poetry. Some day we'll replace rhyme with free verse and all Hell will break lose. We'll have poets who don't even capitalize letters."
"At least they're spending their free time writing," Mr. Brown responds.
Another teacher jumps into the conversation, "I had two kids throw wads of paper. One kid threw a paper airplane. Do you know how dangerous that is? I don't want to get sued when a kid pokes an eye out or gets an infection from a paper cut. I never have projectile issues when I teach with slates."
"So incorporate airplanes into a lesson on velocity. Who knows, maybe this is what will start the first glider that will lead to human aviation."
"I will do my best to add human aviation to my lesson on the War of 1812. Seriously, today when I'm lecturing, I see a whole row of them doing origami."
"If they weren't doing origami, wouldn't they be just as checked out? Their issue might be that lecturing is a bad strategy for them."
The first teacher joins the discussion again, "I don't know how many times I've had to take away a mini-tablet because a student was playing hang man. And seriously? Hang man? Can children's games get any more violent?"
"So, design your own classroom activity that can incorporate student mini-tablets. You are taking away a tool that might revolutionize learning because a few people use it wrong."
The truth is that I'm in the middle on this one. Yes, we can use mini-tablets. However, they are not the fix-all for education. The truth is that multitasking is not a good thing. Novelty is decent, but fades quickly. Mini-tablets feed the need for novelty, multitasking and entertainment. Sometimes deep critical thinking runs against the mini-tablet as a medium. So, looking toward it as a "revolutionary device" is a bit extreme. Sometimes a kid just needs a book - a really interesting, deep-thinking, fascinating story.
On the flip side, mini-tablets have some great potential uses. Banning them for classroom management reasons is absurd. After all, who would ban chalk because students have been known to bang erasers and create dust clouds? The real issue is one of fear. Teachers are afraid that they won't be able to keep students interested in the subject. It's a bit humiliating to lose out to a sheet of paper.
So, I'm hoping for this: that students will find philosophical conversations more interesting than hang man. My hope is that they will use mini-tablets to send messages and manage information as they engage in problem-solving. My hope is that I will see the mini-tablet not as the hero or the villain of education, but as another tool - one that should not be banned, but also one that does not belong in every lesson.
"All they do is write shorthand messages. It's ruining grammar. It's ruining poetry. Some day we'll replace rhyme with free verse and all Hell will break lose. We'll have poets who don't even capitalize letters."
"At least they're spending their free time writing," Mr. Brown responds.
Another teacher jumps into the conversation, "I had two kids throw wads of paper. One kid threw a paper airplane. Do you know how dangerous that is? I don't want to get sued when a kid pokes an eye out or gets an infection from a paper cut. I never have projectile issues when I teach with slates."
"So incorporate airplanes into a lesson on velocity. Who knows, maybe this is what will start the first glider that will lead to human aviation."
"I will do my best to add human aviation to my lesson on the War of 1812. Seriously, today when I'm lecturing, I see a whole row of them doing origami."
"If they weren't doing origami, wouldn't they be just as checked out? Their issue might be that lecturing is a bad strategy for them."
The first teacher joins the discussion again, "I don't know how many times I've had to take away a mini-tablet because a student was playing hang man. And seriously? Hang man? Can children's games get any more violent?"
"So, design your own classroom activity that can incorporate student mini-tablets. You are taking away a tool that might revolutionize learning because a few people use it wrong."
* * *
The truth is that I'm in the middle on this one. Yes, we can use mini-tablets. However, they are not the fix-all for education. The truth is that multitasking is not a good thing. Novelty is decent, but fades quickly. Mini-tablets feed the need for novelty, multitasking and entertainment. Sometimes deep critical thinking runs against the mini-tablet as a medium. So, looking toward it as a "revolutionary device" is a bit extreme. Sometimes a kid just needs a book - a really interesting, deep-thinking, fascinating story.
On the flip side, mini-tablets have some great potential uses. Banning them for classroom management reasons is absurd. After all, who would ban chalk because students have been known to bang erasers and create dust clouds? The real issue is one of fear. Teachers are afraid that they won't be able to keep students interested in the subject. It's a bit humiliating to lose out to a sheet of paper.
So, I'm hoping for this: that students will find philosophical conversations more interesting than hang man. My hope is that they will use mini-tablets to send messages and manage information as they engage in problem-solving. My hope is that I will see the mini-tablet not as the hero or the villain of education, but as another tool - one that should not be banned, but also one that does not belong in every lesson.
Is your PLN too big?
I have a friend Ed who invites educators to chat with him through our pen pal networks. The conversation is deep, but sometimes the viewpoint is too similar. A few hundred people will join in and say essentially the same thing. It's not that I learn anything different, but that I get a new vocabulary for the nuances of what I already believe.
I also have about a hundred plogs that I read. I get the journal updates and flip through stacks of paper. Sometimes I hold my binder and it feels heavy. Pages go unread and I feel guilty. I scan them quickly, attempting to extract a new idea. Extract. I'm pulling apart another's thoughts with reckless abandon, clear-cutting the nuances of language in my pursuit of knowledge.
I'm holding my heavy binder one morning when Mr. Brown walks in. "How many pages are in that thing?" he asks.
"I subscribe to over a hundred plogs?"
"I admire you. I can't read that many. I stick to ten."
"What about developing your PLN?" I ask him.
"I'd rather have a deep conversation with five to ten teachers than try and speed-talk in a crowded room of a hundred. I'm much more of a wallflower."
"Don't you feel that you are missing something?"
"Yes, but I would be missing something if I had a hundred plogs that I read. The difference is that, when I read ten plogs, I know the people. I've shared a pint with most of them. Our conversations go deeper. Sure, I miss out on learning the latest pencil developments, but that's a small sacrifice for depth."
"Can't you just subscribe to more and read less?"
"More options don't always mean better choices. I'll stick to the tiny community I have and limit my numbers deliberately. I do the same with books. I read about a book a month and I subscribe to only one education journal. I keep my PLN small on purpose."
It has me wondering if maybe my PLN is too big. Perhaps I need to step back a little from the crowded room and move closer to sharing a pint.
I also have about a hundred plogs that I read. I get the journal updates and flip through stacks of paper. Sometimes I hold my binder and it feels heavy. Pages go unread and I feel guilty. I scan them quickly, attempting to extract a new idea. Extract. I'm pulling apart another's thoughts with reckless abandon, clear-cutting the nuances of language in my pursuit of knowledge.
I'm holding my heavy binder one morning when Mr. Brown walks in. "How many pages are in that thing?" he asks.
"I subscribe to over a hundred plogs?"
"I admire you. I can't read that many. I stick to ten."
"What about developing your PLN?" I ask him.
"I'd rather have a deep conversation with five to ten teachers than try and speed-talk in a crowded room of a hundred. I'm much more of a wallflower."
"Don't you feel that you are missing something?"
"Yes, but I would be missing something if I had a hundred plogs that I read. The difference is that, when I read ten plogs, I know the people. I've shared a pint with most of them. Our conversations go deeper. Sure, I miss out on learning the latest pencil developments, but that's a small sacrifice for depth."
"Can't you just subscribe to more and read less?"
"More options don't always mean better choices. I'll stick to the tiny community I have and limit my numbers deliberately. I do the same with books. I read about a book a month and I subscribe to only one education journal. I keep my PLN small on purpose."
It has me wondering if maybe my PLN is too big. Perhaps I need to step back a little from the crowded room and move closer to sharing a pint.
your chart wasn't all that smart
Before I ever went all-out on pencil integration, I went through this paperphilia stage where I believed that the medium was the answer. If I could get my hands on more pencils and better paper, I would have better pedagogy.
So, I'm standing in front of my SmartChart and flipping through the slides. If you've never used a Smart Chart, it's essentially an Edison projector that shines on huge chart paper, where I can write notes. So, I'm scribbling notes and flipping through slides. The students are nodding their heads and I'm offering a passionate lecture on Jacksonian Democracy and whether his human rights violations toward Native Americans nullifies his hero status. (Some teachers would allow the "other side" argument, but human rights violations probably don't need another side)
Mr. Brown stands up in the back for awhile and observes. It's his prep period and he's hiding from Gertrude the Language and Academic Achievement Cognitive Development Learning Specialist. When I pass out the paper and pencils, students begin scribbling their thoughts.
"What did you think?"
"I saw a lot of heads nod."
"Yeah, they seemed really into it."
"They were falling asleep, Tom."
"I knew it. I practically wrote a novel on some of the chart paper. I should have gone with the three by three rule and the slides could have had more . . . "
"No, that wasn't the problem. Your problem wasn't your paper but your pedagogy. You stood and lectured. You failed to interact. I've seen you lead discussions. Slides could have enhanced the discussion, but you allowed a projector and some ginormous paper replace you as the teacher."
So, I'm standing in front of my SmartChart and flipping through the slides. If you've never used a Smart Chart, it's essentially an Edison projector that shines on huge chart paper, where I can write notes. So, I'm scribbling notes and flipping through slides. The students are nodding their heads and I'm offering a passionate lecture on Jacksonian Democracy and whether his human rights violations toward Native Americans nullifies his hero status. (Some teachers would allow the "other side" argument, but human rights violations probably don't need another side)
Mr. Brown stands up in the back for awhile and observes. It's his prep period and he's hiding from Gertrude the Language and Academic Achievement Cognitive Development Learning Specialist. When I pass out the paper and pencils, students begin scribbling their thoughts.
"What did you think?"
"I saw a lot of heads nod."
"Yeah, they seemed really into it."
"They were falling asleep, Tom."
"I knew it. I practically wrote a novel on some of the chart paper. I should have gone with the three by three rule and the slides could have had more . . . "
"No, that wasn't the problem. Your problem wasn't your paper but your pedagogy. You stood and lectured. You failed to interact. I've seen you lead discussions. Slides could have enhanced the discussion, but you allowed a projector and some ginormous paper replace you as the teacher."
they won't use pencils in college
"Tom, what are your thoughts on giving homework?" Mr. Brown asks.
"I don't like it. If I truly believe that learning happens 24-7 then why not let the kids do the learning on their own?"
"So, you don't assign any work?"
"Nope. None. I think the word 'work' is key there. I'm more interested in learning than working and I don't want to kill their motivation to learn."
"If you really feel that way about homework, why do you make them work when they are in class?" he asks.
"It's not a choice." He's silent for awhile and finally says, "I guess you really can't completely scrap grades. But, are you ever worried that we won't be preparing students for colleges? I mean, with the pencil initiatives and the lack of homework and all. Are you ever afraid you're doing more harm than good?"
"Look, I hear that same argument with pencils. People tell me, 'Techno-Tommy, you realize they will use pens and not pencils when they are in college.' But here is my issue with that: they're not in college. I wouldn't make that argument for having kids binge drink or have sex with strangers. I wouldn't suggest kids go wherever they please or smoke cigarettes in the halls. I wouldn't suggest we reduce the school day to two hours and then allow them to do homework on their own time. You know why?"
"Why?"
"Because they are kids, Brown. That's why."
This leads to a deeper conversation. Brown goes back to the issue of college readiness and suggests that maybe there is some validity on the importance of kids still using pen and ink rather than simply busting out pencils. He mentions a tension between preparing kids for the future and teaching them at their developmental level.
He shares his concerns with the lack of permanence in pencils. "Just look at the phrase 'pencil you in.' It's a reminder that all things can be erased. I wonder sometimes if we need pen and ink to remind students that words are permanent and not cheap."
We argue and criticize. We laugh, just so that we can argue at a deeper level without anyone getting hurt. Mr. Brown brings up points about relevant, meaningful homework and I share ideas of extension activities that are ungraded and voluntary. He warns me about going slate-free and suggests that I am being as stubborn as the anti-pencil people when I refuse a medium just because it's not cutting edge.
We find common ground and yet we still disagree.
We find common ground and yet we still disagree.
For all the talk about relevant professional development, I'm convinced that our conversation led to a higher level of professionalism simply because it was so unprofessional. It was casual and chaotic. It was interactive. At times, it was offensive. But it was real.
taking the job
"So, are you going to take that job?" Mr. Brown asks.
"Yeah, I think I am."
"What about our proposal?" asks Mrs. Jackson. "That was our baby."
It's silent. "I mean, oops, these are Victorian times. We would never have a baby together. It's a metaphor you know. Because, well, it would be wrong on so many levels . . . okay, just one level, but one very important level and you know . . . "
"I get it. I know how to spot a metaphor," I explain.
"What's going to happen to it?" Mr. Brown asks.
"I'm going part-time. I'll work as a pencil teacher the first half of the day then oversee our plan, the new pencil professional development and the district pencil classes. Nothing will change."
"Don't lie to yourself. You can't be pulled away and change both your status and position and pretend that things will be the same. We'll be friends, but I guarantee that you will change."
"People always promise that they'll stay in touch, that they'll stay grounded. But even if you teach part time you forget. You forget how to hold your bladder for hours. You forget what it's like when one kid wears you down by the end of the day. I don't think it's wrong that you're going half-half, but don't be shocked if you only feel like half a teacher."
It's like a shot of whiskey and I'm thinking whiskey shouldn't be consumed at ten thirty in the morning. So, I change the topic. "How about that local hometown sports team? I hear they are doing really well and perhaps we can live vicariously through their arbitrary athletic pursuits."
"Yeah, I think I am."
"What about our proposal?" asks Mrs. Jackson. "That was our baby."
It's silent. "I mean, oops, these are Victorian times. We would never have a baby together. It's a metaphor you know. Because, well, it would be wrong on so many levels . . . okay, just one level, but one very important level and you know . . . "
"I get it. I know how to spot a metaphor," I explain.
"What's going to happen to it?" Mr. Brown asks.
"I'm going part-time. I'll work as a pencil teacher the first half of the day then oversee our plan, the new pencil professional development and the district pencil classes. Nothing will change."
"Don't lie to yourself. You can't be pulled away and change both your status and position and pretend that things will be the same. We'll be friends, but I guarantee that you will change."
"People always promise that they'll stay in touch, that they'll stay grounded. But even if you teach part time you forget. You forget how to hold your bladder for hours. You forget what it's like when one kid wears you down by the end of the day. I don't think it's wrong that you're going half-half, but don't be shocked if you only feel like half a teacher."
It's like a shot of whiskey and I'm thinking whiskey shouldn't be consumed at ten thirty in the morning. So, I change the topic. "How about that local hometown sports team? I hear they are doing really well and perhaps we can live vicariously through their arbitrary athletic pursuits."
one pencil per child
A student brings in an article for his functional text. It's a story about the One Pencil Per Child initiative.
"Sorry kiddo, but this isn't a functional text," I explain to him.
"Sure it is. It's telling the reader how to colonize Africa with pencils."
"It's informational text with some narrative mixed in," I explain.
"But it's an implied functional text. At the end there is even a description of what you can do to help."
I inform him that he will need to bring in a new article tomorrow, but we will discuss his article together as a class during our civics time. For what it's worth, I'm not so sure that civics needs to be a class. Shouldn't everything we do be a civics lesson? Shouldn't our aim to be to encourage critical thinking, democratic citizenship? Doesn't exactly fit our factory school, though.
* * *
"Is this good for the children in Africa?" I ask.
One girl steps in, "Would you ask that same question about Europe? It seems to me that Africa is a whole continent with different languages and cultures. Yet we treat it like it's this one entity. The people of Africa have no chance to determine their own national and cultural identity." It's a hard topic for her, because her family is from Africa and she is mixed race and our town is generally segregated.
Another boy adds, "We've been learning about imperialism. It seems like passing out paper and pencils to kids is simply another form of imperialism."
"I disagree," a girl responds. "Imperialism has motives of conquering and using resources. It doesn't respect the rights of the people."
"And you think this does? Did anyone from the OPPC study the needs of the people? Did anyone study the culture? No, they just toss out green pencils and claim that it will lead to freedom. Africa needs economic development. Africa needs the right to nationhood without interference from imperial powers. Pencils are nice, but I don't think they are very helpful in keeping France and Britain out of your backyard."
"So, do we do nothing? It seems like doing nothing just makes it worse. Kids need paper and pencil. They need an education. We can talk about imperialism, but let's be honest, every kid needs a chance to write."
"Maybe," a kid adds. "And maybe the pencils will be a good thing. But I still think it's imperialism. It's using kids' minds for their own good. Why are they doing this? To feel good about themselves probably. And to get a little recognition when people see just how shiny and durable the green pencils are. So, they might have good intentions, but it's still imperialism if they are using the minds of Africa to boost their sense of purpose."
* * *
When I tell Mr. Brown about this story, he explains to me, "I am the product of colonialism. I hate that word product, but that's how it feels. I don't even know my Indian last name. My language, my clothes, my religion - all British. I think they're asking the right questions."
"It makes me wonder about our grant proposal. If we have a guy like Carnegie paying for our education, isn't he now the one with the loudest voice? And even if he is looking out for kids and really wants us to have pencils, isn't he failing to look at the injustices of his own factory? Sometimes I wonder if we should raise the money from the community instead. Let the resources come from the locals."
"Or not," Mr. Brown reminds me. "Look, there is injustice in all the resources we use. You can get all worked up about the iPaper and the waste of money when we could get open source paper. However, you miss the fact that little kids in the factory are making the paper that our kids are using. Or we talk about imperialism and that's fine, but how often do you push your own agenda on your kids? Everyone is guilty either by complicity or apathy or outright participation. The amazing part is that out of injustice something beautiful grows."
Mr. Johnson, will you be my friend?
I overheard a conversation a few days back (yes, I eavesdrop on my students) about the pen pal networks.
"I only have twenty followers," a kid says.
"It's okay. Jesus only had twelve."
"That's not true. Jesus had thousands of followers. He just had his top eight. Except it was his top twelve."
"True. So, maybe you're not Jesus. But I'm your friend and though I won't follow you around, I'll always pick you for short stop even on your worst day."
* * *
I receive a request from the insecure short stop asking if I'd be his friend. I ignore the request. Okay, that's not entirely true. I think about my own childhood and shudder. I can't imagine walking to kids' homes and seeing a list of the top eight and realizing that I don't make the cut. It would be like relational tryouts and I wouldn't have made the junior varsity popularity team. I can't imagine what it would be like, in the formative years, when I was experimenting with how to interact with others, to have this massive public network of social relationships advertising to the world that I was a loser.
Still, it's not as if I can follow the kid or friend him. For what it's worth, I'd like to keep "friend" a noun rather than a verb. Can't a friend be the last refuge of permanence in an industrial world of change? We've already lost place and we're quickly losing thing. Let's keep person.
It's just that he and I can't be friends. I can't invite him with me to the pub. I'm his teacher. He's my student. We aren't going to share stories about work or talk politics (and our shared anger at the McKinley administration for failing to deliver either hope or change in their Caravan to the Top initiative)
It's just that he and I can't be friends. I can't invite him with me to the pub. I'm his teacher. He's my student. We aren't going to share stories about work or talk politics (and our shared anger at the McKinley administration for failing to deliver either hope or change in their Caravan to the Top initiative)
A few days go by and then he stops me in class. "Why did you ignore my friend request?" he asks, calling me out on my act of passive-aggression.
"I'm sorry. You're my student and I just don't think we can be friends. Some day, when you're older, send me a friend request again, okay?"
He walks away, head hung low. He'll understand, right?
* * *
When I tell Mr. Brown, his answer surprises me. "I would have accepted his invitation. I know there is a difference in age and I am concerned with the graying of adulthood and childhood in our country. Though, to be quite honest, we still have kids working in the factories. I just think that the last person a kid wants to have reject him is his teacher. Socially awkward short stop boy looks up to you."
"What about his parents?"
"I would have become their friends, too. I would have explained it all to them and talked about his need for a mentor."
So, I'm left perplexed. I set up rigid rules for social engagement and they seem to make sense to me. They are set up to protect myself from rumors. But in my goal to be safe, I've unintentionally crushed a kid.
part two of "Full of CREP"
For the most part, I abandon the worksheets. We breeze through them quickly and then I break students up into small groups to discuss the question, "What are the elements of a good career?" The brainstorm turns out to be incredibly specific with a few groups simply writing down names of careers. Perhaps I should have modeled it first.
I then present career philosophies
"If there are all these reasons for having a career and our school wants to get us job-ready in the future, why are we only following the economic philosophy? Why don't we make a difference as a school? Why don't we talk about identity and values and beliefs?"
"Some people don't think that's important. They see it as fluff. Shouldn't we pursue the core knowledge?"
He responds, "It seems like answering the question of why we work a job would be at the core of all of our knowledge."
As the students work on an individual assignment describing their own career philosophy, I hear shouting from Mr. Brown's classroom.
"Faster, I say! It's not about quality! It's numbers! It's data! We need to win this race! It's a race to the top, I tell you! And our company will not have any losers being left behind!"
"But Mr. Brown, the work is looking sloppy and everything we do looks identical!"
"Welcome to the edu-factory," he responds.
Students are in an assembly line filling out one line a piece on each of their worksheets. On the sideline are students who want a piece of the grade as well. "You sir, do you want to work in this edu-factory? I'll pay you a C for the work. Right now you're failing. Take a C!"
The child simply nods.
"Alright, everybody, your grade is now a C! We only have so many points to spread around. But we can now hire two new workers."
A child volunteers to work for a D and Mr. Brown fires another worker who refuses a C. Finally, two more workers begin to whisper to one another. "We quit. We'll fail this unit if we need to."
This leads to a chain reaction as the students begin to go on strike. As my students discuss career philosophies, his students talk about unions and free markets, wages and fairness and eventually meander into why one would work a job.
Neither of us taught the same lesson. I might steal his idea next year and I know he plans to use my career philosophies tomorrow. We share. That's the idea of "common" knowledge and "common" standards. It's horizontal. Our paper and pencil "integration" is natural and fluid and based upon our own expertise.
Give us a program and we'll be programmed. Give us worksheets and our work will be full of sheet. The results will be uniform, but we'll miss the chance to be innovative. Give us a chance to develop our own lessons and give us the freedom to share what has worked and we'll grow together. The best professional development happens over a pint, not in a crowded library.
I then present career philosophies
- Vocational: based upon one's identity, beliefs and values. It's the notion that who you are guides what you do (a sense of calling to it)
- Hedonist: find a job that is enjoyable, fun or pleasurable.
- Economic: a job is based upon money. The higher the pay, the better the job.
- Recognition: the best job is one where a person will receive honor, recognition, fame or accolades.
- Humanitarian: here the idea is to make a difference in the lives of others
"If there are all these reasons for having a career and our school wants to get us job-ready in the future, why are we only following the economic philosophy? Why don't we make a difference as a school? Why don't we talk about identity and values and beliefs?"
"Some people don't think that's important. They see it as fluff. Shouldn't we pursue the core knowledge?"
He responds, "It seems like answering the question of why we work a job would be at the core of all of our knowledge."
As the students work on an individual assignment describing their own career philosophy, I hear shouting from Mr. Brown's classroom.
"Faster, I say! It's not about quality! It's numbers! It's data! We need to win this race! It's a race to the top, I tell you! And our company will not have any losers being left behind!"
"But Mr. Brown, the work is looking sloppy and everything we do looks identical!"
"Welcome to the edu-factory," he responds.
Students are in an assembly line filling out one line a piece on each of their worksheets. On the sideline are students who want a piece of the grade as well. "You sir, do you want to work in this edu-factory? I'll pay you a C for the work. Right now you're failing. Take a C!"
The child simply nods.
"Alright, everybody, your grade is now a C! We only have so many points to spread around. But we can now hire two new workers."
A child volunteers to work for a D and Mr. Brown fires another worker who refuses a C. Finally, two more workers begin to whisper to one another. "We quit. We'll fail this unit if we need to."
This leads to a chain reaction as the students begin to go on strike. As my students discuss career philosophies, his students talk about unions and free markets, wages and fairness and eventually meander into why one would work a job.
Neither of us taught the same lesson. I might steal his idea next year and I know he plans to use my career philosophies tomorrow. We share. That's the idea of "common" knowledge and "common" standards. It's horizontal. Our paper and pencil "integration" is natural and fluid and based upon our own expertise.
Give us a program and we'll be programmed. Give us worksheets and our work will be full of sheet. The results will be uniform, but we'll miss the chance to be innovative. Give us a chance to develop our own lessons and give us the freedom to share what has worked and we'll grow together. The best professional development happens over a pint, not in a crowded library.
full of CREP
A day after the worksheet debacle, Mr. Brown comes into my room. "Can you believe we have to take time out of social studies to teach Career Readiness Exploration Program?"
"I'm sure the districts spent barrels of money on it, what with all the worksheets and workbooks and . . ."
"You nailed it. They're worksheets and workbooks, but nothing is a thinkbook anymore. It's about productivity and results and not the cognitive process anymore. Might as well turn them into machines."
"I'm upset with the conflict of interest. Am I really supposed to believe that a program developed by Carnegie can be trusted? Can I really separate out Carnegie the corrupt robber baron from Carnegie the educational reformer? Yes, it's fine that he wants to give back, but that feels a bit like robbing a house and then returning a few pairs of slacks and some silverware."
"They want me to teach CREP, well this is CREP, this is total CREP, this is a pile of stinky CREP," and he says it with just the right Scottish accent that it makes me smile, if not laugh.
"Are you really that upset about it?"
"Are you really that upset about it?"
"See, Techno-Tommy, I'm worried about this. I really am. Students need social studies, because our community needs civic-minded people. We need people who can explore the world with a critical eye. We need students to know the narratives of the past to make sense of the present. It's not a fluff subject just because it doesn't help create better factory workers."
"What scares me is that teachers seem to love this program simply because it uses technology. So, for a day they'll have access to a camera and through the entire unit, they'll have paper and pencil. They're using novelty to sell us CREP." I try a Scottish accent on the CREP part, but I end up sounding mildly drunk instead.
My friend Paul the Preindustrial Poet thinks the best way to prepare someone for the workforce is to prepare someone for life. I'm thinking he and Mr. Brown both have a point here. We're educating sixth graders. Do they really need job preparation right now? Is this really the time to have them develop a Career Readiness Plan?
"So, Mr. Brown, what is your plan? Are you just going to play ignorant and claim you never had training on it?"
"No, I have another idea. They'll fill out the worksheets alright. You'll see."
why creating a school site was a disaster
I'm not a detail person. I mmispell works frequently and often my speller check won't pick it up. I don't notice when my shoe is untied. I forget to brush my horse. My wife has been known to write "Wash Me" onto the coat of dirt of the poor mare. I'm sure she has a complex by now.
So, I was the wrong person chosen to design a site for the school. It began fairly innocuous. My principal pulled me aside and said, "Techno-Tommy, I have a great opportunity for you."
Internally, I cringe when he uses the term "opportunity," when in fact, I can never turn it down. The correct term is "coercion."
"I need you to build our school a site."
"Build it? I'm not exactly a construction worker. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a fop."
"Nonsense, Techno-Tommy. You're a creative man. I've seen the way you sketch and paint. There's a whole program set up for you. All you need to do is design it. You can set up one of those fancy plogs you talk about and design it like a visitor center."
So, I begin the process and enjoy it. I invite students to help take pictures and write sections of the site. I use various paper colors to design the layout. When it is done, I invite people to come tour our visitors site.
"You'll love it. It's like there is a whole web of information all in one site. I call it a website. It has our calendar and our contact information and bulletin boards with updates from sports and, well, just come out and see it."
Five people visited the site and only one had anything positive to say. I received notes of "constructive feedback" asking me to add more pictures or switch to stock photography because apparently having pictures that look like all other sites is quintessential for looking "professional." Two teachers informed me that their subject didn't have enough information. They pointed out any place where a line of text wasn't centered or any dates missing from the calendar. I knew it wasn't personal, but it hurt.
A few teachers pulled me aside, "Why did you use holiday break instead of Christmas Break? Are you trying to take the Christ out of Christmas?"
"I assure you that it was only to include our students of other faiths. I'm a big fan of Jesus, really I am."
"What about Columbus Day?"
"I didn't include it, because we don't get the day off from school. Besides, stealing land, committing genocide and then claiming it in the name of God and country is nothing to celebrate."
What's hard is that I can't imagine the same feedback in other areas. When the band performs, do people feel the need to tell the band director what colors the students should wear and what songs they should select? When the baseball team plays, do the staff members send letters to the manager explaining what position each player should play or a note to the custodian about how low the grass should be cut?
To make matters worse, the site is hosted at the district office and I no longer have a key to our supply cabinet. Thus, I can't update the site as often as I had hoped. The process has turned out to be a bit of a disaster.
I tell Mr. Brown that it's a mudslide and he informs me that it's an avalanche. A Mudslide is a drink ordered by pansies who are afraid to have a pint but are also too coward to admit they want a milkshake.
Mr. Brown explains it to me, "They chose you because you're a pencil geek and you know technology. But know one looked at the human side of the job. If I had done this, I would have created a staff survey, interviewed staff members individually and made each person feel like it was their site. I'd smile and pretend to listen to their feedback and then end up doing it my way. But Tommy, we both know that's not you. Ultimately, you're an introvert and those in leadership never considered the issue of personality when choosing you for the job."
So, I was the wrong person chosen to design a site for the school. It began fairly innocuous. My principal pulled me aside and said, "Techno-Tommy, I have a great opportunity for you."
Internally, I cringe when he uses the term "opportunity," when in fact, I can never turn it down. The correct term is "coercion."
"I need you to build our school a site."
"Build it? I'm not exactly a construction worker. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a fop."
"Nonsense, Techno-Tommy. You're a creative man. I've seen the way you sketch and paint. There's a whole program set up for you. All you need to do is design it. You can set up one of those fancy plogs you talk about and design it like a visitor center."
So, I begin the process and enjoy it. I invite students to help take pictures and write sections of the site. I use various paper colors to design the layout. When it is done, I invite people to come tour our visitors site.
"You'll love it. It's like there is a whole web of information all in one site. I call it a website. It has our calendar and our contact information and bulletin boards with updates from sports and, well, just come out and see it."
Five people visited the site and only one had anything positive to say. I received notes of "constructive feedback" asking me to add more pictures or switch to stock photography because apparently having pictures that look like all other sites is quintessential for looking "professional." Two teachers informed me that their subject didn't have enough information. They pointed out any place where a line of text wasn't centered or any dates missing from the calendar. I knew it wasn't personal, but it hurt.
A few teachers pulled me aside, "Why did you use holiday break instead of Christmas Break? Are you trying to take the Christ out of Christmas?"
"I assure you that it was only to include our students of other faiths. I'm a big fan of Jesus, really I am."
"What about Columbus Day?"
"I didn't include it, because we don't get the day off from school. Besides, stealing land, committing genocide and then claiming it in the name of God and country is nothing to celebrate."
***
What's hard is that I can't imagine the same feedback in other areas. When the band performs, do people feel the need to tell the band director what colors the students should wear and what songs they should select? When the baseball team plays, do the staff members send letters to the manager explaining what position each player should play or a note to the custodian about how low the grass should be cut?
To make matters worse, the site is hosted at the district office and I no longer have a key to our supply cabinet. Thus, I can't update the site as often as I had hoped. The process has turned out to be a bit of a disaster.
I tell Mr. Brown that it's a mudslide and he informs me that it's an avalanche. A Mudslide is a drink ordered by pansies who are afraid to have a pint but are also too coward to admit they want a milkshake.
Mr. Brown explains it to me, "They chose you because you're a pencil geek and you know technology. But know one looked at the human side of the job. If I had done this, I would have created a staff survey, interviewed staff members individually and made each person feel like it was their site. I'd smile and pretend to listen to their feedback and then end up doing it my way. But Tommy, we both know that's not you. Ultimately, you're an introvert and those in leadership never considered the issue of personality when choosing you for the job."
why I don't care about the tablet
"Hey, Techno-Tommy, are you going to buy a tablet?" asks Mr. Brown.
"No. Not anytime soon," I respond.
"It's supposed to revolutionize the paper world. I thought you were a paper-geek."
"It just seems like hype. They might as well say, 'This is hand-crafted from the finest paper of the magical forests and consecrated by the holiest of of all woodland creatures. Every page is guaranteed to save the life of a sprite in danger.' Or 'Use this to turn water into wine and cure leprosy.' I just don't buy it."
Mr. Brown stares at me for a moment. "Really? Medieval mythology and thinly veiled Bible references? I'm talking technology, here, Tommy. It's supposed to revolutionize the paper world."
"Don't get me wrong. A tablet is cool. But it is not revolutionary. The Guttenberg Press was revolutionary. The horseless carriage just might prove to be revolutionary. The American Revolution - now that's revolutionary."
"Far from it," Mr. Brown begins. "As a Canadian, let me offer a critique. You stole democracy from the Greeks, your republican system from the Romans, the Bill of Rights from your states who stole it from the British. When will you understand that you simply aren't that special?"
"Okay, but you would agree that the tablet is mostly hype."
"Maybe. But you can flip through pages and touch it and take notes on books."
"It's a pad of yellow paper made from the over-expensive iCompany. I've been taking notes in books for years. I just don't think it's that special, that's all."
"But it's so much thinner than a notebook. You'll grant me that, won't you."
"Yes, but I never thought my notebooks were too bulky or heavy or cumbersome. I've never thrown out my back trying to care a composition book."
"Consider this, though. Often small changes are what make a huge difference. The shift from scrolls to pages revolutionized reading. The double-entry inventory forms helped the Spanish dominate the world. That and their boats. Oh, and their suave accents. See, it's little things. Yes, railroads are great, but a hundred years from now everyone will drive cars and trains will simply be an annoying, if quaint, relic of the past. But everyone will be carrying around tablets to take notes."
"Perhaps. I just don't see what makes a tablet so incredibly different from a stack of paper or a notebook. And for what it's worth, I'll refrain from the hype until I see the results. After awhile, all the slick marketing starts to feel like the junk mail promising to increase one's manhood or the letters saying I've won a UK lottery."
"No. Not anytime soon," I respond.
"It's supposed to revolutionize the paper world. I thought you were a paper-geek."
"It just seems like hype. They might as well say, 'This is hand-crafted from the finest paper of the magical forests and consecrated by the holiest of of all woodland creatures. Every page is guaranteed to save the life of a sprite in danger.' Or 'Use this to turn water into wine and cure leprosy.' I just don't buy it."
Mr. Brown stares at me for a moment. "Really? Medieval mythology and thinly veiled Bible references? I'm talking technology, here, Tommy. It's supposed to revolutionize the paper world."
"Don't get me wrong. A tablet is cool. But it is not revolutionary. The Guttenberg Press was revolutionary. The horseless carriage just might prove to be revolutionary. The American Revolution - now that's revolutionary."
"Far from it," Mr. Brown begins. "As a Canadian, let me offer a critique. You stole democracy from the Greeks, your republican system from the Romans, the Bill of Rights from your states who stole it from the British. When will you understand that you simply aren't that special?"
"Okay, but you would agree that the tablet is mostly hype."
"Maybe. But you can flip through pages and touch it and take notes on books."
"It's a pad of yellow paper made from the over-expensive iCompany. I've been taking notes in books for years. I just don't think it's that special, that's all."
"But it's so much thinner than a notebook. You'll grant me that, won't you."
"Yes, but I never thought my notebooks were too bulky or heavy or cumbersome. I've never thrown out my back trying to care a composition book."
"Consider this, though. Often small changes are what make a huge difference. The shift from scrolls to pages revolutionized reading. The double-entry inventory forms helped the Spanish dominate the world. That and their boats. Oh, and their suave accents. See, it's little things. Yes, railroads are great, but a hundred years from now everyone will drive cars and trains will simply be an annoying, if quaint, relic of the past. But everyone will be carrying around tablets to take notes."
"Perhaps. I just don't see what makes a tablet so incredibly different from a stack of paper or a notebook. And for what it's worth, I'll refrain from the hype until I see the results. After awhile, all the slick marketing starts to feel like the junk mail promising to increase one's manhood or the letters saying I've won a UK lottery."
when hardware fails
Mr. Brown walks into the supply room with a candle in his hand,"How does a school expect its teachers to use the Edison Projectors if the electricity keeps going out?"
"I know. I not only don't have electricity, they forgot the paper shipment system updates, so my entire system of operating has crashed."
"Crashed? That's a bit extreme. Besides, operating system? Really? It's paper, Tom. It doesn't have to be a system."
"Good point, Brown." (If they insist on changing the name colleague with the word "teammate" then I'm going to call him by just his last name and drop the "mister" entirely. Brown, for his part, has started bringing sunflower seeds and scratching himself. If we're going to use a sports metaphor, might as well go all out.) "But it's impossible for the paper and pencil system to work when they won't do a few purchase order updates. What's the point of one-to-one pencil to student ratio if I can't keep things updated?"
"People ask me why I'm not switching over to pencils and paper and Edison Projectors and phonographs. You know how often slates break? Never. You know how often I run out of chalk? Never. I keep a huge stash of it under my desk. Chalk doesn't get old, so I don't do any updates. It's cheap. It's portable. It's durable. Tom, it's an issue of taking care of hardware. That's why schools don't have meaningful pencil integration."
"Perhaps. Some day, I imagine there will be machines that make copies for you and I won't have to worry about whether kids have paper, because they won't have to copy information from the board. We won't see the human errors, because it will come down to pushing a button."
"Yeah, but think about this, Tom. A hundred years from now, they'll have telegraphs in each school and people will be able to access information from around the globe. Yet, the telegraph connection will break constantly. They'll have copy machines, but the machine will jam daily and they'll forget to order paper for it."
For all the talk about teachers being motivated to use pencils, no one seems to address this issue. A teacher isn't going to create phenomenal PowerSlides, if the Edison Projector might not have electricity. A teacher won't create a true pencil-based lesson if the access to paper is unpredictable. Teachers want to have some certainty that the hardware they use will work. Few of them relish in the unspoken role of improvisational speaker meets babysitter meets handy man while a group of restless kids sit on their hands and wait to learn.
No one does this explicitly, but on a subconscious level, we become timid about integrating new tools, because we are never sure if the tool will work properly. We plan a lesson but then plan a back up lesson or a backup of the backup and it makes us a little skittish. Like a carpenter with a wobbly-handled hammer, we know that tools in schools are often unpredictable in their failure and in becoming overly careful, our students miss out on a full education.
social address booking
Mr. Brown (who is rarely much of a technocrat) tells me that I need to start keeping track of all the places to take paper and pencil. "It's like leaving a bookmark when you read. You keep it all in an address book and you can say to yourself, 'I'd really like to write a poem. The best place for a poem would have to be the coffee shop.' So, you simply book it."
"Book it?"
"Sorry, that's one more of the noun-becomes-a-verb phrases. It means you flip through your address book and find the best location."
"Okay, but why don't I just keep it all in my head?"
"Because the pencil world is portable. You can take paper and pencil anywhere. Want to go to Paris? They allow you to take pencil on a boat. Want to visit India? You can bring stationary there, too."
"But I'm most likely to stay here in town."
"Wouldn't you want to keep a list of places you could go if you ever wanted to?"
"Maybe. But I have a hunch I'd probably just go to places I remember and I'd rarely use the address book. I tend to stay in the same sites that I know. I'm a creature of habit."
"Okay, but wait. Check this out. I can leave my address book open for anyone in public to read it. I just turn it in and they copy it and I can go to one location where I read other people's address books."
"Does anyone really do that?"
"Not much. But everyone hopes that other people read their address books."
"So, let me get this straight: You keep a list of places you go or like to go but you rarely look at it and then you leave it at a location where everyone can see it and then you hope to cater to the voyourestic impulses of others, but you have no intention yourself of reading other people's list of sites. Is that generally it?"
"You're a pencil geek. You're supposed to like this stuff. Just sign up and get an address book. It's free."
"Well, I guess if it's free, it couldn't hurt."
I have yet to open the address book, but it's there in case I ever feel the urge to write down my sites and put a golden star sticker on my favorites and then leave it for everyone to see in hopes that they will consider me important enough to spy on me.
"Book it?"
"Sorry, that's one more of the noun-becomes-a-verb phrases. It means you flip through your address book and find the best location."
"Okay, but why don't I just keep it all in my head?"
"Because the pencil world is portable. You can take paper and pencil anywhere. Want to go to Paris? They allow you to take pencil on a boat. Want to visit India? You can bring stationary there, too."
"But I'm most likely to stay here in town."
"Wouldn't you want to keep a list of places you could go if you ever wanted to?"
"Maybe. But I have a hunch I'd probably just go to places I remember and I'd rarely use the address book. I tend to stay in the same sites that I know. I'm a creature of habit."
"Okay, but wait. Check this out. I can leave my address book open for anyone in public to read it. I just turn it in and they copy it and I can go to one location where I read other people's address books."
"Does anyone really do that?"
"Not much. But everyone hopes that other people read their address books."
"So, let me get this straight: You keep a list of places you go or like to go but you rarely look at it and then you leave it at a location where everyone can see it and then you hope to cater to the voyourestic impulses of others, but you have no intention yourself of reading other people's list of sites. Is that generally it?"
"You're a pencil geek. You're supposed to like this stuff. Just sign up and get an address book. It's free."
"Well, I guess if it's free, it couldn't hurt."
I have yet to open the address book, but it's there in case I ever feel the urge to write down my sites and put a golden star sticker on my favorites and then leave it for everyone to see in hopes that they will consider me important enough to spy on me.
blocking sites
I know this has nothing to do with pencil integration, but there's something else I wanted to share:
Mr. Brown pulled me aside to discuss our field trip plans. "They cancelled both of our field trips, Tom. Can you believe it? We planned out our lessons to fit those particular sites and out of nowhere, they just blocked the sites."
"They can't do that. We had parent permission slips. We spent our time developing whole projects around it."
"Yeah, apparently a kid in another school wandered off to another site. I guess they were in main street and he ran off to see the baseball game. He started talking to kids at another school."
"So, what does that mean for us?"
"We can't go anywhere, pretty much. You know how we wanted to go to a motion picture, right?"
"Yeah, there's a short film about the Arctic."
"Well, they're worried that kids might wander off and try and see a peep show instead."
"Isn't that an issue of classroom management?"
"Yeah, you would think. You might think that teacher whose kids snuck off should get some training or maybe the kid should be banned from going on field trips, but instead they are banning all motion pictures. It gets worse, though. You know how we were going to take them to see the orchestra, right?"
"They're cancelling that?"
"Turns out the orchestra is next to a place that plays rag time and rag time is dangerous stuff."
"Seriously? There's more sex and violence in Shakespeare and yet kids are forced to read his plays. Okay, okay. So, what about the museum. We get to go there, right?"
"Nope. It turns out that as the kids wander around and search the images they can stumble upon some of that dangerous Renaissance art that has nudity."
"Can't a teacher filter out the experience so that they go to the correct images."
"Well, the corridors are still open and so the district is worried about it. These are Victorian times, my friend. Everything has to be hyper-clean to the point of censoring anything authentic to life. In fact, they're talking about cancelling all field trips for fear that a kid would run into a predator in public."
"Is that why my students have been completely banned from passing notes at recess?"
"Exactly."
"Wow, Victorian times indeed!"
Mr. Brown pulled me aside to discuss our field trip plans. "They cancelled both of our field trips, Tom. Can you believe it? We planned out our lessons to fit those particular sites and out of nowhere, they just blocked the sites."
"They can't do that. We had parent permission slips. We spent our time developing whole projects around it."
"Yeah, apparently a kid in another school wandered off to another site. I guess they were in main street and he ran off to see the baseball game. He started talking to kids at another school."
"So, what does that mean for us?"
"We can't go anywhere, pretty much. You know how we wanted to go to a motion picture, right?"
"Yeah, there's a short film about the Arctic."
"Well, they're worried that kids might wander off and try and see a peep show instead."
"Isn't that an issue of classroom management?"
"Yeah, you would think. You might think that teacher whose kids snuck off should get some training or maybe the kid should be banned from going on field trips, but instead they are banning all motion pictures. It gets worse, though. You know how we were going to take them to see the orchestra, right?"
"They're cancelling that?"
"Turns out the orchestra is next to a place that plays rag time and rag time is dangerous stuff."
"Seriously? There's more sex and violence in Shakespeare and yet kids are forced to read his plays. Okay, okay. So, what about the museum. We get to go there, right?"
"Nope. It turns out that as the kids wander around and search the images they can stumble upon some of that dangerous Renaissance art that has nudity."
"Can't a teacher filter out the experience so that they go to the correct images."
"Well, the corridors are still open and so the district is worried about it. These are Victorian times, my friend. Everything has to be hyper-clean to the point of censoring anything authentic to life. In fact, they're talking about cancelling all field trips for fear that a kid would run into a predator in public."
"Is that why my students have been completely banned from passing notes at recess?"
"Exactly."
"Wow, Victorian times indeed!"
will we fall behind?
Mr. Brown pulls me aside to share his thoughts on the new proposal, "Could I see you, Tom? I want to talk about your one pencil for every student ratio."
"Pretty exciting, huh?" I say, stroking the wax on my handlebar mustache.
"Well, that's the issue. I just don't see it as being the best option for our students. After all, this is about the kids. My concerns aren't in any way related to my comfort level. Trust me," he adds.
"What do you mean?"
"It's academic. I just don't think we need to spend class time teaching pencil skills."
"Neither do I. That's why we'll embed the paper and pencil into the curriculum."
"Yes, but they've been using slates and chalk. They'll be ages behind."
"Okay, but they'll catch up quickly."
"Perhaps, but the high-stakes exams are taken with a slate and chalk. How will they ever reach William McKinley's Caravan to the Top using paper and pencil?"
"But paper and pencil is what they'll use in life."
"Yes, but the United Kingdom is expanding across the world and we cannot compete in an imperialist global economy if our students lag behind because we are focusing our time on paper and pencils."
"Pretty exciting, huh?" I say, stroking the wax on my handlebar mustache.
"Well, that's the issue. I just don't see it as being the best option for our students. After all, this is about the kids. My concerns aren't in any way related to my comfort level. Trust me," he adds.
"What do you mean?"
"It's academic. I just don't think we need to spend class time teaching pencil skills."
"Neither do I. That's why we'll embed the paper and pencil into the curriculum."
"Yes, but they've been using slates and chalk. They'll be ages behind."
"Okay, but they'll catch up quickly."
"Perhaps, but the high-stakes exams are taken with a slate and chalk. How will they ever reach William McKinley's Caravan to the Top using paper and pencil?"
"But paper and pencil is what they'll use in life."
"Yes, but the United Kingdom is expanding across the world and we cannot compete in an imperialist global economy if our students lag behind because we are focusing our time on paper and pencils."
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